You Smelt of Ether and I of Booze

This letter, written in February of 1945, is one of the most emotionally wrought of the letters that I’ve come across yet. After pages of describing his love for Sylvia, Alex talks about Adrienne’s birth in an honest but winsome way.

Feb 27 /45

My darling sweet wife,

I just finished a few letters to the folks and here I am back with you.

            Darling I can’t get over your two pictures, you look so lovely it just breaks my heart having to miss all this time, by not being with you.

            I am terribly in love with you and how I want to make you happy I can’t describe. Perhaps its sadism on my part, but I am almost glad of this long wait for you. How much more will I appreciate your loveliness and kindness when war! Darling this is a good lesson, perhaps a hard one, but I am sure it will make a better man and husband of me when I get back. I always tried to be somewhat considerate to you, but I have been many a time impatient, picky on small things and many ways also inconsiderate. That is all over, knowing what fine girl you are, there is nothing in the world that I would deny from you. When we will be together after the war is over, there is no power on earth that will be able to take me from your side, not even for a few days.

            Believe me darling, I do regret every moment that I did not spend at your side.

So if they tell me that the streets of Chicago are filled with gold for me to pick, you’ll have to be with me to do it! Do you remember how flippantly I threw away a whole year almost of our married life? Doing things worth while yes, but no matter how much they were, it wasn’t worth to miss all that love you could have given me.

            I’ve read the story of Zlatko , and he is the same old boy, full of ego, but really good at heart. I am glad he is in ??? and doing well. I really take pride in him. When I go to England, I am going to send him a little contribution I know he will be glad to hear from me.

            Darling you and me how I felt when Cookie was born. I was terrified. When last seen you in the ?? my room I went out feeling so empty so full of fear that I can’t describe it. The reaction next day, and the same evening was the result. I don’t think I ever been that drunk. Do you remember? You smelt of ether and I of booze. Darling, I wished it were the opposite (that sounds funny?). The day we took Cookie home was a real day of happiness, I never was so glad to pay the bills than that day. Funny, but you were the only woman on whom somehow I never noticed that you were pregnant. You always looked beautiful to me.

Darling, I am glad the folks liked the perfume. Of course, I tried to remember everybody. It was time that I should. I wish I had just a little more money and I could bring you a few more things, but everybody will have to be satisfied to see me, because my funds are low, and this souvenir business is a big drain, if one has to think of everybody. Now don’t get brighter ideas, I don’t want you to send me money. I have some coming to me but I am not drawing it out for the time being.

            When I get to England I’ll try to buy some material for my mother, but don’t tell her that as yet, because I might change my mind or won’t have the stamps, I just want to know if you approve of it, although I know you will.

            I hope you will make up that suit for spring. I’ll see how much I can draw and if sufficient I’ll send you a money order, to pay the taylor [sic]. At the same time don’t be afraid to spend out of eighty dollars because I have quite a little money in the Armed Guard Center. Let see, I have about $250 coming to me when I come home or more. Darling, then the sky will be the limit I’ll spend it all on you. Clothes,

good entertainment, shoes, and the things you want for the home. Love and lots of it free… just for the asking – Oh I hope this time flys[sic] away fast and I can be home to take good care of you.

            We won’t be long here so if there is any interruption in the mail you know why. I hope that when in England we get our orders to go back home, what joyous day it will be!

            I am going to answer your sweet letters all of them one by one that will give me something to write.

            Tomorrow I am going to town to see some of the sights. There is an old castle I want to see and a cathedral both 800 years old and a few museums.

            Tell mom not to mind if Eugene does not write often. It is really difficult for him. Its cold in his quarters and all the facilities to induce one to do so are missing. I gave him my fountain pen because his was broken. He gave me the “Cross and the Arrow” so if you didn’t mail it yet, do not do so.

            Darling, I am so happy that the baby is well but I hope you will from now on tell me if some thing is wrong at home.

If I know you will write me about, than I won’t be worried about. How did she catch the chicken pox? Did you have the house quarantined? I am so glad you had mom to help you. It is swell of her really. I hope someday I can make it up and do something worthwhile for her.

