May 20, 1974 MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY Bernard E. Mishuris, M.B. I was born during an early Fall snowstorm on Simchas Torah, which is the joyous day of celebrating the Torah, and on October 25th, 1908. I was the first child of my parents and the first grandchild of both sets of grandparents. I was born at home. Delivered not by a Doctor but by a midwife. I was born in my maternal grandparents home on "Graznaya Ulitsa" (translated)-Mud Street, Balta, Russia. The street was very well named, because as soon as it rained the entire length of the street became a quagmire of thick greenish yellow mud. My early childhood at least until I was 4 years old, was uneventful. I did not have any toys or luxuries but I had a lot of love from my parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles. I remember that when I was four years old, my parents had a tailor make me a winter overcoat. It was a beautiful coat. It was a little big on me and the coat touched the ground when I walked in it, but I was told it was made that way so that I should grow into it. I Did. I wore that same coat until I was 11 years old. I began my Hebrew School studies at 4 years of age and I recall walking all alone in the snow with my new winter coat to Hebrew School. My time was spent either at my paternal grandparents home, or my maternal grandparents home. I do not recall seeing too much of my father in those first four years. He was going and coming from America. I recall an incident when I was barely 4 years old. It was during the High Holy days and my father was home at that time. We were all in the Synagogue where my mother's father was a member. My father was there and by condition reflex, I stood near my grandfather. My father felt very badly that his son did not stay near him. I was an obedient child. I walked over to where my father was sitting and praying. However at the first chance when my father was not looking, I walked over to my grandfather and stood next to him. When my father discovered that I was not near him, he was very angry at me, and as soon as we came home he gave me quite a spanking. That was the first time my father ever hit me and I think the last time. I believe I stayed close to my father after that spanking. But alas I did not enjoy the company of my father too long. The following year, 3 months before my fifth birthday my beloved father left with his two sisters, Ida and Sarah, for America. I recall very distinctly the day they left. It was a beautiful summer day and the entire family took to horse and wagon to see them off at the railroad station. I was very unhappy and cried a lot. My inner instinct told me that it would be a long time before I will see my father again. (It took eight years before I saw my father again). My mother and I returned home heavyhearted. My mother tried to soften my feelings by giving her love and attention to me. The carrot in front of the stick was that within a year, we will receive money from my father for our journey to the United States. That dream was shattered when the following year 1914, the first World War broke out. I remember distinctly that day. It was a Jewish Holiday Tisha B'ov in the early part of August and everyone was promenading along the Avenue- when all of a sudden, Bulletins were pasted on the telegraph poles. It announced that Imperial Russia had declared war on Austria and Germany, and that there will be an immediate mobilization of troops. The Avenue became completely deserted within a few minutes. My mother and I also ran home to find her brother and Nahum and her brother-in-law Avram hiding in the attic. The reason why they were hiding? Was an announcement that all bachelor males and young married men without children will be seized on sight and sent to the front to dig trenches. After 3 days in the attic more or less comfortably, they descended to report to the draft boards and were soon inducted into the armed services - both came home from the war, unhurt. The outbreak of the war left a deep impression on me. Barely six years old, I became an old-young child. Serious minded, morose, I suddenly realized that I was living in a bad world. My young dreams were shattered. I was alone with my mother. My father was not around to protect or shelter me. I never had a birthday party again. I never received a birthday present. I recall once only, when I was ill, some member of the family brought me a small violin, as a toy. That is the only toy I ever had. My little happy and healthy world came to an end. Stark poverty and sickness followed. My early childhood was a very sickly experience. I contracted every conceivable illness. I had chicken-pox, measles, German-measles, scarlet-fever, Diarrhea many times, skin eruptions such as scabies, infested with body lice as well as head lice. Perhaps the reason I became a medical Doctor is because I was always sick. Either mother took me to the Doctor, or the Doctor came to the house. I was so frail and sickly, that often when I was supposed to have been healthy, I used to get up from an afternoon nap with fever and either vomited or had Diarrhea. Very often the family Doctor was at his wits end. He could not understand why I was always so sickly, and in order to ease his burden he recommended that I should be taken to a pediatric specialist in Odessa. That was the only time I ever saw that Baroque beautiful City. I recall visiting Odessa at least three times. Every time we came to Odessa, we stayed at an Uncle's House. This was an excuse for a house. It consisted of two rooms. The front room was my Uncle's Tailor Shop and the rear room the entire family slept and ate and amused themselves. The oven was used for cooking and baking during the day and sleeping on at night. They were very hospitable