A Cobbler's Tale Page 4

  “What makes you think I was cheating?”

  “You won too many hands.”

  Jakob gave his most charming smile, shook his head slowly, and said, “No, Pincus, I wasn’t cheating.”

  Pincus looked into Jakob’s gem-like eyes, smiled, and said, “Okay, Jakob.”

  Pincus had little time alone except just before the dawn while Jakob and nearly everyone else on board were asleep, except for a few members of the crew. He thought about Mendel and wondered how Sara was doing. Mendel was a good man, and the only man in the village he could have been friends with.

  Pincus also thought about Jakob. Was he becoming a friend?

  His companionship with Mendel had been cemented as children, which bonded their friendship for life. But the relationship with Jakob was different. He considered the probability that Jakob had been cheating, and how he wasn’t feeling bad or ashamed of it. They had beaten those guys at a dirty game of cards, and he dared to admit to himself that he’d been excited. This stunning new emotion was creating a friendship with Jakob that filled a part of his life that he never knew existed.

  The SS Amerika was on the final day of its ten-day voyage. Within a few hours, they would be docking at Hoboken Harbor in New Jersey, where the ferryboats would bring the steerage passengers to the greatly anticipated and revered Ellis Island for processing and entry into America. Pincus and Jakob leaned over on the ship’s railing and quietly awaited the first sightings of the New World.

  “Pincus,” Jakob said, interrupting the silence.

  Pincus turned his head toward his new friend.

  “On the train from Warsaw to Hamburg, I met a man who told me he had connections in the Lower East Side. He said when I got to America, I should contact this man.” He handed Manny Plotnick’s card to Pincus.

  “Delancey Street is in the Lower East Side, Pincus. We find this Manny and tell him that Mr. Gorpatsch referred us to him. Maybe he can help us find a place to live, and I am sure he can also find a good spot for your cobbler shop,” Jakob said enthusiastically.

  “Okay, let’s find Manny Plotnick of Manny Plotnick Enterprises,” Pincus agreed.

  CHAPTER 8

  CLARA’S STORY

  Clara’s fondest memories were of her teenage years, when she learned how to manage the Zieglers’ traditional Jewish home. Clara’s mother, Sadie, leaned heavily on her, as the only daughter in a household with five younger brothers. Clara was her assistant in almost every way, which included such tasks as preparing and delivering lunch to the boys at their Torah studies, tending the vegetable garden, managing the chicken coop, and preparing for Shabbat every Friday afternoon. Her mother boasted to her friends about what an amazing mother her daughter would become one day. Clara shared her mother’s dreams and fantasized that she would marry a wealthy Torah scholar and raise a beautiful Jewish family.

  Not only did Clara learn from her mother, she also became proficient behind the looms of her father’s linen business. With growing demand for his product, Yisroel Ziegler made a nice living for his family, and Clara became a key part in its success. She was able—for a few hours a day in between the household chores—to work the looms and weave yards of linen fabric for her father to sell.

  Clara had a few girlfriends who lived nearby, but they barely saw each other except for a few stolen moments as they criss-crossed the village during their daily chores. One of these days, as she was delivering the lunches to the boys, she ran into her friend Ruchel. Ruchel told her she was getting married soon and leaving to live with her fiancé in a village far away.

  Clara thought it ironic that her best skills—keeping a home and helping with the family business—were the same reasons that at the age of eighteen she remained unmarried. She knew her parents would struggle without her, but didn’t she need to marry and raise a family soon?

  Clara shared her worries with her mother, who reassured her, albeit with a forced smile. “Clara, of course you will be missed. But your father and I will learn to manage.”

  They will “learn to manage,” Clara thought. As always, her mother found a subtle way to instill a little guilt into her supposedly reassuring statements.

  To Clara’s surprise, a few months past her eighteenth birthday, her parents gave her the news that an arrangement had been made with the marriage broker. She was promised to a family in Krzywcza, which was about forty miles south of their village of Sanok. Her betrothed was the eldest son of a cobbler, Pincus Potasznik. Pincus was twenty-one years old and would inherit the family business. He had been apprenticing under his father’s tutelage since his thirteenth birthday.

  What a dream it would have been to be matched to a Torah scholar instead of a merchant! But she would never disrespect her father by verbalizing her disappointment. In addition, her father needed the dowry to offset the five dowries he had to come up with for the five boys in the family.

  She thought back on that day when she sat outside the house for hours staring down the road as she waited nervously for the arrival of the family. Around noon, she caught a glimpse of the horse-drawn wagon transporting the Potaszniks. As it approached, she saw a couple who appeared to be her future in-laws. Pointing and laughing behind them were two boys and a little girl. The older boy, she would soon discover, was her betrothed, Pincus; the other boy was Lazar his younger brother, and the girl sitting in between them was his sister, Freidel.

  The introductions were very awkward, as Pincus was painfully shy. During their chaperoned visit, he could barely look into her eyes and didn’t say much except to utter the standard pleasantries. The farewells were just as clumsy. As they departed, she realized the next time they met would be on their wedding day.

  That had been seventeen years earlier, and now here she was—about to give birth in a few months—with three small children needing constant attention, and a husband who had just left on a voyage across the ocean to America. Her eldest daughter, Jennie, now eleven, was becoming useful in the household. Fortunately, Clara’s mother had moved in a year earlier, after her father had passed.

  Before Pincus had left for America, they had discussed keeping the cobbler shop operational to provide income for the family. His goal was to set up shop in America, but it would probably take a while before he could send money home. Clara rarely stepped foot into her husband’s cobbler business, but she knew enough about the tasks involved as a result of living with the shoemaker for many years.

  They had hired Mendel Beck’s son Shmuel to run the cobbler shop. Pincus had trained Shmuel for several weeks before his departure. Clara would make it a point to stop by twice a day to oversee and collect the day’s receipts.