            Darling, it is so hard from such distance to advise you, but makes me feel so sad tat you go without so many things. Like having to buy shoes for 3.25 and feeling it in the budget. If I am not coming home yet, I’ll make another attempt to change my pay card and allot some more money to you. I do want so much that you should be well dressed, and a little more carefree.

            In one of the letters you mention you had the doctor to see the baby. Was it a Navy doctor? Darling, this is the season for it, because of the flue to yourself and Cookie. The least sign of it demand real attention, they got to give it to you, you live near enough the hospital that they can send a doctor to see you. I am not really worried, but I will be, if you don’t reassure me, that you are not neglecting yourself.

            Dearest, my emotions are so pent up that I could cry from sheer frustration when I think that

It may be some time before I see you. The only thing that restrains me is the knowledge that the war cannot last long. I think we would all go crazy if the outlook wouldn’t look so bright.

So my sweet wife, we just got to hold our horses and be patient for a little while yet. There are a lot of joyous days ahead, we just have to get over this difficult period.

The two beautiful sweethearts, I love both of you dearly. Take good care of yourselves, I am going to be home soon, and I want the whole fleet to envy my beautiful family.

            A million kisses and huggings,

            Alex

***

Although this letter is quite personal, there are a few references that Alex throws in that put the letter in its era. Alex mentions how “flippantly” he “threw away” the first year of their marriage. He feels he should not have traveled so much for the Russian War Relief. This leads him to reference a man named Zlatko. I believe that he is referring to a Croatian violinist and political activist during World War II who fought for medicinal supplies to be sent to resistance forces abroad. He was also a chair for the Russian War Relief.

Alex also mentions that Eugene (who he excuses for not having written to his mother so much) gave him The Cross and the Arrow, a book by Albert Maltz. Maltz was one of the Hollywood Ten, writers and directors who were blacklisted in 1947 after refusing to give testimony to front of HUAC. Alex mentions the book only to tell Sylvia that she need not send it to him because he already got a copy. I like the idea of books being traded during the war.  Alex gave Eugene a fountain pen and Eugene gave him a book – an endearing and thoughtful trade that also tells us that they saw each other recently. This letter was written two and a half years before Maltz was blacklisted.

I was tickled by the line “this souvenir business is a big drain, if one has to think of everybody.” Alex is proud to have remembered to buy gifts for his family but admits that it takes a toll on his funds. While the instinct makes sense, and souvenirs are meant to tell someone you were thinking of them, it strikes me as just the slightest bit strange – to buy these gifts when traveling for reasons of war. When Alex mentions the sites he will be visiting, they seem a poor consolation prize for having to be away from home. Just as fabric is a poor substitute for a son and perfume a poor substitute for a husband.

The end of the war was approaching but in this letter, even one day seems like too long.

The National Archives

While this is a Brooklyn-centric blog. I hope to consider the nation’s history beyond that of my family and New York. That said, I now confess that the last two posts have been written from Washington D.C. where I’ve relocated for the summer … or something.

Gasp. Pause. Sigh.

Now that we’ve processed this move I’m turning my attention towards my experiment with separation from New York. Amidst my aimless dawdling and staving off what I now call, “Sudden Onset Future Anxiety” (SOFA) I have done a little exploring. I want to review one place that I have loved so far – the National Archives.

I had a delightful time at the National Archives. I loved the clever security guards, the great access to archival materials, the masses of people who wanted to explore the building and the documents. Once there the day slipped right through my fingers and all other plans fell to the wayside.

Right now there is an exhibit up called “What’s Cooking, Uncle Sam? The Government’s Effect on the American Diet.” On display are Upton Sinclair’s letter to Teddy Roosevelt asking for regulation of factories and food, and many tidbits about rationing during WWII. Turns out that Americans ate more fruits and veggies during  WWII because sugar was tightly rationed (after all, it was needed for explosives) and people were working hard in their Victory Gardens (see previous post: Borscht Belt).

My main problem with the exhibit was that it gave the viewer a sense that today all of our food is well-regulated and safe. The exhibit was characterized by the  ”look how far we’ve come” syndrome that is consistently touted in history books, museums, and the media. However, after being overwhelmed by other museums in this city I was relieved by the lower key, more manageable Archives. If you are looking for a fun way to spend some time, explore the National Archives’ site.