people. My Aunt and Uncle really had no room for mother and myself, but family roots are strong and if there is love, there is a way out of a dilemma. The most important part of a tailor shop besides the sewing machine is the sewing table- a long and broad affair. It was on top of this table where mother and I were bedded down. I was sickly until I was eight years old. By that time I built up enough immunities so that I was able to escape every conceivable illness that ravaged the city. In 1916, there was an epidemic of Cholera. People dropped dead in the streets from this illness. I escaped that. However, soon after there was an epidemic of Typhus fever. This is a serious disease that literally breaks the person afflicted apart if that person survives. It is cause by a ricketsia bacterium or virus, transmitted by the body louse. Aunts and Uncles came down with Typhus Fever in both houses where I lived. I was surrounded by sick people, and I was very lousy. I literally picked up these huge "cooties" with my fingers off my body and cracked them. Yet, I escaped contracting Typhus Fever. Prior to my eighth birthday, I was admitted to the Commerce school. Why it was called by that name, I never asked or found out. It was the only secular school beside the Gymnasium. I believe they name it the Commerce school because it allowed Jewish students to be matriculated,- whereas, the Gymnasium only admitted gentile boys. My first impression of the Commerce school was frightening. I was raised in a Jewish home, where the only speech my ears heard was in Yiddish. Suddenly I was surrounded by Russian speaking students and teachers. I almost failed my admittance examination. Fortunately, I scored very high in Math and that pushed up my average. Soon I was a Commerce student. My first year was a happy year. I was a good student and did well in my studies. But fate again broke up my little world. In March 1917 while taking a stroll during this early warm spring day, I noticed news bulletins being pasted on the Telegraph poles. Small crowds clustered around the poles to read the news. I stood on my tip-toes to read the Bulletin. Lo and behold- it stated that the Tsar was overthrown,- and the Russian Revolution began. I ran as fast as I could to bring this startling news to my grand- parents and Uncle Berel who lived next door to us. Breathlessly, I informed my elders of the news. "The Tsar has abdicated- there is a Revolution." I received a slap in the face for my mercurial efforts. That was the first slap. I was to be the recipient of many more in the years to come. The Political and Economic situation in Russia deteriorated very rapidly. First came Kerensky and his Government. He issued paper money. His regime did not last a year, when he was overthrown and the Bolsheviki took command. They too issued paper money. Commodities became scarce and the prices kept going up. In the Summer, I went barefoot. That was not an unusual thing, because most of the children went barefoot during the entire warm season. When winter came along, I found myself without shoes. By some devious route I was given a pair of second hand boots. I polished them until they shone. I wore them until I could not put my feet into them. The iron curtain that was put around Russia after the Bolshevic Revolution, was severe. No mail or telegrams entered or left Russia. Mother and I were cut off from my father. We could not go to him, or write to him. Our little funds that we saved, were dwindling very rapidly. In the Winter of 1917, my maternal grandfather died and after his death our problems increased. When he was alive, his butcher shop kept us from starving. After his death, the store stopped functioning. One couldn't get meat to sell and grandfather was no longer alive to roam the country-side to buy some calves or bullocks from the peasants for slaughter. On one Friday afternoon late in the summer, mother and I were at her mother's home, and there was no food in the house. There was no money to buy food. So mother and I left Mud Street to go to my father's parents' home. Now the City of Balta was divided in the middle by the Kodoma River. Mother's parents lived on the western or Greek side of the river and my father's parents lived on the east side or Turkish side of the river. The west side was more commercial than the east side. The reason they were called Greek side or Turkish side was that at one time there was a war, and one side of the City was held by the Greek soldiers and the other side by the Turkish soldiers. There were two official Bridges that one used to cross from one side of the City to the other. But there was a third unofficial bridge. It was a real "dogpatch" makeshift affair,-just some planks about 3 feet wide over some saplings which had been driven into the River- bed. There were no railings to hold on, and when one used this "bridge", one took his life in his own hands at the best time of the year, when the weather was nice. This Friday afternoon Mother and I decided to use this Klodko, the term used for the unofficial bridge, to go to our Turkish side grandparents home. The weather was threatening. The sky was overcast. There was no one at either shore of the river, nor anyone crossing at this point. We decided to cross. We were about half way across, when a sudden squall hit us. Fierce winds and pelting rain, and before we head a chance to run the remaining part of the "bridge", we were both thrown into the river which had suddenly become a raging torrent. Neither of us could swim. We surely would have drowned. But Fate intervened- God sent us a retriever. As mother and I were desperately trying to stay afloat, a hand came down to grab us out of the water. This hand belonged to a sturdy peasant woman. Where she came from we do not know. All we