The Second Life of Morris Summer

THE SECOND LIFE of MORRIS SUMMER

J.METZGER

THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER

THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER Jody Metzger

JM Books

JM Books Published by the JM Group JM Books USA Inc., Copyright Š Jody Metzger, 2010 All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be used to reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the Publisher.

Printed in the United States of America. For information address: 343 Van Gordon Street, Lakewood, Colorado 80228 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Metzger, Jody

The Second Life of Morris Summer

Published : Colorado: JM Press, 2010

Printed in the United States of America Set in Adobe Caslon Pro

[B]

FIRST EDITION

JM Books

00053220

On the road he began, through life and through struggle seemed to merge into this one long stretch of pavement.

Death was only the beginning.

Contents Introduction Podroz do Ameryki | trip to America Przyjaciel | a friend Majatek | fortune Data Przyjazdu | arrival Strona główna | bittersweet home Prezenty | gifts Zmiana wydarzenia | a change of events Progressives Demony | demons Rachuby | reckoning Ciężar | the burden JCRS Freedom is a road

1 3 11 17 23 33 47 55 65 73 85 91 101 111

Epilogue: The Journal

117

vii

INTRODUCTION In the early 1990s, the West Colfax Jewish immigrant neigborhood recieved a vaste influx of impoverished immigrant Jews who came to “chase the cure” seeking remedies for tuberculosis.

In 1903 a group of Jewish working class immigrants banded together to form the Jewish Consumptives Relief Society to treat all stages of the disease. They were joined by several influencial local Jewish east European physicians, most notably Dr. Charles Spivak, who served as an executive secretary of the JCRS from 1904-1927 and Dr. Philip Hillkowitz, who served as a president from 1904-1948.

The JCRS opened their doors to all patients free of charge; their motto “None May Enter Who Can Pay, None Can Pay Who Enter,” reflect its benevolent origins.

Located on West Colfax Avenue in Lakewood, Colorado, the JCRS sanatorium served as a beacon of hope to thousands of victims of tuberculosis from

1 | INTRODUCTION

throughout the United States earning the nickname of “The World’s Sanatorium.”

This Story is a tribute to the JCRS and is illustrated by a patient named Morris Summer who received their aid during a time when he needed it.

Though this story is based on an actual person, fictious events have been inserted. His story is one from thousands of patients cared for by the JCRS.

INTRODUCTION | 2

CHAPTER 1

PODROZ DO AMERYKI 1909 trip to america

.

D

EATH was a ship barring down its watery path through the turbulent Atlantic. The sophisticated steam turbine cut through the crashing waves, barreling up and down the crests with a ferocity stunning those traveling within its confines. On the cusp of the deadly voyage, immigrants begged for death even as they held on to hope, the same hope that led them to climbing aboard the massive ship.

Down within the bowels of the ship the third class immigrants were tossed from side to side. The gilded cage – crafted and designed with beauty and efficiency became a prison of torture for its passengers.

Up, down, up and down. Over the

rolling waves, days turned to weeks, weeks stretched into infinity. Wave upon wave hit the heavy hull of the ship, jostling its inhabitants, throwing

them against the side one moment and

then to the floor the next.

5 | PODROZ DO AMERYKI | trip to America

The tired, aching and starved bodies huddled against the unseen blows- bracing themselves against the on slot of punishing waves. It never relented. The hundreds of bodies clustered within the bottom of the ship would moan as the ship ducked under the last blast, bracing against the wooden benches in anticipation of the next offense. Faces turned green.

Violent vomiting ensued and the air of its putrid release set others following their ill companions.

HE WANTED TO DIE.

Morris never thought in all nine years on earth that he would die at sea, surrounded by strangers.

Morris’s vision wavered; the darkening edges of his consciousness closed in on him.

The shift of the room brought the floor rushing towards him. Clawing in an attempt to brace him self, Mo rri s fel l for wa rd.

Pain rocketed up his hands and knees as he hit the floor.

When had he eaten last- two, maybe three days ago?

Since climbing aboard Queen Mary, time seemed

THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER | 6

have remained as stagnant and putrid as the air that now suffocated him. Morris could not tell if his hunger pains were making him weak or if the ship had begun another bout through the turbulent waters of the Atlantic.

Fighting to remain conscious Morris took gulping breaths of the stagnant air–putrid, he gagged on the smell of the vomit and urine of the other 220 passengers. Reeling his shaky hand blindly grabbed the wooden beam to his right. The massive ship’s haul creaked as the ship skipped and pounded upon the rising and falling of the water.

A hand appeared under Morris’s face. He barely noticed as another wave of seasickness hit. Gagging, his mouth filled with a warm warning and threw up on the shoes of his visitor.

tto! exclaimed a high-pitched crackling

ru b

voice. “Look what you did to my shoes!”

Burning with shame, Morris’s eyes stung with fresh tears of embarrassment looking up at his victim.

7 | PODROZ DO AMERYKI | trip to America

The man began dancing around in an attempt to shake off the clumpy wetness.

Well this was just great Morris thought. He realized that the one person who had come to his aid was the exact person on which he would vomit. Clambering to his feet, a hand steadied him as the ship shifted to the right. The giant towering over Morris had a ridiculous smirk on his face. Morris hated him instantly.

Wiping the vomit drool off of his face with the back of his hand, Morris pulled his shoulders back ready for the onslaught of confrontation.

“What are you, a Dziecko?” teased the giant.

Morris drew his bottom lip in, trying to hide his shame. “Shut your mouth, you mammoth pierdolić!”

“Pierdolić?” The giant threw his head back and loudly laughed.

He clapped and then produced his hand in a sign of friendship. Mystified by the Giant’s intentions, Morris hesitantly raised his hand and grasped the paw–like hand which dwarfed his own.

THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER | 8

Morris studied the Giant closely, realizing he was a boy–a largely overgrown boy. He didn’t know it at the moment but this sarcastic, loud-mouthed Polish boy would become his confidant and friend throughout his life. In the days that passed upon the ship, Morris felt happy and free to confide in his new giant of a friend.

By the second week, time aboard the ship seemed to be filled with the joy and antics of their newfound friendship. Joe being a year older, their imaginations flourished and before too long they were wreaking havoc and angering their ill companions of the steerage compartment. Their conversation stretched throughout the long voyage, encapsulating the secret bond between friends.

9 | PODROZ DO AMERYKI | trip to America

CHAPTER 2

PRZYJACIEL | a friend

“Y

OUR parents are dead,” Morris repeated.

Morris couldn’t believe it, Joe had left his small town not far from Galacia— after his family had been murdered. Upon returning from school, Joe walked into his community home to find the aftermath of a bloody massacre Among those dead, both of his parents and his two sisters.

This proud and strong boy Morris came to admire for his strength broke down upon sharing his past.

Nodding, Joe wiped the wet streaks from his cheeks. “…Covered in blood,” gulping as he tried to get a hold of himself, “they were shot and they… died.”

After the attack, Joe left to live with his aunt in New York.

“Gran told me once that when people died they go to a happy place,” remembered Morris. “When we die, we get to see all our family and friends who have died.”

13 | PRZYJACIEL |

a friend

“When I die she said that I would get to see my Daddy again, along with Uncle Albert and Grandpa Piper again. Morris sheepishly admitted he didn’t want to tell gran he didn’t like Uncle Albert.

Joe smirked at this knowledge. Smiling through shining eyes, he asked why Morris disliked his uncle.

As long as Joe had known Morris, he had always been proper and respectful–with the exception of their first meeting, Joe fondly remembered.

Sheepishly, Morris thrust his hands in his pockets and admitted that his uncle had always confused Morris with his sister. The last word said in a whisper.

“What?” Joe leaned in trying to catch the last word.

“MY SISTER!” Morris huffed loudly.

Family drama forgotten, Joe howled with laughter.

Smiling at the sight of his friend’s candor, Morris was happy to have lifted his friend’s spirits–even if it was at his expense.

Folding his arms and puffing out his rail thin stomach he began imitating his Uncle Albert.

THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER | 14

‘Morris,’ he would say, ‘you look like a damn sissy,’ Morris mimicked while shaking his head.

–––‘It’s a damned thing.’

Reminiscing of his family, Morris’s laughter slowly subsided. “She was a grand old lady,” said Morris.