If you visit the Archives I recommend stopping by the Learning Center, a place where friendly people greet you, offer to xerox anything you find. They introduce the public to the basics of an archive. Without being overwhelming, this little space makes it possible for anyone to feel like they can explore documents.  Even though all the documents are photo copies, there are gloves and plastic covers to give you the full experience of an investigative historian. I pulled out the “New York” file and there were about ten documents, a pretty standard set of documents – like a photograph of people arriving at Ellis Island. So it isn’t a place I would go to write a dissertation but I applaud this sincere effort to engage people with the archival materials!

While waiting to see the Constitution, the security guard warned us all not to form any lines to view the artifacts. She explained that there are “viewers” and there are “readers” and “Heaven knows, if you are a viewer you don’t want to get stuck behind a reader!” I wonder who conducted that museum research project.

So here goes a new chapter. But for nostalgia’s sake, here are some cool photos of New York in the 1940s!

http://www.businessinsider.com/new-york-city-1940s-photos-2011-7?op=1

I was never demoralized

Here we have a short and cheerful letter from Sylvia that she included with a letter in Hungarian from Alex’s mother. I included a page of the Hungarian letter though I can’t translate it.

In this letter Sylvia is excited that Alex will return. She describes a lovely family scene with Alex’s parents beaming with pride over Adrienne. Sylvia mentions that she has begun to worry about her appearance. This casual note reveals quite a bit. Sylvia mentions that people have told her that she is looking more “perky” and it is because of Alex’s return. While explaining that she may not have been her most dapper and happy self, she is careful to avoid complaining. Just as the government would want her to, Sylvia makes sure to mention that she was “never demoralized,” simply “negligent about [her] appearance.” Sylvia recognizes that her vanity is healthy and thereby implicitly acknowledges that her apathetic attitude towards her appearance was unhealthy. Alex’s return, Sylvia says, gives everything meaning and form. While this is a very happy letter, one which exudes warmth, family bonds and a glowing spirit, it reveals some of the depression that Sylvia must have gone through.

Sylvia includes Hungarian and Italian in this letter. Personally, I admire her sincere efforts to learn about Alex’s family, background and values. In this letter, Adrienne serves as a vehicle for Sylvia to feel closer to her in-laws. While Alex’s mother never learned much English, Sylvia (who came from a Russian/Lithuanian family) is attempting to bridge a lot of cultures.

…

My darling-

Your folks were over today and they grow more and more pleased with Adrienne’s development. And the more pleased they are with her, the more please I am with them. Friday I took out my suit and the more I look at it, the better I like it. Right now I’m crazy about it. Your family thinks it’s beautiful, and it’s really made well. Pop is busy now drawing pictures for his favorite granddaughter, while mom sits by and beams – “[?]” she keeps exclaiming… Adrienne is in 7^th heaven with all this exclaiming over her. We’re all quite excited at your imminent arrival and that’s all I can think and talk about. It’s quite a wonderful feeling, honey and now again things have begun to take on some meaning and form. I’ve started to worry about my haircomb and my make-up and that’s good,

...it’s a healthy sign, haha, because at times I’ve become negligent. I was never demoralized but negligent about my appearance. Of course, the lack of clothes helped me in that direction – but with the news of your homecoming, I’ve perked up so much that everyone has stopped to tell me how well I look. Dearest, it’s all due to you – it’s love for you that makes this change in your wife. Dearest husband, I love you so much and would love to have you here to show you how much. – I’ll write you at greater length, sweetest husband. Will kiss you farewell now, as I want to enclose this note in mom’s letter to you.

Arrivederci, mio [sic] amore. Io te amo – [Until we see each other, my love. I love you]

Sylvia

Home Sweet Home: Little Boxes

When I first began this blog I was working as a researcher at the Brooklyn Navy Yard for a museum that will open in September. There I was, working right next to the place where my grandmother had lived and written these letters. It was also my job to research topics that directly impacted her life. She and I were both 24 when our New York lives took place in that geographical location.

I went with my dad and my Aunt Adrienne (Cookie) to see the building they had lived in. The community was a close one. Parents could let their children play outside and watch from the window. When the ice cream truck came by, my dad recalls, parents could wrap a coin in a napkin and toss it down to their child below.