knew was that she was strong enough to pull mother and me out of the water and helped us across the remaining portion of the Klodko. We thanked her and she went on her way. Mother and I came to Grandpa' Anshel's house, drenched but thankful to the Lord, that our lives were saved. We were all received by everyone. We changed our clothes, and had something to eat. But things became worse instead of better. We were living under horrible conditions. The home were cold because there was no wood to burn. We were in rags- our clothing were in tatters. We were gently starving. Bread the staff of life was the scarcest item in the cupboard. The Bolsheviki did not fully control Russia at this time 1918-19. There were several bands led by czarist officers, which ravaged the Ukraine. They took away the little the people still possessed. The largest and most cruel of these bands was the Petlura band- led by Ottoman Petlura. When he and his army came in storming into a town-preceded by cannonading and machine gun fire, they burned and slaughtered the townspeoples' Jews- for the first twenty four hours. After that there was a shaky truce. The Jews came out of their hovels to bury their dead and those that were burned out went skampering to find shelter. One bitter cold November day we were told that a few bakeries in the town will sell bread. Each one of us took turns to go and stand on line at a bakery. My lot fell on a bakery in the Greek side of town. I got up at 2 A.M. -got dressed and walked across town to get on line. When I arrived at the Bakery, there were many people already standing on line. It began to drizzle and I stood there, cold , hungry and miserable through out the whole night. When it became light about 8 o'clock in the morning, they started to sell bread. When I was about near the door for my turn to buy a bread- suddenly there was an explosion of cannon and machine-gun fire. The Baker slammed the door in my face, yelling there was no more bread, and people started to run away to hide, so that the machine- gun bullets will not kill them. I was left all alone. A little ten year old boy having no place to run because I was so far away from my home. I began to run not knowing where to run. I ran into one street after another. They were completely deserted. The doors and windows of each house was closed tight shut. The bullets were flying here and there, hitting houses, trees, and ricocheting off iron balconies. I was absolutely frightened out of my wits. I broke out in a cold sweat- what shall I do? How can I save myself? I was only a little boy of 10. There was only one way- to proceed homeward at all costs and risks. I was wearing my overcoat and an imitation fur "Kitchma" (a Russian winter hat). I decided to pull it over my ears, and pretend that I am a gentile boy. However my disguise was not so good. I decided to run through the main street where all the Petlura soldiers were concentrated. However the good Lord was looking out for me. When I approached a group of Petluras, one of them, apparently still having a decent feeling in his heart, said to me, "run home to Mama 'zidok'" (little jew). I ran as fast as I could, and when I breathlessly arrived home I was taken in and fed some Potato Soup. Home and soup never felt so good. The situation got worse. I had no clothes. I was wearing a pair of pants made out of a potato sack. Mother had no shoes. When I walked around barefooted it was one thing, but for a woman to be barefooted it was another thing. One day I was rummaging through the barn of Uncle Moshe and found an old black pair of pants. I quickly ran home and told mother. She diplomatically asked Uncle if I could have those pants. He agreed. They were beautiful black pants. They fitted me. There was only one flaw in them. They had a hole in the seat. I gave them to mother's sister who was the seamstress in the family. She put a patch in the seat. That did not stop me. I found some black ink and made the blue patch black. For mother, I made a pair of sandals from some old boards that I found. At least, she had something to put on her feet when she went into town. My schooling was interrupted. On and off. Most of the time I did not go to school because there was no money to pay for my tuition. I had the dubious honor to be the only student called out in my class at the Commerce school, to leave the school because my tuition had not been paid. In the Spring of 1920, mother's sister's husband Avram, came back from his smuggling trip from behind "Quarantined" Russia. Uncle Avram, smuggled himself across the Dniester River into Bessarabia, where he bought up many articles and he smuggled himself back into Russia. He made a living that way. He informed mother that there is a way for us to go to America, if we can gather some 2000 Russian Tsarist Rubles. Tsarist rubles was the money that had value. In 1920, when the Bolsheviks took over the government, they issued their own money. It was worthless to the outside world. We gasped at this wonderful news and mother began to sell everything she possessed. Furniture such as a hand made Buffet and Breakfront, an Armoire, 2 beds and bedding, all her trousseau which consisted of silk dresses and linens which fortunately remained in grandfather Anchel's house. That these articles were stored in my father's parents home was most fortunate, for my mother's parents home was burned to the ground, during the last Petlura raid. Preparations were quickly made and consummated. One fine Summer day we stealthily walked away from grandfather Anchels' house. We had said our tearful goodbye before. Mother never had a chance to say good-by to her mother, who was in Odessa at that time. The reason we walked away stealthy was because no one was supposed to know that we were leaving Russia. Otherwise