“Gran was the kinda lady that made you feel good and comfy. She always smelled of apple spice, from the top of her gray bun to her size nines.

“I’d give anything to take in that smell again, to feel her arms wrapped around me, Morris reminisced while imagining her comforting embrace. “ “She always made my favorite–schnitzel and dumplings.” Morris smiled as though he could still taste the delicious treat.

As if in agreement, both boys’ stomachs growled.

“Why did you leave?” asked Joe. “I got a job in New York waiting for me,” said Morris. “It’s a good job working with my cousin Ben as a furrier.”

Noticing Joe’s confusion, Morris explained a furrier 15 | PRZYJACIEL |

a friend

was a type of a tailor who uses fur.

Morris explained that his father had become ill and couldn’t work. Though Morris’s cousin, Ben Fidler had been a distant relative of the Summer family, letters of his success had found their way to Galacia and without a last thought the Summer family packed up their eldest child, and put him on a ship headed for America.

THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER | 16

CHAPTER 3 MAJATEK | fortune

J

OE held a sword to Morris’s gut.

Pressed against the wall, Morris could not back away now. Realizing his defeat was near, he let loose a battle cry. Morris raised his weapon with all his might and used a mighty blow to dislodge the sword from his attacker’s grasp.

Ha-ha!

The sword was sent flying across the room! The elation turned to dismay as the wooden stick hit a poor woman in the back of the head.

“DRECK!”

My nine-year-old nemesis and friend whispered. “We’ve done it now.”

In the next moment our arms were wrenched in pain.

Staring down at them, death stood in the form of a prune-faced old man. Bending down, the rot of his mouth and drip of his chin assaulted them with renewed disgust.

19 | MAJATEK |

fortune

Uncomfortably, Joe and Morris strained against the sight of the man waiting for his release.

His strength surprised Morris as the man looked to be barely standing. Wavering momentarily, Death held onto the boys more to steady himself than to chastise them. It seemed that he had spent himself for he then leaned upon Morris and Joe and tried to take deep rattling breathes.

Rattle, exhale, rattle…rattle…..exhale.

The assault hit all at once and both Morris and Joe broke out of his grasp.

“Pierdolić! Joe swore as he waved his large mitts in front of him, trying to swat at the heavy odor that the old man expelled.

“Stary człowiek, how are you still alive,” he exclaimed.

Appalled, Morris drew his hands up in front of his reddening face. In Galacia, no boy or girl would ever speak that language to an elder. Morris felt like the floor had opened up and he was going to be

THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER | 20

swallowed beneath the churning waters for which they wrought. Waiting for the old man’s anguish, Morris edged away from the two.

Humphing and hooting, the old man looked to be spontaneously combusting before their eyes. Just as the earth gives away to the faults within its crust, the old man broke into a toothless smile and guffawed at Joe’s fierce attempt at being courageous that only a young boy could muster.

“Potępiać koźlęta! ty znać ów tu są chory...”

A thick polish dialect rolled off of deaths lips neither boy could fully understand. Hands gesturing wildly, his tirade was their confusion as recognizable words like bad manners, sick and shame were clearly emphasized by the shaky candor of his speech. The man’s name was Jacob More and he was going to a farm in O-h-i-o.

As one of the most tortured of people among the cot ridden cabin, Jacob defied the common theme of laying abed pleading for the end. Morris and Joe soon adopted old man Jacob as a friend during the voyage.

21 | MAJATEK |

fortune

CHAPTER 4

DATA PRZYJAZDU | arrival

T

HE days and nights aboard the turbine vessel were filled with joy and eagerness as they neared their destination. The passengers’ agitation and excitement grew at the thought of catching the first look of the American coast. Those that could stand took their turns peering out the one porthole of the third class compartment.

The small round window symbolized hope for Morris.

Each time he looked out at the churning waters, squinting against the blinding light, he strained his eyes in search of a bit of coast.

Turning in his excitement to find Joe, Morris bumped into his worst nightmare.

The large Belgian towered that over Morris sported a heavy dark beard and deep creases which mapped his face emphasizing fleshy cheeks. The nightmarish man scowled and his eyes grew colder.

25 | DATA PRZYJAZDU |

arrival

Turning, the Belgian dismissed Morris and began studying the landscape from the porthole.

Scrambling to get up, Morris ran. His only hope at that moment was to never see his nightmare again.

D!

LAN

Came the cry from up above. Cheering erupted all over the ship.

America took shape out of the mist and rose up to illuminate spires piercing the clouds. Tall block-like buildings appeared and a cluster of docked ships signified their arrival. Soon upon dropping anchor, passengers readied themselves for their first step towards their new future.

Excitement bubbled and conversations turned to squeals of pleasure. The third-class scrambled to the pier following after the first- and second- class passengers. Morris followed the others, elated to be free of the ships confines. Noticing the well-dressed

THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER | 26

men and woman moving toward a hand painted sign; Morris’s brows ferreted, unable to read the sign.

The third-class passengers came to a brief halt. He watched them disappear, his agitation increasing.

“Where are they going?” asked Morris while tugging on Joe’s sleeve, who was one of the few passengers Morris knew who could both read and understand English.

“Hmm…what?” Joe asked distracted by the sight of the hustle and bustle of the pier. It was apparent from Joe’s awed look he was completely and utterly taken with his new surroundings.

“It says ‘customs’,” Joe replied after following Morris’s jabs at the upper class parading past the sign of interest. “First- and second-class passengers get a free pass to America. They basically check their bags and ask a bunch of questions,” Joe answered the questioning look Morris sported.

Before Morris could ask another question, a railthin man approached the steerage group. Brushing

the lapels of his grey suit, the man peered down his

27 | DATA PRZYJAZDU |

arrival

nose beyond his round spectacles at the motley crew.

Clearing his throat he began a monotone instruction.

“Pardon, ladies and gentleman,” his high pitched nasal voice squealed over the volume of his excitable audience. “Under the strict orders of the United States of America, as a high counsel of the third district of New York I welcome you and also warn you,” the nasally man broke his rant, waved a finger to emphasize the importance at the crowd, “As third class citizens,” he continued “you are therefore not allowed to enter until examined by our medical and legal inspection.”

“Therefore,” he huffed, “you are to board the barge and travel to Ellis Island,” he pointed, indicating the small flat floored boat rolling up and down with the tide.

With no other choice, the haggard group gathered against the thin railings of the smaller vessel, their moment of joy frozen. Frustration and disgust was the epitome of the group’s dissatisfaction.

Docking at Ellis Island they staggered out of the ship in a line. Most could not fully stand; shuffling through the wide doors of a barn-like structure.

THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER | 28

The brightness of the sun was strange and piercing.

They were led through the building by a government official. There, they were subjected to five hours of probing questions. “Have you money, relatives or a job in the United States? Are you a polygamist? An anarchist?� Next, the doctors and nurses poked prodded them, looking for signs of disease or debilitating handicaps.

Those that had fared the worst of the voyage could barely stand took to sitting while in line. Old Jacob was one of them. They were the first to be pulled

out of line. A woman garbed completely in white approached, instructing in a clipped sharp tone for them to follow. Groaning and wheezing, the ill scrambled after the nurse as she flew through the wide arched door.

Morris watched from his place in line as the door closed after Jacob. Minutes became hours, yet the door did not open again.

Signaled to move ahead in the line Morris was led to a small curtained off room. Here he was assaulted with

29 | DATA PRZYJAZDU |

arrival

a battery of questions, translated for him by a small Polish man whom sat in the corner. While the redbearded doctor plied him with questions, the nurse whom had taken Jacob through the mystery door appeared. She sat quietly next to the doctor, furiously dictating doctor red beard’s analysis of Morris.

“Where did my friends go?” he asked.

The nurse looked up, her brows knitted together, her mouth pursed. Morris began to wonder if she understood him.

He pointed to the room she had taken Jacob and said “friends” in English. She looked down dismissing him and continued to write.

When Morris was finished, he moved past and sat down against the wall to wait for Jacob. The mystery door that seemed to swallow up his friend haunted Morris. His gaze locked upon the weathered, curved metal handle, waiting for its twisting release.

The sun lazily coasted to its peak, its rays breaking free to slide its gentle fingers through clouds burning the morning mist away from the coast.

THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER | 30

Time passed little since their arrival. Though for Morris, it had felt like an eternity of poking and prodding of doctors.

Endless questions followed by more line waiting. And still the door remained shut.

Joe popped down beside Morris telling him they would be leaving in a half hour. Reluctant to leave his post, Morris regretfully lurched up pulling Joe along with him. Jacob was never coming back.

31 | DATA PRZYJAZDU |

arrival

CHAPTER 5

STRONA GŁÓWNA | bittersweet home

T

HRUST into the chaos of their shipmates flooding down the ramp and onto the pier, Morris and Joe were bumped, jostled and engulfed by the crowd. The boys held onto each other for as long as they could until pushed forward and then separated.

Yelling for Joe, his voice was eaten up by the excitable crowd. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and fear was his new friend. Alone, Morris’s hands grew clammy and he found himself surrounded along with the older men who towered over him until all he could see were the heavy gray clouds that hung like a warning in the sky.

Thunderous chaos erupted in a myriad of languages, excitement and confusion pierced the dock.

Minutes felt like hours swaddled in the endless crowd of immigrants. Morris’s long treacherous journey was an obstacle course of elbows, sharp-toed boots and the rotten stench of the travelers.

35 | STRONA GŁÓWNA |

bittersweet home

Large industrial structures appeared in relief of the herd surrounding Morris. Unable to move, Morris tried to entertain himself by trying to read the signs they passed. “B-a-t-tery,” he sounded out.

“Battery Park,” squeaked a young girl. “It says Battery Park.” Glancing over he found a prissy piece of blond fluff, not a year over seven flouncing beside him. He wondered where her mother was. He considered given the girl’s irritating boldness that her mother must have left her. Wasn’t this just great, Morris silently swore, of all the people to stand next to, annoying girl was about the last thing he wanted to tolerate.

Looking for someone to chat with the little girl began blabbering incessantly into Morris’s ear. The irritating chatter unnerved Morris and as he tried to slide away from her in the crowd, the men that crowded him seemed resistant to letting him pass.

“My mamma said that the streets were made of gold.”

She kicked her small kid boot against the muddy path.

“Your mother lied,” Morris said harshly. “Why don’t you leave me alone?”

THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER | 36

Thinking he had hurt her feelings, he was surprised to find her smiling.

She laughed uproariously; her beaming faceinnocence and joy besmirched his attempt to hurt her feelings.

Morris felt himself reddening. He couldn’t decide if his pride was hurt at the hands of a seven-year-old girl or when she smiled she was not just a snot-nosed kid but probably the prettiest thing he had ever seen.

Morris resisted the temptation to blush.

Morris heard his name being shouted. Hungrily he swiveled his head in the direction, searching for a familiar face.

“Morris…Morris!”

Relieved from his position as babysitter, Morris flew without a second look.

It was cousin Ben! Pushing forward Morris greedily rushed forward and wrapped my arms around the older boy.

Six years his senior, Ben had filled out since Morris

37 | STRONA GŁÓWNA |

bittersweet home

had seen him last. A stylish mustache curled upward to sharp tips. Fashion and style a mystery to him, nevertheless Morris found that he liked the fanciful thing. Dimpled cheeks and warm brown eyes mirrored his happiness as he drew Morris into his embrace. Comforted by the strong welcome, Morris looked up at the older boy and began speaking in rapid Polish.

A ch

in ildish rant e x p l o d e d

to a tida

l w a ve o f e m o

tion

as Morris dove into every ordeal and joyous friendship of Joe and Jacob.

“Waaa. It’s nice to see you too kid,” said Ben as he ruffled Morris’s hair. “You smell spoiled! One of the first things we do- is get you a bath.”

Shoving a cigarette between his lips, Ben lit and took a drag. Squinting through the smoke he observed Morris’s filthy condition. As if for the first time, Morris noticed his poor attire, threadbare- the grimy material once looked like the rest of his traveling mates now stood out against Ben’s impeccably clean, newer clothing.

THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER | 38

“You’re not a pretty sight right now,” Ben complained, “but the boss is wanting to see you first thing. Taking another puff, Ben continued. “It makes no matter now, we gotta stop in for a few minutes.”

Pulling Morris along, Ben weaved through the collected bodies and surged threw a street lined with tall buildings and Fords. Cars! So many of them, Morris couldn’t even count. He had only seen a couple in his life and they were nowhere near the gilded beauties traversing the city roads now.

The promise of a bath sounded tempting to Morris.

Almost as tempting as the delicious smells coming from the street vendors they passed. Morris took longing looks at the hot dog stands and their glorious smell wafting in heaping steam, billowing along the street.

Unfortunately, Ben must have meant after they stopped at the fur shop. Ten minutes later after passing building after building, each more impressive than the last, they reached their destination. A large sign greeted Morris and Ben as they entered into the two-story red brick building.

39 | STRONA GŁÓWNA |

bittersweet home

Kaufman and Oberlander – fur shop Upon entering, dark confusion wrestled with the blinding light from outside. Eyes adjusting to the dim lighting, Morris’s gaze could not fasten on one particular thing or person. There were bodies in motion, Morris observed, as if they were all connected as one- pushing, pulling and cranking on the large machines which generated a thick sheet of material. It was then carried off to another machine where it was put through another series of pushing, pulling and cranking.

Drawn by the process, Morris edged closer to the men and women working the machines. Glancing back to the entrance, Ben had disappeared. Tempted by the freedom of being unobserved Morris listened to the employees chatter.

A beautiful sound Morris never thought he would hear was a deep baritone voice speaking in a Galacia dialect.

Aaron Gross had worked in the Kauffman factory for over two laborious years. Built like a bull, his

THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER | 40

employer had only been too happy to have Aaron working on the large machines; his strength and attention to detail a value to his team of workers.

Heaving a lever, Aaron began cranking the machine into full swing, while singing an old Galacia ballad.

Morris had never heard the ditty before but found it reassuring to hear his home language being belted out by this ox of a man.

“Hello young sir,” the ox sang out breaking from his joyous tune as he continued to work the crank. “Who might you be?” his Polish a thick dialect of Galacia which Morris happily returned.

“Just f ine sir! I’m Morris. Morris Summer.”

The conversation lapsed into talk of Galacia and neighborhoods until Aaron was summoned by another worker.

Turning back to the entrance, Morris caught sight of Ben. Bringing with him in tow was one of the ugliest, grotesque of humans Morris had ever witnessed.

Speaking English, both men stopped short of Morris.

41 | STRONA GŁÓWNA |

bittersweet home

Mr. Isidore Cohen was about as gentle and delicate as a bull. The middle-aged man waged a losing battle with his hair- the few remaining strands combed neatly over a shiny scalp, whom decided it was his place in life to give withering looks to children. The man was as round as he was tall.

Though Morris couldn’t fault him for his height as he only came up to the man’s chin.

Unnerved by the severe intensity of the man, Morris rung his hands as he tried to conceal his anxiety. It seemed the monster might have been boring holes into him, searching for something – and not liking what he was seeing.

Crushed into his mouth, the cigar hung haphazardly, chewing the end in a fashion which made Morris think the man must have been born with it. His eyebrows like two winged creatures arched up and exaggerated his intense distaste for the situation.

With Ben standing beside the portly man, he introduced the monster as Isidore Cohen, production manager of Kaufman Fur Shop.

THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER | 42

Surprisingly, a high pitched nasal voice piped out of the monster of a man. For several minutes, Morris was horrified he would have to tell the man he didn’t understand.

At a loss to understand the strange language, Morris furrowed his brows in confusion as he tried to decipher the monster. Confusion must have marred Morris’s face as the Monster stopped in mid-sentence.

“Do you speak English?”

Morris did not think that the man could get any more frightening but he was proved wrong as Isidore observed the silence as no.

Ben began talking to the man. Morris caught a few words that he knew, boy…job…pants?...no probably not pants.

Morris swallowed and tried to remember what Joe had tried to teach him.

“I…work hard.”

The fat man looked down at Morris and humphed.

“You work 14 hours a day,” while motioning to the clock and presenting ten club-like fingers, shaking

43 | STRONA GŁÓWNA |

bittersweet home

them and then showing another four in succession of the previous ten. He turned back to Ben and began talking again in rapid English.