133 Navy Walk, where these siblings grew up.

P.S. 67 and the local branch of the Brooklyn Public Library – Walt Whitman Library- are located right next to the projects and students could, and can, walk easily from their homes to the building without crossing any big streets.

***

Public housing in New York became a major part of city life after World War II. As Joshua Freeman points out in Working Class New York, “Many GIs left for war still living with their parents, but returned seeking homes of their own in which to begin families.” (Freeman, The New Press, NY, 2000, pg. 105) This was absolutely the case for Alex and Sylvia who rarely had privacy while living with their families on the Lower East Side and in Brownsville, respectively. Unlike other housing shortages that New York had faced before, the people who needed housing (veterans) held political, social, and moral weight that served as a catalyst for the development of public housing.

After World War II the Servicemen’s Readjustment Act (a.k.a. the GI Bill) helped veterans enroll in college, receive unemployment compensation and obtain loans to buy houses. America had just triumphed over Fascism and its national identity was inherently tied to modern, national consumer culture. Additionally, privately owned homes represented a capitalist alternative to the communist Soviet ideology of government ownership.

Brief Musical Interlude:

“Little boxes on the hillside, little boxes made of ticky-tacky
Little boxes on the hillside, little boxes all the same.
There’s a green one and a pink one and a blue one and a yellow one
And they’re all made out of ticky-tacky and they all look just the same.” -Malvina Reynolds

So while there was a lot of housing built in a small time frame in New York, many white families concurrently began leaving the city for single family houses in the suburbs. These developments would become symbolic of the 1950s. Since tens of thousands of people were applying for a small number of apartments, Alex and Sylvia counted themselves among the lucky few.

Fort Greene Houses in Fort Greene, Brooklyn, with the Myrtle Avenue El in the foreground, March 13, 1958. The project contains 35 buildings covering 41 acres, and houses up to 13,000 people. It is now called Whitman Houses and Ingersoll Houses. ID# 02.003.26873 (http://www.laguardiawagnerarchive.lagcc.cuny.edu/PhotosVirtualExhibit/TourPhotosDetails.asp?TourPhoto=02.003.26873&TourPage=1)

Making Plans

This letter is a purely logistical one, written in August of 1944. As my life has been taken up by replacing my broken phone and trying to piece together my lost contact list, I figure this is an appropriate letter to post. Alex is trying to arrange for Sylvia to visit. He will rent a hotel room for the week while they wait for the Navy Yard projects to open up in New York so that Sylvia can move in. He is desperately concerned about getting her arrival information in time and takes up almost every line of this letter telling her how to let him know what train she will be on. And here I am complaining that I am not sure how to type texts on my new phone!

Image via Wikipedia

While telegrams could be messages that simply had to be sent in a timely manner, they were also means to convey news that could range from something as light as “Happy Birthday” to something as tragic as being informed that a family member was killed while fighting in the war.

I did a little reading about telegrams while writing this post. I learned that people used the word “STOP” to end sentences instead of periods because punctuation cost extra while a four letter word was free. Cool! In 2006, Western Union officially stopped delivering telegrams. So if you were planning to send one to me, sorry I hope you can find another way to reach me STOP

My darling sweetest wife,                                                Aug 6, 1944

            I received two letters from you and believe me that they made me happy. I am glad you approve of my plans.

            Here is something now I am suggesting. There is absolutely no way how to know how long I am going to stay here, perhaps a day, a month or a year.

            Therefore here is what I suggest: This coming Monday leave New York for here, you will arrive sometime around Wednesday. Perhaps the Penn. Station is best for the purpose, I mean the quickest. If you can get good accommodations leave before that. I mean any time convenient Friday, Saturday or Sunday. Whenever you decide, find out the time of the arrival of train to me stating that, so that I may apply for special liberty and so I would be waiting for you.

            What I am going to do is this. Thursday I am going to town and rent a room for us in the city for a week, it costs about $10.00 and you will stay here until the project opens up and then will move to the Navy Projects. It won’t be too expensive and somehow we did want to do so anyway.

So clearly: Leave any time from Friday on but wire as soon as possible the time, date and place of your arrival. OK?

I have to report for special duty – probably shore patrol so that is all, I might write earlier.

All my love and millions of kisses

            Alex

P.S. This will reach you wed so if you want to leave Thursday but darling wire to me! OK?