the authorities would have stopped us. The wagon with our small possessions and Uncle Avram were awaiting us, on the road away from the city of Balta, and we began the trip to the border-town of Kamenka. Kaminka was a small town bordering on the Dniester River. This River separated Bessarabia, the Province which belonged to Rumania from the Ukraine. The important job was to cross this river and we would be outside Russia. Now, we would say the "Iron Curtain". We would be in a free world, where we can buy anything and send a letter to my father. When we arrived in Kaminka we stayed at a pre-arraigned Home. After several days we were moved to another Home, and told to wait for the appropriate moment, when it will be safe to cross the River. Three days later, shortly after midnight, we were told to get dressed and were taken bag and baggage to a peasant Hut at the Rivers' edge. Within the hour, two burly young men put all our belongings, mother and myself, into a row boat and we began to cross the River. We were very fortunate not to have been met by the Rumanian Border Patrol. We soon reached land, and the two young men took our bundles on their backs and told mother and me to follow them. We walked over fields for miles until we finally reached the first farm House. When we reached the gate of the House, the two peasants put the bundles down on the ground, and they went to wake the farmer (Jewish) up. They told mother to cry and beg the farmer to take us in. Mother was a natural when it came to tears. She had no difficulty to start pouring it on. The farmer was however a gentle soul and he woke his wife and took mother and me into his house. Our baggage included. He even tipped the two louts who were supposed to bring us to the Town of Vertajen. The farmer's wife made a beautiful repast for us. The farmer told us that the following day is a jewish Holiday- Tisha B'av. We will stay under cover and after the Holiday is over he will see that we get to Vertajen. We went to sleep and the next day, I played with their little boy who was my age, in the barn. At night we had a beautiful delicious dairy dinner. The following morning we were put on a wagon drawn by two powerful big bay horses and taken to Vertajen where we stayed at the Home of a nice Jewish couple, friends of the Farmer. Mother was able to post a letter to my father in New York. From Vertajen we came by slow process to the city of Kishinev, where we arrived at a refugee Center. The place was mobbed with Homeless Russian Jewish families. My mother took it upon herself to go beg the chairman of the Refugee Committee to provide us with shelter and food. Before we left (we were instructed how to get to his house) we made a sign how to find the Center on the way back. We saw a mottled Red Cow lying on the corner, and so we felt that the cow will wait for us. However it took some time to get to this Chairman's house and when we got there, we cooled our heels before he deigned to see us and when he did, he told us he can not find shelter for us. We went back to the Refugee Center dejected. But when we looked for our mottled Red Cow, lo and behold, she was gone. We were new in the area. We did not speak the language and it took us quite some time to find the place. But when we got into the Central Hall, a miracle happened. A man was calling out our name and when we approached him, he took us in his arms and told us to come and live at his home. Who was he? He was a buddy of Uncle Berel, the Bodner (barrel maker), and how he knew that we were at the Refugee Center, we did not ask him. Nor till today, I do not know how he found out we were at the Refugee Center. Anyway, we stayed at his house like a member of the family. The whole Summer and until we actually departed for America. I was put into a cheder (Hebrew School), where I attended school daily. Saturday, I went to the Services at the Synagogue, where our host belonged. We had a really enjoyable summer. This man Haskel- was a barrel maker for the wine industry and very often he took me along to the wineries where we tasted the grapes and the juice of the grapes. It was a wonderful Summer for me in Kishinev. I attended the movies. I took long walks on the beautiful Boulevards. Kishinev is a large cosmopolitan city. I took rides legal and illegal on the tramways. There was only thing which made me fell abashed. I was walking around the streets barefooted. It was alright to walk around barefooted in Balta, but in Kishinev it was not proper. However, I had no choice in the matter. I had no shoes. The ones I wore when I left Balta (given to me as a going away present), were long ago torn and completely devastated, by that long march from the Border to Kamenka. I walked barefooted until I was ready to leave Kishinev for America. The Refugee Center gave me a pair of old sneakers, and that is how I came to America. Later on in life when I was more affluent I kept on buying shoes, in remembrance of the days I walked barefooted. The good moment arrived on the first days of Rash Hashona when we received a letter and a bank draft from my father in New York. It was a momentous happy occasions. Mother then set the machinery working to buy transportation to a port where we could take a Boat to America. The problem of getting an American Visa to enter the U.S.A., became an insurmountable catastrophe. The American Consul refused to recognize a Russian Passport. It became a "catch 22" affair. Back and forth, Back and forth, were we sent from one office to another. The Consul said that if the French or Belgium Consul will honor our Russian passport, he will. However, the French and Belgium Consuls told mother, that if the U.S. Consul will honor it, they will. What do you do then? Here we had the letter from my father, we had the money