Forgotten, Morris ignored the men and began to reexamine his new job. His mother’s only description of the job was that he was going to work with his cousin Ben. Morris wasn’t even sure what furrier did.

A hard fist connected with his shoulder and jolted Morris out of his wondering thoughts. The two men had broken apart, the monster waddling back to his office. Ben signaled for Morris to follow as he led them out of the building. Morris tried to keep up with the fast-paced Ben as he jetted down the street, a cigarette already hanging from his lips.

“Let’s go home kid,” Ben puffed. “You got an early start tomorrow.”

“Kid, you’re gonna have to work hard. Isidore is a harsh boss, but the pay is great- once you’re there for a year or two.” A doubting Morris raised an eyebrow.

The idea of working in the pit with the others was hardening. It was difficult to imagine working long

THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER | 44

hours a day for only .50 cents. An image of Morris mother, frightened and poor, came to his mind and he realized this was his only choice if he was going to help his family.

Later that night, Morris occupied himself with settling in his new room- a room that was little more than a closet. Taking out his meager luggage, Morris pulled out two shirts, pants and three pairs of underwear. Two pairs of mismatched socks came next followed by his most prized possession- his journal.

The leather bound book was filled with Morris’s adventures, friends and enemies. Rather than writing, Morris drew his subjects finding the true essence of his experiences came alive in form.

A clatter and burst of laughter came from beyond his curtained door. The giggling distinctively female, its light joyous volume filled the interior of the Ben’s small apartment. Twisting the curtain back, Morris found the source of the beautiful laugh to be from the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, Ben’s girlfriend, Ashley.

45 | STRONA GŁÓWNA |

bittersweet home

Raising her glass, the blond beauty leaned in against Ben, her red lips inviting. More whispering and giggling erupted from the pair. The glass tumblers filled with a dark brown liquid swirled as they danced to a silent song. Obviously a private moment, Morris ducked his head back behind the curtain feeling the intruder.

Lying back on his bed, he found a spot between two sharp coils. Soon, Morris found himself thinking of Joe and Jacob. Would he ever see them again?

Reaching under the bed, Morris fished out his journal. Opening it he sifted through his drawings of Joe, of Jacob, of his friends aboard the Queen Mary and felt tears for the first time since leaving Galacia.

Closing the book and his eyes, chest painfully tight, eyes burning, Morris gave into the exhausting day and fell into b

lac k

ne s

s. .

.

.

THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER | 46

CHAPTER 6

PREZENTY | gifts 1912

S

OME gifts come in odd packages. For three years and two days, Morris had been working for Kaufman Fur Company and he would never forget the sight of 13-year old Ben Gold sashaying through the workshop wrapped in a cow-hide like some beauty queen. Laughter had been Ben Gold’s gift. Since he had arrived at the company a year after Morris, joy had permeated the arduous labor.

An immigrant as well, Tom Gold hailed from Bessarabia, then part of Czarist Russia. Shortly after the second week, Morris trained Gold on the machines and the series of treatments for the hides and found he rather like smart-mouthed boy.

“Dear Morris” Gold exclaimed as he danced around him, “you’re sooooo handsome.” Swishing the stiff

animal skin as if it were a delicate ball gown, Gold imitated a starlet.

Eye’s batting, Gold continued his gentle ribbing.

49 | PREZENTY | gifts

“I’d love to go out with you? “Morris baby, will you draw my picture, Gold pleaded. “Oh, Morris you are a swell guy!”

“Gold! You’ve got to be the strangest kid I have ever met,” Morris admitted while holding back a smile that was threatening to ruin his serious façade.

“Just who are you supposed to be?”

You know darn well who I’m supposed to be, he laughed through his crooked front teeth.

“Julia,” he mimicked in a high-pitched girl voice, emphasizing the “U”. “Every time you see her, your eyes go all funny and then you start drooling.”

“It’s really gross. Don’t get me wrong, if she lost an eye tomorrow she’d still be, you know… cute,” he muttered lowly, as if by admitting a girl was cute he would die of shame.

Morris howled at his friend’s embarrassment. Morris had to admit Julia was beautiful; he just hadn’t worked up the nerve to tell her just yet. It turned out Julia had been the annoying young girl he had met

THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER | 50

on the dock when he arrived in New York. Yes, some gifts sure came in some strange forms.

“Are you coming to the meeting tonight?” asked Gold.

In his short time working at the Kaufman plant, Gold had asserted himself into the political arena pointing out to many furriers the corruption and bureaucracy in the union.

Although a young boy, his voice of reason impressed the workers of the Furrier shop. Outraged by the poor working conditions, Gold wholeheartedly stood up for the fur workers who suffered the intensely brutal long hours and low wages.

Morris admired Gold for his fight for the people, yet he loathed the idea of getting involved with the group. Morris’s only concern was being left alone to work, to send his family his earnings–keeping little for himself, and maybe asking Julia to dinner someday.

“No way, too dangerous,” declined Morris.

“Come on, I need you there,” urged Gold. Plus you’re bigger than me, you can help me out if things get too 51 | PREZENTY | gifts

rough again.”

“Well, you got the biggest mouth, so you should be fine.”

“Please Morris,” begged Gold.

THE CROWD WAS DEAFENING

Their cheers of agreement escaladed as they moved forward- surrounding Gold and Aaron Gross as they finished one of their impassionate speeches. The men and woman rushed to shake the young boy’s hand.

While the woman murmured a polite thank you, the men generously slapped his back showing support.

Morris sat against the wall, his feet up, sketch pad out, trying to ignore the ripening crowd’s exuberance over their new leader.

A defining moment for Gold, Morris enjoyed the scene from his perch, preferring to stay unnoticed.

Though he watched, he wasn’t the only one unnoticed.

Silently in the shadows, the unexpected visitors observed the crowd. Their menacing presence unrealized to the well wishers whom continued to chat candidly.

THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER | 52

One of the last things Morris expected to see that night was his nightmare from the ship. The large Belgian, pale in comparison to his darker companions, drew his attention. Though their presence was merely an observatory one, it was a threat Morris intended to take seriously.

Later, Morris confided in Gold about the men he had seen, cautioning him to be careful. As though nothing could touch the elation Gold was feeling over his victory, he considered Morris’s warning but was relentless to give up his task. Gold explained these men were called “scabs,” or strikebreakers hired by the union to ensure the people did not fight the company.

53 | PREZENTY | gifts

CHAPTER 7 ZMIANA WYDARZENIA

a change of events 1914

A

S passionately as Gold fought for the worker’s rights, Morris fell for Julia.

In one of the most terrifying moments of Morris’s life, Morris walked over to Julia and asked her to dinner. It was almost like he could hear Joe, urging him on.

Though Gold continued to push Morris to go to the meetings, he resisted, spending his time with Julia. As summer grew into fall, Morris and Julia made plans for the future. As challenging as ever, Julia proved to be as fierce a woman as the girl he had met those many years before.

Morris considered her a beautiful girl, but he appreciated her sharp wit most of all. Her laughter warmed the coldest days in winter.

He could no longer imagine his life without hearing her laugh.

57 | AMIANA WYDARZENIA |

a change of events

The coughing sickness swept through Kaufman’s workshop. A potent illness enveloped nearly a third of workers. In four short weeks, several workers, including Julia had perished under the deadly sickness. As Morris watched the illness eat her life away; the unbearable racking coughs left her weak and useless. Julia’s death left a hole in Morris’s chest, like a sucking chest wound; the pain invaded torturing his soul.

“You need to eat,” Ben would say. You can’t go on like this. Is this what Julia would have wanted?”

Unending questions of concern bombarded Morris.

Each comforting word was like a knife in Morris’s heart. In a moment of panic, despair rose up and seemingly clawed at him until all he could do was run.

Down the stairs of the apartment, away from Ben’s kindness Morris found solstice in the hard pavement of the street against the soles of his shoes. The burn of his muscles ate up every inch of his anger and sorrow until there was nothing left but the physical pain.

Morris slammed into what felt like a brick wall.

Dazed, breath exploding, he pressed a hand to his THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER | 58

heaving chest and looked up. Joe! Joe stood right in front of him. Faltering, Morris stood awestruck. The long years of working at Kauffman’s, Julia’s death all seemed to melt away as he looked at his childhood friend who left him a boy now stood before him a man.