The Old Man Has Spoken

This letter was written on November 19th, 1944. According to the Washington Post, “Russian tanks and infantry smashed 4 miles through German lines 15 miles north of Budapest… in a powerful encircling movement which swept through 19 miles of the Vienna high road…”(Russians Only 19 Miles From Vienna Road. The Washington Post; Nov 19, 1944; ProQuest Historical Newspapers The Washington Post (1877 – 1994) pg. M1) Only 15 years after Alex came to the United States he was overseas participating in a war in which the city of his birth was being occupied by Nazi Germany. As the Red Army was advancing through Hungary to oust the German occupation, Alex was writing the following letter to Sylvia. It is incredible how different two accounts (one personal, one “objective”) of one day can be. The letter below is all about waiting. Waiting for mail, playing chess to pass the time, getting back into bed, and “just waiting again.” Alex mentions that he wrote that things were going to “happen” but nothing seems to be happen.

(I typed up this letter a while ago but I don’t think I published it. I apologize if I have and just can’t find it.)

My dearest sweetest wife,

Mike tells me to write even if I am saying things over and over again, because a woman wants to hear from his [her] man. Well, that goes both ways. But I haven’t received mail from you for a long time and I don’t really know what to write you about.

This waiting about is really becoming obnoxious (is that the word?) One day is so much like the next one that its not even funny. Getting up at 3:50 in the morning and be up til eight then either go to the bunk or hang around to see weather something will happen. Play a little chess (plenty of that) and hang about some more, then evening comes and into the sack again. The only pleasant diversion is when the mail comes and that is not often.

The first opportunity I get I am going ashore again and see perhaps a movie. Even beer is out of bounds, so you can imagine how much diversion a man can have here.

Dearest, in one of the letters I told you that things are beginning to happen, but now it seems that we get back into the same sot and are just waiting again.

Darling, how is my little angel? Do you know that I miss her very much? I am wondering how much she can speak by now and the things she can do.

How is she going to greet her daddy when he comes home. I hope she won’t be scared of me but if she is, I know what the reason is. I hope that by now she has plenty of warm clothing and I think of that quite often when the weather is stormy.

Darling wife, what else can I tell you that you don’t know already? I don’t even dare to ask you if you miss me, I just fear to hear that. So darling, write me a cheerful letter and tell me that this time has flown away and it isn’t hard to wait for my homecoming. Because really it doesn’t seem that its already three months that I am away from home. So the time will fly some more, just a little an the I’ll be home again.

With this last thought in my mind to keep me cheered up and looking at your pictures and thinking about a lovely wife and child and all the happiness they can give me, in waiting for me, etc. not bad at all.

So I conclude with millions of kisses and all the lovely a man can have for two of the sweetest girls on earth.

The Old Man (has spoken)

***

Remember how the Red Cross told women to write cheerful letters to their husbands fighting in the war? Well, so did Alex. He knows that the only way to keep his morale up is to think of his wife and daughter and hear that they are not having a hard time but are, in fact, cheerfully awaiting his arrival home and his re-entry to “normality.”

What a high and difficult standard that must be for the household to meet when he returns. With years spent idealizing home how can reality possibly meet those expectations? I think the honesty of the letters between Alex and Sylvia helped to check these unrealistic ideas and this fortified their relationship after Alex returned. However, when the letter writing was over in the years after the war, reality would continue to hit hard.

New Friends, Old Friends

On my trip to D.C. in April I made a new friend who kindly housed me for the entire four days I was there.  Rachel makes great jewelry and has a very entertaining blog.  Just wanted to thank her publicly for the shout out to Bk In L & W  and send any trendy readers over to her.  Find her on Etsy, also: http://cutpasterepeat.blogspot.com/

***

I also need to say that childhood friends have a profound impact on the person you become, whether you know it or not. I want to dedicate a post to Hope.  Her friends, Brooklyn, and the world will forever cherish her memory.