to travel and there was a new obstacle. Apparently there were other Russian Jewish Refugees who tried to get to America, and they were in the same fix we were. It was suggested that we got to Galatz, a City in Rumania, situated on the Danube River. We set out from Kishinev, with reserved seats on a train for Galatz. We were seen off by our dear host Haskel and his wife, and bid au revoir. No sooner did they leave and the train started, when a bunch of Rumanian hooligans (anti-semites), came into our car and threw us out of our seats and us bag and baggage onto the platform. That is where we froze, because it was late fall, and the wind came whistling thru the door. We traveled as far as Jassi. There we were thrown off the train altogether. We were stranded in a strange City, unable to speak the language and unable to continue to Galatz. We were huddled like sheep (with a few others), in the train station, when the police came to our aid and escorted us to a place of shelter- the local Jail. We were happy to get out of the cold and at least we had a roof over our heads,- even if the windows and doors had steel bars. This was 1920, and train service in Europe was chaotic. We were guests of the Jailor for several days until we were informed that there will be a train for Galatz. We finally reached that City during the middle of the night and were marched to a Refugee Center, where we were taken in, given food, and a place to sleep. We stayed in that City about 6 weeks. Mother and the other people started to see about our Passports. With the help of some political figure, who was handsomely remunerated, we finally were able to obtain a Romanian passport with the coveted American Visa. The good day arrived when a group of about a hundred people engaged a travel agent and he was supposed to see us thru all the countries, customs, trains, etc. from Bucharest to Antwerp, Belgium. We were sealed in a car without toilet facilities. When I say sealed, it was literally so. Travel was so bad at that time, that people traveled on the roof of the railroad cars, in between cars, and underneath cars. The cars was sealed, so that we would not be forced to leave the train, by some other hooligans. When we had to urinate, we did it,- men, women, and Children, in a tin can. When nature called and defecation was imperative, a lower window was opened, the person held by 2 people so that he should not fall out, and lowered until he emptied his bowels. This went on until we arrived in Budapest, Hungary. We were supposed to change trains- and it was at this point, that mother and I became separated. I lost her. I got into a train on the opposite side of the plat- form and before I had a chance to find mother, the train started with me on it. I had no chance to jump off. I was frantic but could do nothing until the first stop. When I got off and walked a distance of 10 miles along the tracks, I finally came to the Budapest Station. There was mother tearfully awaiting me. From Budapest to Antwerp, the ride was uneventful. We were in western countries where civilization was on a higher plane. We arrived in Antwerp in the middle of December. We shopped in a beautiful department store. The first I had ever seen. Mother bought me a suit, to replace the rags I came with. On January 4, 1921 we finally set sail for America and arrived at Ellis Island, on Jan. 20, 1921. After a three day stay at Ellis Island, where all immigrants were processed. My father came for us and paid all the necessary entry taxes. We then took a boat to the Battery, where he hailed a taxi, which brought us to 506 Concord Ave., in the Bronx. My first impression of New York looking thru the taxi window was good. Even though it was the middle of winter, the weather was clear and cold. People were well dressed and well fed, and New York was at that time, clean. We arrived at Aunt Sara's house, where we stayed until we got our own apartment in the same building. I was outfitted with new clothes in the style of the era. High backed shoes, black stockings and knee pants. I slept in the late Cousin Annie's crib, although I was twelve years old. By the First of February, I was enrolled in P. S. 27, on Saint Ann's, Ave. My schooling progressed very well. I loved school. I was a good student. I learned the English language quickly and within a matter of 4 years, I graduated Junior High School with honors, and a gold medal in Civics. From Junior High school to a special High School for exceptional students- Townsend Harris, and then to the college of the City of New York, where I graduated in 1931, with a Degree of Bachelor of Science. My first experience in P. S. 27, was dramatic. I was placed in a special class for the foreign born, where I attended from 8:30 A.M. to 12. The 2 teachers were able to converse in Yiddish and thus were able to teach us the rudiments of the English language. I was placed in a 3A class, in the afternoon. I remember the Red haired teacher, who was of Irish descent. She smiled at me and placed me in the rear of the class. There was another foreign born boy in this class, and the two of us sat stone faced trying to understand what the Teacher was saying. But to no avail. Day in, and day out, we sat there like dummies. Finally we decided to show the teacher that we were not dummies. We worked out 4 arithmetic problems, and I was elected as a committee of one, to bring it up to the teacher, and show her what we know. She accepted the papers graciously, and showed more attention to us from that time on. School was about 10 blocks from where we lived. Yet I was always early. Often I was the first one in school when the gates were still locked. I tried very hard to concentrate and before long, I was able to understand the language and able to speak it. It was at the end