Joe had filled out- no longer the skinny awkward boy, although his red hair ever the fiery beacon it had been before. Tall, well groomed and in a dapper suit, Joe sported a matching derby hat; the epitome of a gentleman. Overjoyed to see each other, Joe and Morris were in each other’s embrace before they could say a word.

“You must have grown- an inch or two,” Joe ribbed as he stepped back from their embrace.

Looking up, Morris found Joe had grown even taller; he replied Joe was more of a mammoth than ever.

Laughing for the first time in what seemed like months, Morris was elated. Holding on to the moment, Morris jumped into a rapid conversation with Joe until several hours and four brews later,

59 | AMIANA WYDARZENIA |

a change of events

Morris was content for the first time in months.

Morris found in his long lost friend a true comfort.

The ease of the guilt he had been feeling after Julia’s death seemed to ebb away, the pain lessening.

With each sip of the frothy dark beer, Morris and Joe became further involved into sharing their experiences. Joe, Morris found, had lived in New York the entire time, yet never once had he bumped into his friend.

“The world works in mysterious ways,” said Morris.

“It seems both times I had needed strength in my life you have been there.”

Joe hunched down upon his stool and glowered. “You must be mad Morris. You start saying all this sappy stuff and the ladies are gonna think I’m queer or something.

Next thing you know I am going to be beaten up

by Bubba and left in the ally,” said Joe, pointing his beer too indicate the fat man leaning over the bar obsessively crunching the salty bar peanuts.

“Get over it,” Morris roared in delight at Joe’s discomfort.

THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER | 60

“You’re just upset because I ruined your opportunity with the redhead.”

Glancing her way, the doe-eyed beauty shyly gazed across the rough and tumble wooden tables and chairs to the object that held her attention- Joe. The lady of their night sat coolly, alone- mysterious.

‘Doe-eye’s’ beauty was remarkable- smooth skin softly enfolded into slender white dress- making it nearly impossible to look away.

The come hither looks she sent in their direction was a magnetic pull. Morris could feel himself getting

hot, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as his heart beat to a tribal rhythm throughout his body. Never missing a beat or a challenge, Joe excused himself from the table, bid Morris a good night and without looking back crossed to the young woman whose eyes seemed to light up in response to her male interest coming her way. Morris smiled.

That night as Morris lay in his bed, he thought much about his reunion with Joe. The fierceness first in Joe 61 | AMIANA WYDARZENIA |

a change of events

and then in Julia drew Morris to both of them. Morris had always been the one to back out of a fight–to be invisible. How he wished he could be brave in the face of danger, to stand up for what he believed in. Like a meek lamb, Morris was content to let his anger roll off of his back.

Why couldn’t he be like those that he admired?

Frustrated he pushed off of the bed and stalked out of his room to the kitchen. Grabbing a cup and pouring the percolator of coffee, Morris swallowed the hot dark liquid. Welcoming the burning bitterness, Morris looked up surprised to hear a rough laugh. Heavy in thought, Morris realized he wasn’t alone. Ben leaned against the window seal, a smoke in his mouth.

Eyebrows raised in surprise, Ben, unfolded himself from his recline, straightened.

“It’s nice to see you up, even if you are trying to burn the shit out of your mouth.”

“I’m a failure, Ben…a damn failure,” Morris lamented.

“I have never done anything great with my life.”

THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER | 62

Frustrated, he threw a hand through his hair before taking another swig of the coffee.

“Julia was so strong. What did she ever see in me?”

Once he started, there was no stopping him. Like a man in a rage, all the pain and hurt he felt after Julia’s death came flooding out.

“What has gotten into you Morris?”

“Joe. I ran into Joe today and he made me realize how much more I could be. I want to be like Joe; like Julia. What I’m saying is… I want to work with the progressives.”

“Wait, are you talking about the union progressives Gold has been running? Are you crazy? You could be fired or worse- dead.”

“Ben, you don’t understand,” Morris grounded out. “I need to start fighting for what I believe in- you know, something bigger than me.”

Though Ben looked like he wanted to refute Morris’s pledge, he remained silent. There was nothing to say.

Morris had decided to line himself with Ben Gold,

63 | AMIANA WYDARZENIA |

a change of events

the union radical who fought against the very people he worked with.

Concern in his eyes, Morris could not deny Ben’s sincerity. It seemed the day Julia passed; Morris’s life had ceased to be his own. Reckoning moments stunned and compelled a change in his life–no ordinary life, a different life.

THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER | 64

CHAPTER 8

PROGRESSIVES

C

OFFEE? check. Journal? Check. Morris stepped out of his door, locking and then jiggling the knob, he stooped down and picked up his message bag, jogging down two flights of stairs.

Stepping out into the warm morning sun, no sooner than Morris took a deep breath of the fresh air he felt a heavy pounding on his lower legs. Surprised Morris looked down to find the neighborhood mutt.

The furry fellow jumped, paws clawing with excitement and landing both stately legs on Morris pants barking a hello.

“Well, hello to you too,” Morris exclaimed. “Mr. Muffins, how are you today?”

Joyous panting and more clawing at Morris pant legs followed Morris’s praise. Mr. Muffins, an old friend of the neighborhood, had a spirit which reminded Morris of his prolific objective- energized by the happy start to his day, his goal realized, he smiled 67 | PROGRESSIVES

while ruffling the dogs small head and set off at a ripe pace. Weaving in and out of the traffic of pedestrians and mystery puddles Morris whistled a happy tune as he set out for Kaufman’s.

A stooped Ron Stein sat on his perch in front of a meat shop, just as he had every morning for the past 10 years. He sat below a small sign written in a fine scrolling handwriting.

Metzgeri

The man’s ruddy full cheeks cracked revealing a toothless smile. Waving, Morris bid the man a good morning as he kept up his pace. In truth, Ron was notorious for long idle conversations of meat cuts and animal products running from boring to devastatingly dull.

Destination reached, Morris shrugged his pack off and set it in his locker. ‘Hello’s and ‘good morning’s mingled with the new day as the workers readied themselves for work. Searching through the myriad workers whom darted from machine to machine; the nightshift workers relieved from their duties,

THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER | 68

slumped in relief staggered to their lockers and the exits. Swiveling his head, Morris recognized the boisterous voice of which could only come from his loud mouthed friend, Tom Gold.

Gold brandished the new edition of the Jewish Daily Forward, his crowd emitting grumbles of distaste.

Compelled by the crowd’s unusual gathering, Morris drew near; listening to Gold read an article off of the broadsheet. The article written by Isidore Cohen, the manager and monster from Morris’s initial arrival at Kaufmans, relentlessly drove at the very heart of the worker, embellishing their complaints as nothing more than ungrateful employees.

Cohen’s statement also revealed his unified contempt for the workers and applauded the shop owners throughout New York had taken to hiring gangsters or others to resist or developed its own “talent.”

Defending the union’s strong–arm methods against its own members he delivered his final thought stating, “one must use the whip against the workers.”

The unbelievable nerve and disregard for the welfare of others had the workers at Kaufman’s tense with 69 | PROGRESSIVES

hatred. The corruption of the union had steadily suffered from one socialist to another. Presently, the union worker had no more rights than a slave.

A door opened with a crack, those standing around Gold dispersed, making a beeline for their machines.

Isidore Cohen himself waddled through the door and darted down the hall. Eyes of hatred ate at the man’s back - their anger quietly seething. Whether they liked it or not, their fate rested in his hands.

Fortunately Ben Gold had walked through the door of Kaufmans two years ago. Since then, the workers had rallied for better rights, shorter hours and safer working conditions all of which wouldn’t have been possible without the strength of Gold.

Morris for the first time understood the responsibility Gold shouldered and felt ashamed for denying his friend the help that he had asked for. Just like those workers who placed their fate in Gold’s hands, Morris’s instinct was to do the same.

Oblivious to the workers disbursement, Morris

cornered Gold. Earnest in his eye, he clasped Gold’s

THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER | 70

shoulder. Gold’s eyes scanned Morris–acknowledging the severity of Morris’s complexion. With a gravity matching Morris’s stare, Gold quickly outlined the progressives’ next meeting. Undeniably, Morris was accepted, no words, no misunderstandings.