Powerful Katrinka

I adore this letter. Sylvia is so excited for Alex’s homecoming (though it seems far away and temporary). In the letter she is jubilant, loving and even a bit vain. I like hearing how she jokes about destroying Alex’s ship so he has to stay ashore and her warning that Adrienne won’t like it if he doesn’t shave. I love that she doesn’t want Adrienne to be “shy or retiring,” and calls her Powerful Katrinka. I had to look that one up – and at first I thought she might be referencing a book published in 1915 called “Katrinka – The Story Of A Russian Child.” The book is geared towards children and since Sylvia’s parents were Russian I imagine that this was a book she was familiar with. But, upon further investigation, I think that she is actually referring to a character from a daily comic called “Toonerville Folks” featuring (according to Wikipedia) “Terrible-Tempered Mr. Bang, the Physically Powerful Katrinka, Little Woo-Woo Wortle, Aunt Eppie Hogg (The Fattest Lady in 3 Counties) and Mickey McGuire, the town bully.”

Here she is, Katrinka herself, in toy form:

(I apologize for the formatting issues I had with this post.)

Thursday, April 26^th

Dearest Alex,

No letters yesterday, but two today. In one you admire Cookie as she sits on her grandfather’s lap – and in the other letter you tell me that you expect to be home for our darling’s birthday! Darling, I was so happy that I paid no attention to Cookie’s chatter until she just gave up and wet herself!

You needn’t worry about Mrs. Sylvia Rosner occupying herself with anything else but her husband when he comes home on leave. Everything will be called off for those wonderful days. I don’t know what plans to make for  us except that I want to be with you every minute of the time. But dearest, it’s going to be the hardest parting yet if you have to leave again. Now is no time to think of our parting, when you

haven’t even come home on leave. So enough of that. I’ve been kivitzing some of my friends who work in the Navy Yard. I’ve been told of one sailor who has been here for a number of months while his ship is being repaired – so I tell these Navy yard workers to use a blow torch and blast the S.S. Pa [Alex’s Ship] in half to keep my husband here a long time. Some joke! Sweetheart, I keep picturing your homecoming so many times that it seems as if I will greet you in a very offhanded fashion.  The first few times I pictured this scene, I saw myself overwhelmed with joy – the next few times I was surprised and tense – then later I was tearful – how I’ll act I still don’t know.

Anyway, I read Cookie part of your letter, where you say, “I want to soil her with Candy and ice cream.” So I told her when daddy comes home he’ll hug and kiss her and buy her candy and ice cream. She smiled and said “And malted too.” Hmm! She’s at a terribly possessive stage now. She won’t let other children approach me, but pushes them away shouting, “My Mommy!” And at times she won’t let anyone in to the downstairs hall shouting “My house!” And now nobody can touch your picture – it’s “My daddy!” It’s nothing to get upset about, as Gesell says all children go through this assertive period… but at times it’s embarrassing.

The other day she casually pulled a toy away from a strange child, saying “It’s mine. No you.” You might not react the same way I do, but I’m glad she’s not a shy or retiring baby as shed be pushed around too often. As it is she does a lot of pushing, but I’m there to make her understand she has to share and play well with other children. She does play nicely with them until they approach her certain box in the monkey cage – when she gives them a good wallop on the head or back! Or if they touch her carriage, she pushes them aside. Powerful Katrinka).

            Sweetheart, it’s a wonderful feeling when she puts her arms around your neck and kisses you. You’ll love it – but you’ll have to shave

Your wife didn’t protest too much at your beard, but your daughter will. When you get back, we’ll all go shopping together for cookie. I’ll make up a list of what we need since you’re coming home with so much money. Considering the debts you owe ($20 for me) I believe it will be closer to $350.00, and after banking some of it, and spending the rest, you’ll have nothing…The only thing I can think of now, besides clothes, is a linoleum for Cookie’s room and a chest of drawers…Well, we won’t splurge, but will buy some necessities sensibly. But what’s the sense in buying me nice things if you’re not around to see it? (Don’t lets buy cheap clothes for me. They don’t last and the money is wasted.) All in one breath I say “Don’t” and the next I saw “Do.”

Sweetest husband, the day of your homecoming will be the most excited one in my life. I want to look beautiful for you – so please let me know beforehand (if you can) so that at least my face will be washed. You’ll probably be all spiffed up when you come home, tall and straight in your uniform! I want you to be as proud of me as I am of you.

Sweetheart, if we could only be together for always after this… I’d even get up to make your breakfast. (Don’t say anything you’ll be sorry for, Sylvia.) I love you with all my heart, Alex, and wish to heaven that you’ll be allowed to work ashore. Dearest, I love you, you don’t know how much.