of my first semester, at P.S.27, when I met my friend Eli Senter. He was in tears and in the Hallway of the school. I consoled him like an older brother. He did not get promoted. We became fast friends. My foreign class teacher once called me out of the class and told me that she thought I was the only boy suitable to go to Summer Camp. I did not know what Summer Camp was all about. She explained everything to me and suggested that I speak to my parents about it. She recommended that I be sent there. I was an old twelve year old boy, very mature in financial matters. I asked the teacher how much the Summer Camp would cost, and she said it would be about $250.00. I immediately told her that it would not be necessary to ask my parents. I knew the answer would be an emphatic-No. They did not possess $250.00. That was the end of Summer Camp. I never attended either a day camp or sleep-in camp. It wasn't until my Junior Year at College that I attended Military Summer Camp in Plattsburg N.Y. for 6 weeks- with army pay. My Bar Mitzvoh, came about in October, 1921. Five days after my sister Evelyn was born. My father took me to the Balter Synagogue in Manhattan, where I read the Haftorah very fluently, with the right intonation. We came home after the Services, had dinner and took an afternoon nap. Mother was still in the Hospital after her confinement. There was no party. I didn't even get one present. That was my Bar Mitzvoh. I loved my baby sister Evelyn. I cared for her. I took her in her carriage for a walk. I was the original baby sitter for my parents when they went out Saturday or Sunday evenings. My father was working as a house Painter and worked very hard to make a living for his family. We had a nice, clean, comfortable home. I had two sets of clothes- for every day wear, and for Saturday and Sunday. When I wore my Sat. or Sun. Suit, I brushed it and hung it up in the closet till the next time I wore it. I never tore my clothes or used them up ahead of time, because I knew that money was scarce and it would be difficult to replace them. I made friends with two other foreign born boys, Irving Rothstein who was always a gentle soul and Abie Bialkin who was very polite and studious. It is interesting to note that I never made friends with the American born boys on my block where I lived. They wer the ball playing type and I sought the Cultural type of boy. My studies progressed very well. I was skipped several times, and in the sixth grade, I made the entire year in 6 months. Then I was transferred to the Elijah D. Clark Jr. High School where I excelled in my studies and graduated with Honors. I then went to Townsend Harris High School where I had an excellent Pre-college Education. My summers' were spent looking for summer jobs. I always found a summer job. Not a fancy type, not in an office as a white collar worker, but always in a factory as a blue collar worker. There I saw the dreary unhappy life of a factory worker and it encouraged me to continue with my studies. I was very slim as a young man -"skin and bones". Once when I was applying for a job as an assistant shipping boy, there were at least a dozen other boys, bigger, stronger and older than I was. The employer went around feeling everyone's muscles. Mine were paper thin. However, I looked at him with such beseeching eyes, that he choose me for the job. I saved every dollar I earned during the summer. The pay was about 12 dollars a weekend my total expenses were 50 cents for carfare, and 50 cents for lunch. The rest of my pay went into the Bank. I saved for my future education. I wanted to be a Doctor since I was a little boy. No job was dirty or mean, just as long as I was able to earn a decent wage. I worked as an errand boy, a shipping clerk, an elevator operator. I worked as a Florist during my entire 4 years at College. I enjoyed my little sister growing up. I was her protector and her mentor. I helped her with her home work and if some kid hit her, I beat that kid up to a pulp. I was a big brother to her, and this relationship has existed between us 'till now. I entered City College with joy and expectations to be admitted to Medical School 4 years hence. But I soon found out to my dismay and despair that if you were a pre-medical student, you were marked "Persona non grata"- unwanted. The odds of getting into a medical school was just 1000 to one. This was in 1931. I tried to transfer two years later to New York University, but they saw thru my ruse, and refused to admit me. I and 800 other medical school applicants were told in my senior year that there were 3 main reasons why we could have no hopes of being admitted to medical school. One, because we were poor. Two, because we were Jewish. Three, because either we were foreign born, or our parents were immigrants. So stated Dr. Robinson, president of the College of the City of New York. The 4 years at City College were a drudge and a misery. I had excellent grades, but it was to no avail. I was not rejected, but I was also not admitted to a N.Y. Medical School. I decided to study abroad- in Paris France. The only pleasant and beautiful thing that happened to me while I was a student at City College, was the meeting of a beautiful and talented young lady at the home of my friend Eli. It was on Lincoln's Birthday, Feb. 12, 1928, when I came to visit Eli. I walked into his apartment I saw someone playing the piano very beautifully. In the living room, seated at the piano, I saw a beautiful blonde haired, blue eyed, pink cheeked young lady, playing the piano. I was thrilled at seeing such an ethereal being and hearing such heavenly music. I was introduced to Frances Lieberman. She was just 16 years old, a week after her 16th birthday. I met my wife. I did not date her immediately. We saw each other among