Defined by the very moment, Morris felt his stomach drop, his skin tingled and for the first time, he felt alive.

71 | PROGRESSIVES

CHAPTER 9 DEMONY | demons 1918

s our nt c

The

e cem oun ann

ed

ng rati vitb

wit

erg h en

y

T

HE powerful announcement coursed through the small room, the tangible excitement vibrating with the energy of the men, women and children.

Night cloaked the bustling underworld of Kaufman’s warehouse. Its rafters filled with a volume of applause mingling with the loud authority of their speakers.

Aaron Gross, Tom Gold and Morris Summer stood in the center of the voluminous crowd. The applause of the progressive followers offered a welcoming reward to their undying efforts to bring rights to the workers not only in Kaufman’s shop but to the workers throughout New York.

Since Morris had joined the progressives over four years ago, their steady struggle had been fraught with triumphs and losses. This evening proved a giant success to the progressives.

Ben, Aaron and Morris proudly announced that their anti-administration left-wing had triumphed against

77 | DEMONY | demons

policies of the Cohen administration.

A rush of pride washed over the three leaders as they not only won over the ‘furriers agrition committee’ but had been elected by the left-wing as full members of the Jewish Socialist Federation, to the New York Joint Board.

The night was robust with agreement from the crowd–a glimmer of hope rose and could not be denied.

The atmosphere was tangible as each member of the progressives roared with triumph.

Laughing, Morris accepted their handshakes, offering his thanks to those who had believed in him. Flying high with pride, Morris swung to meet Gold’s joyeach sharing a moment they would never forget.

Aaron hefted his large frame in front of them, a grin split his ugly face- neither Morris nor Gold could help but laugh.

Hooting with pleasure Gold clapped Aaron on the shoulder, “You might be the ugliest bastard Aaron, but man can you give a speech. The others are going to be talking about it for a while.”

THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER | 78

Feinting hurt, Aaron held his large paw against his chest his face a turmoil of emotion. A sparkle in his eye gave away to a smirk.

“Ugly,” Aaron exclaimed. “My mamusia always told me I’m pretty!”

The jeering carried on for over an hour as the three took jabs at each other. It was a fine night Morris thought. Everything had gone unbelievably well.

With the strength of their position realized, their power to stand up to the socialists was tangible. A strike, they all had agreed would be the next step.

With the workers taking control and challenging the Cohen administration they would most certainly have a chance to claim what should have been theirs from the beginning–humane rights.

Coughing–Morris gasped for air. A minute stretched into a painful ache in his chest. The persistent illness Morris had been trying to shake had steadily gotten worse over the last three months. The fear of illness developing into something Julia had contracted was undeniably an idea Morris couldn’t shake.

79 | DEMONY | demons

Gold and Aaron had paused, waiting for Morris to recover. Their eyes–filled with concern. Pushing Morris to the door ordering him to go home.

“Morris, will you please go see a doctor. We really need you during the strike,” Aaron pleaded.

“Yeah, a maybe tomorrow,” Morris returned thinking to himself he would never go.

Nodding his head Morris ducked out of the Kaufman’s warehouse. Freezing instantly, the cold wind whipped through the alley assaulting Morris.

Huddled into his jacket, head low Morris stepped out into the street.

The attack happened quickly.

Pain-his head on fire, Morris fell to his knees. The blinding pain coursed like a lightning bolt had entered his skull. Looking up through the pain, Morris counted three large men standing over him.

Were they going to kill him? Here, now, in an alley?

THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER | 80

A vicious voice cracked the night air; it’s gravely edge cutting into Morris skin. Fear undeniably marched up Morris spin, the hair on his neck standing up.

Morris’s worse nightmare emerged. The lamp light spilled onto his ferocious face–a face that had haunted his dreams as a child.

The Belgium from the Queen Mary starred down at Morris. Reaching down, Morris’s nightmare grasped a fist full of his hair; pulling him up, his toes barely scrapping the soiled alley.

“ You’re going to stop this strike Polack!” shouted the Belgium. Betraying tears pierced Morris’s torment mingling with painful grasp on his hair-as if the Belgium was trying sever Morris’s skin from his skull.

“Mr. Cohen told us to ask you nicely to back off.”

“Morris?” the Belgium drawled as he pulled harder.

“Yessss,” stammered Morris.

Belgium leaned in close, almost pressing his mouth to Morris’s ear, “This is nice.”

81 | DEMONY | demons

“The next time…well, I think you got the idea.”

Releasing his hold on Morris’s hair, the three men snickered as their pray lay limp. Disoriented, Morris climbed to his knees, his pride bruised- he held onto what little amount of it he had. He could feel himself weakening, tears of humiliation stinging his eyesafraid any moment he would fall apart.

Fortunately, before a tear could fall, Morris’s nightmare banished all worries as a boot connected with his temple and blackness enveloped him.

Heavy sand filled every inch of Morris, leaving him heavy, unmovable upon the ground. He felt as if he were drowning, the blackness all around him sifted over him like felt cloth tightening, closing in upon him until he couldn’t to breathe. It was the pain that brought him back. From one nightmare to another, Morris felt reality poking and prodding him begging without asking to be answered. He felt himself lying on the street, between the skyscraping buildings.

Gingerly Morris sat up and to his surprise found Joe sitting next to him.

THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER | 82

“It’s going to stain.”

“Wha… What are you…,” Morris stammered while silently begging for sanity.

“The blood.”

Glancing down, Morris realized his shirt was covered in blood, his hands splattered, his face slippery and wet. The metallic taste ran down the back of his throat.

Morris gagged.

“Pierdolić, you’re missing a tooth Morris,” Joe exclaimed while giving him a once over. “You’ll definitely not be getting a date now.”

Shaking his head, Morris tried to process everything that had happened, most importantly how Joe could be sitting here at this very moment.

83 | DEMONY | demons

CHAPTER 10

RACHUBY | the reckoning

H

OW can you be here? How did you get here?

“I’m always here.”

“Bullshit, what are you not telling me?”

“I have always been with you, ever since,” trailing off Joe pointed his finger toward Morris, “you watched your family die.”

Breath suspended at the pinnacle of realization.

Like being hit by a train the memories flooded over him in overwelming waves.

Pressed into the hard soil, Morris felt the rocks biting into his back. He could not move. Something heavy lay on top of him, his vision cleared he saw clearly his mother’s face, eyes frozen in death. It was she who lay on top of him, protecting him.

Suddenly, the memory took hold–sent tumbling through a cloak of memories–a dark realization

87 | RACHUBY | the

reckoning

blossomed, Morris surrendered to the undulating flashes of his last moments of the life he had forgotten. The day he lost them–all of them, murdered in the horrible massacre claiming his parents, sisters…his childhood.

They came in the middle of the day. Sun had blanketed the day with a warm glow- spilling a myriad of shades of gold upon the green fields that surrounded the small home. Violence cut like a knife through the serene landscape, banishing the peace, which harbored the Summer home.

The premature moments broke into a silent heavy thing pregnant with an ominous warning.

Standing limply, he leaned against the door frame–it became a support within the storm that ravaged Morris’s body. Men, large and foreboding, soldiers of pogrom cornered a woman and her children. Face down, a man lay bleeding, unmoving– his mother, his sister and brother, his father.

A clatter of books, his school books slipped through his fingers, breaking the turmoil within the room,

THE SECOND LIFE OF MORRIS SUMMER | 88

alerting their tormentors to Morris.

“Ojciec, Ojciec …nooooo,” cried Morris as he knelt roughly beside his father. Glassy eyes looked out not really seeing. Soldiers yelled to get up, mother and brother and sister cried in the corner. There was a loud thunderous noise shortly before darkness claimed him. Morris felt the world had collapsed on him.

Joe wasn’t real?

No, he couldn’t believe it. As if in response to Morris’s denial, his back became hot with a burning familiar ache. Hot as if on fire, Morris strained his arm behind his back trying to grab on to the pain.

A coarse, dense ridge took form from the smooth skin of his back. Discovered more than a blemish, Morris uncovered a lie. The small circular scar was reminiscent of his past.

It was true.

Joe had only existed in Morris’s conscience when he needed him.

Stumbling home, Morris unlocked the apartment 89 | RACHUBY | the

reckoning

door, darting to his room. Morris sat on the bed. He sank his hands into his hair, his elbows to his knees.