Goodnight, honey-

            Forever yours,

                        Sylvia

P.S. It took only 5 days for your letter to arrive. Love – S.

Happy Birthday, Blog

Well, I forgot to mark the 1 year anniversary of this blog. I think that the most appropriate way to commemorate the blog’s birthday is to meditate a little on community - the community, for instance, that has kept this blog going. Looking for clues about Alex and Sylvia’s communities gives the letters a purpose other than simply delving into their private lives.  The ways private and public get jumbled together is what I find most fascinating about New York. Sometimes it is difficult to separate the two, and sometimes it’s a privilege to have your private moments interrupted, interpreted, evaluated or even cheered on.

Alex and Sylvia’s different communities enter the letters in a beautiful way and help fill out a rich image of their world. From the sailors who help a drunk Alex to bed, to Adrienne befriending a rabbi on a train, to Sylvia relaying the neighborhood gossip, all of the people who enter the letters give me a glimpse of what they were like as people not interacting with their families.

On a run through Prospect Park this week I went through an empty tunnel where a man was practicing saxophone. He wasn’t playing for money. He had just found a private/public (and echo-y) space to play. As someone who only practices instruments when I know my roommates are not around and when I hope that the rest of the building has gone out, I can understand this man’s impulse. Sometimes a public area affords more privacy than one’s own home. This got me thinking about other public displays of private lives (hmm… like writing a blog).  As luck would have it, there was a totally charming NYTimes article about crying in public and the anonymity (sometimes labeled “privacy”) that the city affords its residents. Check it out here: Look at Me I’m Crying.

Like many New Yorkers (dare I say most New Yorkers?) I have cried on the subway, in the park, on the sidewalk. I have gotten on the wrong train, tripped, been yelled at. I have laughed at a funny thought while I was by myself and done a number of other embarrassing things that one might prefer not to have an audience for.  (To be fair I’ve also watched people trip, judged their crossword puzzle skills over their shoulders, and been freaked out by people who are smiling on the train for no obvious reason.) I don’t think that, as the article says, crying in public happens for a lack of private space. It’s just something that happens when public spaces and public transportation are a constant presence in the daily lives of 8 million people.  And life is tough. Sometimes you just need a community of people to ignore you and New York is great for that. I think that crying in public is a little bit like writing a blog – you are kind of scared that people will see, but at the same time you hope they might tell you its alright.

So here’s to a year full of those moments that range from glowing to cringe worthy, and the people who witnessed them.

A card from Adrienne’s 1st birthday. (I don’t know who Al and Vange are.)

Arlington National Cemetery

I just returned from a wonderful trip to Washington D.C. where I saw and met great people, visited various national monuments, and learned to navigate a new public transportation system (always a plus).

While I was there I visited Alex’s grave for the first time, since he is buried at Arlington National Cemetery. Walking through the fields and fields of tomb stones I was overwhelmed by the quantity of graves. I felt more sadness gazing at the fields of strangers’ graves than I did when I actually found Alex among the plaques where ashes are inurned. I knew he had lived a long and happy life. I knew he would find it funny that he was buried at Arlington despite having been blacklisted by the government during his life. I knew that he didn’t die at war, far from home, in the prime of his life.

You might think that having your loved one buried in a place with more than 300,000 graves would make you feel like his or her importance is diminished. But that was not my experience. The beauty and vastness of the cemetery made me feel, instead, like Alex was part of something bigger than himself. In turn, that made me feel like part of something bigger than myself. Finding his stone among the others was a pilgrimage that I’m glad I made.

**

I wasn’t sure what to do when I found it. Should I smile in the picture with it? Should I have brought flowers? Said some sort of prayer? I wasn’t sure whether there would be a Star of David on his plaque since his political beliefs and atheism trumped his religious affiliations. There was, though, and I was surprised to recognize that I was glad. That symbol gave one more clue to his identity.

The peaceful and beautiful design of the cemetery really gave the area a feeling of respect. I could hear a funeral ceremony going on in the background and see  graves that were recently engraved. I hate the idea that all of the people buried in the cemetery are there because they were part of a war.

But at Arlington I saw the value of ceremony, order, and tradition. Something the military is awfully good at.