our friends. It wasn't until the Summer of 1929, that I asked Frances to go out with me. I took her to hear a concert at the Lewinsohn Stadium. We enjoyed the Concert very much, and we began to see each other more frequently from then on. Before my graduation from College, I gave my sweetheart Frances a beautiful watch. That was my engagement present to her. We pledged our troth to each other. In 1930 I went to Plattsburg, N.Y., for military summer camp. I enjoyed living in a tent under the stars and near Lake Champlain. It was a novel experience for me. The fresh air, the exercise and the 3 good meals daily added 15 pounds to my thin frame. It was the nicest 6 weeks I ever had in my whole life- and I was paid too. Frances had a job at a Hotel in Fallsburg, N.Y., with an orchestra. She was the pianist. I wanted very much to spend some time with her at the Hotel Richmond, after camp closed. I wrote to my parents a little white lie, that camp will close 10 days later. I came to the Hotel. Enjoyed seeing my beloved, and thought that I was in heaven. A week later, I received a telegram from my mother, "come Home!" I did not know that the army chaplain will send letters to every parent of the Cadet Corp, informing them when to expect their sons home. Mother made inquires from Mrs. Lieberman, and thus the telegram. My mother and father did not object to my seeing Frances, but they thought I should wait until I was a doctor and then marry a very rich girl. It took a long time for them to be reconciled to my loving Frances. After my final rejection or non acceptance to a medical school came in, I decided to seek my fortunes abroad. At first I tried to enroll at the University of Liege, Belgium. I set sail on Oct. 2, 1931, for France and aboard ship I met some nice boys who were going to study in Paris. I arrived in Paris Oct. 8, and stayed there for 3 days, when I decided to leave for Liege. My acceptance at Liege was not certified due to some discrepancies. When I met the dean, he told me that I would have to take an exam in Geology. That next to Physics, was my worst subject in College. When I heard that, I packed my bags and returned to Paris, where after additional difficult- ies, purely technical and typical French. Laissez Faire. I finally got accepted and began classes on the first Tuesday in November. The mode of teaching medicine in France is as follows: a student or "stagiare", begins in a medical ward at a Hospital from 9-12 A.M. From 2-6 P.M., he attends lectures and classes. I was assigned to the Hospital by Professor Bezancon. I was dressed in the typical French Medical fashion. A long white coat, a long white apron, and a white skull cap. I was seated in the small amphitheater with all the other 50 odd neophyte medical students, when at 9 o'clock promptly, the Professor and his entourage entered. He greeted us warmly, wished us success in our future medical studies, then he announced that he will lecture on acute Labar Pneumia. For one hour he spoke very beautifully. All French Professors are Orators. Although I studied French in Junior High School, High School and College, the only word I understood was temperature. I did not understand any other word he uttered. After the lecture he had his assistant divide the group in small units and each one was assigned to a ward. When I came up to the ward, I found the Professor's Assistant known as Chef-de Clinique- having a group of students at the bedside of a female patient. He was giving us the preliminary instruction how to examine a sick person. After his demonstration, he asked each of us to listen to the patients' heartbeat. Although a French Doctor, Laennac, discovered the Stethoscope- a neophyte student is not permitted to use this instrument. What he uses is a large square linen napkin, twenty by twenty inches, which he places on the patient's chest and puts his ear directly on the patient's chest. I also listened, but so help me, I did not hear a thing. I was so excited by my first endeavor as a physician. Then the Chef-de-Clinique said something to the group, and all the students hurriedly left the ward. Only I stood still. I did not comprehend what the Chef said. I ran after him and asked him in my broken French, what he said to the group. He looked at me and said, "suivez- le Patron". I still did not understand - then he left. I ran after him again. Held him by the lapels of his white coat, and again I pleaded with him to tell me where to go. Again he said, "suivez le Patron"- and left. I stood in the middle of the ward totally discouraged and defeated. The women patients giggled at my discomfiture. I wanted to join my fellow students but I did not know where to go. In desperation I decided to get my hat and coat and go home. Where was home? At the Hotel D'Egypte in the Latin Quarter. I shared a room with my friend Allan Rowland (then know as Abraham Rosenberg). When he came in and I told him what happened to me in the Hospital we took out a French-English dictionary and then we laughed our heads off at my ignorance. The Chef said, "Suivez le Patron"- Simply, he meant to follow the Boss, the Professor on his grand rounds. In the afternoon, I attended my first lecture in Anatomy. The same thing happened. I did not understand a word this Professor Olivier said- and he was a wonderful orator. When I came back to my dingy Hotel room I cried. I said to myself how can I become a doctor when I don't understand a word my teachers say. However, by diligence and burning the mid-night oil, in due time (4 months) my ear became attuned to the language and I was able to take notes at a lecture. By the end of the school year, I loved Paris and its medical school. I refused to give up my French medical education for a transfer to Flower -5th Ave. medical school. My acceptance