“You’re fucking nuts, kid.”

“ You’re not real”

––––“Leave me alone.”

Laughing, Joe heavily sat down. “Why would you want to get rid of me, Morris? I’m the best part of you–cool, goodlooking, a ladies man…”

“You are literally none of those things,” said Morris smiling in response to Joe’s outlandish conceit. “What am I saying,” Morris cried in frustration. “You don’t even exist.”

“Technically, to you, I do exist.”

“Just go away,” Morris broke off as the door to his room opened. Ben loomed in the door way, his face a mask of confusion.

“Who are you…

oh my god

what the hell happened to you?”

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CHAPTER 11 CIĘŻAR | the burden

S

QUEAL

bump... bump...

Squeal

The high pitched sound of the cart’s wheels wobbled and bumped over the uneven green tile of the hospital floor. Morris’s eyes popped open. His moment of hidden thoughts and emotions behind closed eyes over and there was no preventing the reality of what had happened and is happening from washing over him. Shifting to the side, Morris took in the sight of the small hospital room. Ben sprawled in an uncomfortable armless chair next to him snoring quietly.

A true caretaker Ben proved to be a mother hen of sorts. Shocked by Morris’s appearance, Ben had swooped into the room, barreling question after question, his concern evident as he wiped the blood off of Morris’s face.

“The scabs did this to you,” Ben asked as he dragged a

93 | CIĘŻAR | the burden

shaky hand over his face. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

“Did you get a good look at them?”

Morris closed down; embarrassment of his assault overwhelmed any inch of true divulgence.

“No,” Morris replied.

The sweet call of sleep remained unanswered as Morris was pulled off his bed, a coat thrown over his shoulders and into the night. Pushing Morris out of the door, Ben had insisted that they go to the hospital.

Although Morris resisted the trip to the clinic, he couldn’t hate his cousin for the compassion he had shown, nor the fearful look in Ben’s eyes when he had opened the door to find a bloody and beaten Morris.

Leaning back into the stiff pillow, Morris tried to settle himself into the narrow hospital bed. An impossible feat. Morris contemplated as every inch of this body throbbed in pain.

The walls of the small room seemed to close in on him until all he could think about was the night that

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had destroyed him both physically and mentally.

He knew three things about himself now. One, his life was temporary, two, Joe wasn’t real, and three his family was dead. What he could not figure out was why he was laying in a hospital, beaten and waiting for another door to open. Minutes ticked by, the large clock ticks.

ticking ticking

ticking

Reminding Morris how ridiculous it was for him to be here.

Why is it, Morris wondered, every doctor makes you wait while the patient is left worrying if he or she is on the cusp of surgery, disease or worse–death? As if to answer Morris’s thoughts the door swung open.

A pair of ridiculously thick gray eyebrows peeked followed by the folded pouches of loose skin circling a pair of steel gray eyes. The wild arches danced upon the man’s face, raising high upon his brow as he took in the state of his patient.

Morris heard the man’s surprised whistle before 95 | CIĘŻAR | the burden

he fully emerged. The small elderly man belonging to the heavy brows strolled in to the room; his lab coat nearly swallowing him. Tapping a clip board absentmindedly, the man brandished a small badge reading S.A. Knoff. Patting down the gray tuffs of hair, Morris’s visitor announced himself as Dr. Knoff.

His warm smile nearly hidden behind the equally gray mustache crinkled his face into a map of lines that danced upon the man’s face.

“Dear boy, you’re looking like you took a walk through a wall,” cracked a surprisingly boyish voice.

Giggling over his joke Dr. Knoff settled himself in a small stool next to the bed.

“Sorry– a ‘Mo-rr-is,’ is it?,” Knoff asked as he sounded out the name. “I get awfully bored around here.”

“How are you feeling?”

Swallowing Morris sighed his reply, “Um… Good doc.”

A fit of coughing came on cutting off any other reply.

Tisking, the doctor pushed his dark-rimmed glasses onto his crooked nose and examined the clip board.

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Clearing his throat, Knoff began his analysis of Morris’s condition.

“Your bruises are superficial Morris, but I must ask you how long you have been sick. It says in your chart you have had a coughing for some time. Combined with the night sweats you have been having this does not look good.”

“Ah doc,” Morris defended, “it’s just a cold. A lot of the guys at work have had it.”

“You say you work at Kaufman’s Furrier shop?”

Morris nodded.

“Well son, there has been a variety of your folk coming in here with similar symptoms and I can tell you Morris it’s not just a cold.

Taking his glasses off, Knoff pinched the corners of his eyes before continuing. Morris you have what we have been calling the furrier’s lung. Have you heard of this before?

Nodding once more Morris’s thoughts turned to Julia. Julia had been told she had the furrier’s lung.

97 | CIĘŻAR | the burden

A sickness that invaded the lungs. Did this mean he

was going to…

“Am I going to die?” Morris stammered.

“Son, this furrier’s lung you have heard about, it’s also known as tuberculosis.”

“Tuberculosis,” Ben’s groggy voice questioned. Awake, Ben sat up looking expectantly at the doctor. Glancing back and forth between Knoff and Morris, Ben appeared visibly shaken.

“Is he going to die?”

Knoff gravely stared back at Ben, his sadness evident on his withered face.

“It is called the white death for a reason,” Knoff began.

“Although it sounds frightful I have seen a few successful cases. It starts as a bacteria called tubercle bacilli and manifests in fever and small lesions–usually in the lungs with a small percentage of the infected showing lesions on various parts of the body in acute stages.”

Knoff looked down at his chart before continuing.

Fidgeting with his glasses Knoff hesitated as if he

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didn’t know how to go on. Morris’s hands grew damp; his heart raced as he waited for what could only be bad.

“Morris the reason you have noticed many of your coworkers coming down with this ‘cold’ is because the infection is transmitted by inhalation or ingestion of this bacteria.” This means that you Morris, are contagious and I would caution you to remove yourself from the public. Most tuberculosis patients find they can recover in an isolated clinic.

“Really Doc, Morris began, it’s not that bad.”

“For right now your symptoms are minimal but they will get worse. Your lungs have already started to fill with fluid and it is only a matter of time before you will not be able to get out of bed.”

Standing slowly, Knoff put a hand to his back as he straightened–a painful reminder of his age. Silently walking over to the bedside Knoff laid his hand on Morris’s shoulder. “Morris, I’m afraid to tell you this, but you need to realize that you could possibly die from this. I’m going to leave you with a list of sanatoriums that have proved successful.”

99 | CIĘŻAR | the burden

The news of his illness hit him like a crashing blow– immobilizing him.

The room dimmed and the muffling voices of the doctor and Ben sank into the room–unheard by Morris’s shattered shell. The hollowed sound of the doctor’s words repeated over and over and over in his head and he felt himself sink into the depths of despair–You will die.

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CHAPTER 12 JCRS

T

HERE were eggs and then there were more eggs. There was nothing else but eggs–morning, noon and night. They were the burden of every patient.

Swallowing down the slimy things day after day–their taste became ash in the mouth. Currently six slimy unappealing orbs sat in front of Morris begging to be gulped up.

This was the life Morris sarcastically admitted to himself–a shed the size of a closet, a nosey roommate and the icy weather left much to be desired. The air was chilled outside and the wind howled and whipped against the walls of their small hut. It had been nine months since Morris had found out he had what they called ‘the white death’–the appealing name was enough to depress the joyous of people with the exception of one strange individual–his roommate George Bruggs.

A mite of a man, George was a 45-year-old tailor

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from South Carolina who had become obsessed with knitting since he arrived nearly 2 months ago.

Unfortunately the product of his infatuation was strung throughout the room, littering every available surface–from the small desk to the both bedside tables, the floor. In the midst of hooking and crossing, George happily carried on about the new ‘cousin’ who had been caught taking up with Ronny Baker–a small man who lacked firm shoulders.

“She’s a pretty little thing. Barely reaches my shoulders. And that Baker boy is so skinny. I have yet to figure out if he has shoulders. I just don’t know how he keeps his gown up.”

“Ya George she’s nice,” pacified Morris as he continued to draw in his journal.

Since arriving, George had not ceased talking, as if any silence would invite the creeping hand of death to sneak in and collect them.

George rattled on for hours happy to entertain and amuse his begrudged roommate. From one topic to the next the pudgy man carried on a one sided

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conversation, one minute praising President Woodrow Wilson for winning the Noble Peace Prize, the next divulging the latest gossip of the other patients. His most recent infatuation for the past two weeks was his fear of prohibition.

Truthfully, Morris thought George was either crazy or insane. Either way, Morris never felt alone. As for crazy, Morris could go head to head with the old coot.

Since leaving the hospital with the heavy knowledge of his illness, Joe had been constantly by his side.

Arriving at the door step of the Jewish Consumptives Relief Society six months ago, Morris had to admit he could go no further. The illness had taken its toll, advancing farther than Morris could manage. Losing 30 pounds, Morris was a mere skeleton of his former self–evident the tuberculosis was worsening. As hard as Ben fought for Morris to heal, the disease held strong, burrowing deep into Morris’s lungs.

A pounding on the door shook the occupants from their nestled bedcovers. The door bowed in several

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times before it was wrenched open. Nurse Jane came in with the wind at her back, bringing with it the brisk winter air. Stepping in quickly, the door shut sharply.

Jan wiped the excess rain off of her white service clothes, shaking her short brown curls sending wet drops sprinkling over the worn floor boards. Her eyes sparkled as she looked in on her patients. Her smilea beautiful relief from the long stretch of days Morris and George experienced.

“Oh, you boys are so handsome,” Jane gushed playfully. “You’re looking very good today.”

Primping with girlish pride only George could muster he straightened in his bed, stowed the mangled sock he had been working on and smiling at her praise. Morris shoke with laughter at the sight of George blush.

Morris didn’t know what was better; pretty Jane’s visit or George’s flustering youth. Either way, it brought a smile to his face.

“We missed you Jane,” George exclaimed.

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“Did you bring us anything? Pudding?” his hopeful gaze ambivalently childlike.

One of the best things about Jane’s visits is the letters she brought with her. Holding out three jewels of crinkled envelops overjoyed Morris. Here was news from the outside. He hoped it was from Ben. Since arriving at the Denver sanatorium Morris had steadily received letters from Ben. His words of kindness and humorous stories of Gold always touched Morris.

Handing the letters to Morris, Jane coyly smiled.

“Morris, you are so refreshing. Like a young boy receiving his favorite candy, you always light up when you get your letters.”

“Oh Jane,” Morris responded with equal play. “It’s just not true. You know how much I like seeing you walk through my door.”

Giggling with pleasure, Jane bid them goodbye as she opened the door and was swept out into the cold.

“She is gorgeous isn’t she?” begged Joe. Appearing with no warning, Joe sank down on the

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side of Morris’s bed. Leaning against the head board Joe nestled up against Morris. Unsurprised by Joe’s sudden arrival, Morris had become used to seeing Joe throughout the day. From time to time, Morris would converse with Joe–leaving George utterly confused.

“If I were well, I would ask her out,” answered Morris absentmindedly as he fingered the worn postage stamps on his letters.

A perplexed George looked over at Morris before agreeing. “Well yes, my boy of course you would.

She’s what my pa would call a real dish.”

Revving up for a long one, George jumped in wholeheartedly about the good-looking verses the bad looking cousins. Remarking about Gladys, a 24 year-old saucy number whom caught his attention not a day before.

Blocking the incessant chatter out, Morris turned his attention to his most prized possessions–his letters.

Ripping open the first letter, Morris delved into the scratchy handwriting of Ben.

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Dear Morris, There has been much excitement since the last I wrote. The progressives have waged a devastating attack against Cohen and Kaufman. The strike was carried through and the furriers left their work stations to protested against the cruelty of the workshop. Though much of the credit belongs to our young Gold, it has come at a terrible loss. Many were injured and several have been killed. I’m sorr y to tell you this Morris, but your friend Aaron, has been killed.

I am sorry to burden you with this sorrowful news as you are struggling with your own health. I hope everything is going well for you. I look forward to seeing you soon.

Love– Ben.

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Folding the letter carefully, Morris curled into his bedding as he felt a sorrow knife into his chest. The heavy sand of sleep pulled him down, his dreams tortured memories of his friend’s death.

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CHAPTER 13 FREEDOM IS A ROAD

I

T was his final word. Scrawled in neat columns Morris wrote the last letter he would ever write.

Freedom was his death. Praying for it in the same way he wished for life, yet there was only one path through this demon of an illness that inhabited his body.

Death was a burden Morris couldn’t bear. The doctor had left his final stamp on Morris’s health. In the last two months Morris’s dreams were filled with a constant nightmare–he found himself night after night struggling to breathe–suffocating as his lungs filled with liquid. Sometimes he would dream of the Queen Mary sinking and he along with his friends drowning in the salty depths. Their screams captured by the water that enveloped them.

Late one night, several hours past sundown Morris sat under the warm glow from his lamp, his journal lay open on his lap. Writing his last letter, Morris found it difficult to find the words to say goodbye.

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Signing his name, Morris tore the page from the book and set them on his night stand.

Morris glanced over to George noting the man’s uninterrupted snore, Morris climbed to his feet.

Shouldering his bag he walked to the door.

“Morris,” called George. “You can’t go on foot, it’s too cold.”

Reaching into his bedside drawer, George dug deep sifting through newspapers and his verboten whiskey bottle. Morris heard jingling before George came up brandishing a set of keys. Tossing the silvery metal to Morris, George smiled.

“Take it.” The keys felt heavy in his hand, their weight calling to the guilt Morris felt at his leaving the JCRS–a note his only goodbye.

“Thanks man.”

Turning, Morris reached for the handle. Glancing back he looked into Joe’s somber eyes and a wave of emotion nearly pulled him down.

“This is goodbye Joe.”

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Nodding, Joe remained silent, his eyes shining as he smiled solemnly.

Opening the door, Morris disappeared into the night.

The energy of the trip vibrated through Morris encouraging him to drive on. Further and further he felt as if the farther he drove the farther he left behind the boy, the man that he had become, the pain of his family, his Julia, even leaving behind the illusion of himself, of Joe. It was only him. It was him alone who drove for hours marveling at the freedom he could feel as the wind whipped through his hair.

Passing through state after state, Morris watched a myriad of scenery, more beautiful than the last rising up all around him. Pulling over, Morris felt himself wavering between his weakening body and the strength of his being. Through the windshield, Morris felt awestruck as he took in the sight before him.

The landscape lit up red in the sunset and in that moment gentle fingers of the sun’s rays cast a

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brilliant illumination over the road as it stretched into infinity. Morris couldn’t tell when the beauty he was witnessing stopped and when heaven began.

On the road he began, through life and through struggle seemed to merge into this one long stretch of pavement.

Death was only the beginning.

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EPILOGUE THE JOURNAL 1921

T

HE small leather book held in Ben’s hands, clasped as if trying to hold onto the past. Worn and tattered, the book represented a young boy’s dream.

Tenderly, Ben pulled back the limp pages of Morris’s journal to find a life’s worth of sketches and writings.

Several hours carried Ben late into the night; the last page tingled within his fingertips. A fat tear hit the last page and it was only then Ben realized he had been crying. Leaning back, heavy thoughts rolled through his head as he contemplated what he had read.

There had never been a Joe Kindman. For Morris, Joe was the strength he had found in his life when he had none. Running a light finger over the delicate drawings, Ben said his last goodbye to the delightful, engaging boy he watched grow into a man.

Closing the book, Ben felt saddened by his cousin whose fate lie as tattared as the journal he held.

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Yet Morris had persevered through his struggles and was gifted with a second chance at happiness-a true gift of a second chance–a second life for Morris Summer.

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Materials from the Beck Archives All documents Courtesy of: JCRS Collection, Beck Archives Special Collections, Penrose Library and Center for Judaic Studies, University of Denver, 2008 Patient Name: Morris Summer Folder Number: 5279

Image illustration Metzger, Jody

Citations Foner, Philip Sheldon. History of the Labor

Movement in the United States. 1st edition.

10. United States of America: International Publishing Co. Inc.,, 1994. 72-84. Print.

Colophon Typefaces: Adobe Caslon Pro, regular, italic, bold-italic Paper: 24 lb. cream linen, Paper: 80 lb. white cover stock, Grid system based on the Golden Section

Designer: Š2010 Jody Metzger