had finally come through. I passed all my exams with flying colors. I was ready to come home for the Summer vacation. What to bring my sweet- heart? I had planned to bring her something French. I bought her a negligee. I saved money for that by skipping lunch for several months. I chose a beautiful pink silk negligee with exquisite alencon lace. I chose that gown at a very fashion- able shoppe on the Champs Elysee. I paid 1000 francs- equivalent to 46 American dollars, which was a huge sum in 1932. My sweetheart liked it very much. She put it away in a drawer. She never wore it. I enjoyed my summer vacation and by the end of the summer, we decided to get married in Greenwich, Conn., but we were thwarted. After we got the license, we were told that there is a 3 day waiting period before the Justice of the Peace can marry us. We never came back to Greenwich. We finally made it in October, the day of my departure for Paris. We had to bring Francis' mother because the future bride was under age. We finally got married. I kissed the Bride, and took off for Paris. My second year in Paris was a pleasure. The language was no longer a problem. I did well in my studies, loved the hospital part of it, and did exceptionally well in my final exams. When I returned home, I began the uphill climb towards the Internship. In 1933, we had the worst of the depression. No one worked, and there was no money coming in. I worked in the out-patient Clinic at Lincoln Hospital. I gained a lot of experience and came to know everyone at the Hospital. The two years of summer experience spent at Lincoln Hospital paved the way for next Summer where I obtained a sub-Internship on the wards. The world political situation was at its worst. Hitler had become the Chancellor of Germany. The French President was assassinated as well as Doluss the Chancellor of Austria. The Political climate in Europe was getting hot. Roosevelt was President of the U.S. and the N.R.A. was the name of the game to give people some employment, as well as income. (National Reconstruction Act). Things were looking up in the U.S.A., but the clouds were getting darker in Europe. Some of my friends were planning to transfer to Lausanne, Switzerland. By doing that they could save 1 1/2 years, to grad- uation. At the University of Paris a medical degree took 5 1/2 years. The French do not hurry. All other Universities take 4 years. It was a difficult decision for me to make. I was very happy in Paris and I waited until I returned to Paris, before I made my decision to accompany my friend Elwood Roodner to Lausanne. There, I could get my degree in 4 years. My studies in Lausanne were also pleasant. It was a small beautiful City. The Medical School was much smaller than in Paris. There was a closer rapprochement with each Professor, and before the year was ended, I was happy to have transferred to Lausanne. My third Summer in New York was a successful one. I obtained a Sub-Internship at Lincoln Hospital. I spent 3 1/2 months on the wards and this paved the way for my two year Internship after Graduation. To get an Internship in those days was even more difficult than getting into a medical school. A written and oral examination was given during the Xmas Recess. There were no planes in those days. How in the world could I come back to the States to take these exams. So I decide on an alternate plan. At the end of my third summer at the Hospital, I visited each member of the medical Board in their respective offices. I wanted each one of them to see me (some of them knew me already from the time was sub-intern on the wards), and I told each one that I am applying for an Internship, but will not be able to come home to take the Exams. They were all glad to see me and realized that 3000 miles separated me from the Xmas Exams. My scheme worked. On Dec. 27, 1934, I received a cable, telling me that I was appointed to a 2 year Rotating Internship. I was extremely happy and all my student friends hailed me as a conquering hero. I worked very hard to build up a practice. I worked day and night-seven days a week- 365 days a year. It took twenty-six years before I took a month vacation. Our daughter Audrey was born on March 8, 1939, and our daughter Gloria was born on February 19, 1944. At first we spent our summers at Rockaway Beach, and in 1947, we bought a house at Lake Mahopac. It was a beautiful house, situated around a lake, and we spent many a happy summer there. We sold the house in 1955. We build our permanent home on Pelham Parkway in 1950, and we moved into it in 1951. After we sold our Mahopac home, we spent the following summer at the Surf Club in Atlantic Beach. The following year, we joined the Mamaroneck Beach Club. We enjoyed its facilities until 1964, when we felt it was no longer needed. Audrey was married in 1962, and Gloria was married in1963. In 1964, we took our second European vacation. Audrey settled in California, and so we spent the month of August with her and her family. The practice on Vyse Ave. flourished but the community began to have a drastic ethnic change. My practice was economically improved. Frances' mother who lived with the office began to show her age. She no longer was able to take care of the office, her memory was waning. In 1965 I built my second office downstairs in my Pelham Parkway home. The second office thrived beautifully. My practice was rejuvenated. I enjoyed working for 7 1/2 years until on May 15, 1973 I was stricken ill with Dissecting Aneurism of the Aorta. I spent 5 weeks in the Hospital. I am very thankful to the Lord that I came out of it alive. It took one year for me to regain my strength. I am now retired and look forward to seeing my children and grandchildren. [transcribed to digital format Jan. 7, 2000 by Dave Lewak, son of Audrey]