  There were not many women in the shtetl who could raise a family, give birth, and supervise a business without a husband by her side, but Clara felt as if her entire life had prepared her for just such a challenge. She’d had expert tutelage from her mother, fortunately still by her side, and business savvy she had learned from her father. These teachers and her own life experience would provide her with the necessary skills. But it was her poise and wisdom that would prove to be the catalyst for her family’s survival.

  CHAPTER 9

  ELLIS ISLAND

  Pincus guessed that all of the thousand passengers plus the crew were topside watching the SS Amerika’s approach into the vast openness of New York Harbor. An electric charge seemed to ripple along the length of the ship and through the crowd on deck. They first sailed past Governor’s Island on the starboard side. When lower Manhattan came into view, Pincus joined in the collective gasp of amazement.

  Then it began, first as a low murmur and then as a roar of excitement. On the port side they all saw it at last, the image of everyone’s dreams, the Statue of Liberty. Standing tall and proud, she represented the American dream he heard so much about and was the most beautiful object he had ever seen. Pincus could not hold back his tears as he held tightly to the railing of the SS Amerika as it sailed right alongside the elegant lady that represented h
is and his family’s future.

  Upon docking at Hoboken Harbor, Pincus soon learned that the first- and second-class passengers would be quickly examined onboard for signs of contagious diseases such as cholera, smallpox, typhoid, yellow fever, scarlet fever, and measles. Once cleared, they were quickly processed through immigration at Ellis Island. But the steerage passengers would need to wait for hours until the barges transferred them for processing and a much more intensive health inspection.

  Pincus and Jakob were waiting for what they understood were two cards they needed for immigration control. The first was a landing card, which was to be pinned onto their lapel of their coat and would list the name of their steamship, the manifest sheet number, and their passenger number. The other was a medical inspection card, which was a record of the examination by the ship’s doctor.

  Jakob leaned over to speak softly. “Most likely we’ll get separated once we get inside. Whoever gets through first should wait for the other at the ferry before going into Manhattan.”

  “Okay,” Pincus agreed.

  As he stepped off the barge, Pincus was thrilled to be on firm ground. Carrying his valise and wearing his winter coat, he felt sweat trickle down his forehead and the back of his neck. It was the middle of summer, and he was either carrying or wearing all his clothing. He could feel his undergarments growing damp from perspiration.

  He was led into the South Hall where the inspection process began. As he waited his turn, Pincus watched as doctors scribbled a chalk mark on some of the immigrants’ lapels. He would later learn that the letters B, C, or F were codes that identified an illness that required further examination and would eventually be probable cause for refusing entry into America.

  Pincus took a deep breath to calm his nerves when his turn came. The cooler interior of the hall had evaporated the sweat, but he was not the epitome of health. All was going well until the doctor, a young man probably just out of medical school, said, “This may hurt.” He pinched Pincus’s eyelids and yanked them up and over a metal buttonhook.

  “What are you doing?” Pincus yelled in Yiddish.

  It didn’t matter what language was used, the entire medical staff knew what it meant. They were checking for a common eye disease in Southeastern Europe called trachoma.

  Pincus apparently passed the medical inspection and was still rubbing his abused eyelids while he waited for his interview in the Registry Hall on the second floor. When he was called, he stood across a podium from a man with a nametag that read FIORELLO LAGUARDIA. Pincus stared at the Italian name as he waited for the young man to read whatever he was holding.

  “You speak Yiddish?” asked LaGuardia, looking at papers in an open folder on his desk.

  “Yes, I do,” said Pincus, who was surprised to hear this Italian man speaking his mother tongue.

  “Good,” he continued in Yiddish. “I have a few questions to ask and then you can be on your way.”

  Pincus was pleased that he had spent many hours studying the questions with a group of single men during the voyage. Because of this, he knew what the Fourth of July was, how many stripes and stars there were in the American flag, and who was President of the United States.

  “William Taft,” he said with his very heavy accent.

  An hour later, Pincus was walking down the stairs and out into the sunlight on a path that led to the ferry to New York City. To his great delight, there stood Jakob with a huge smile, his arms spread wide, and announcing, “Welcome to America!”

  CHAPTER 10

  THE LOWER EAST SIDE

  On the voyage, Pincus learned many things about the so-called Jewish Capital of America, the Lower East Side. A few seasoned travelers told him how Eastern European Jews had overwhelmed this small area of southern Manhattan. Not only were there many Jews, there was also tremendous overcrowding with large families crammed into small living spaces.

  But none of the stories prepared Pincus for what he and Jakob saw as they walked with their valises in hand along Delancey Street. Pushcarts lined the boulevard with merchants selling fruits and vegetables, pickles, meats, and popular household items.

  Pincus stopped in front of pushcart selling cold borscht with a chunk of a boiled potato. “I am so hungry,” he said.

  The merchant working the cart was a young teenage boy, who spoke to Pincus in Yiddish, asking “They are a nickel for one, how many do you want?”

  Pincus dug into his pocket for the American coins he had obtained on the ship.

  “Two, please. We just arrived in America, and we are hungry,” Pincus told the boy, who just smiled and handed over the cups.

  Using his valise as a seat, Pincus sipped the cup of borscht and bit into the boiled potato. “This is good,” he said to Jakob, who nodded in agreement.

  Pincus marveled at the swarm of people making their way between the pushcarts and horses that clogged the thoroughfare. He gawked in amazement at the dilapidated tenement buildings that were squeezed into place between alleys and streets that appeared either unpaved or in great need of repair. Is this really to be my new home? How will I start a business and find lodgings and eventually bring my family over?

  “Okay, Pincus, time to get on with our new lives. Let’s go find Manny.” Jakob’s voice interrupted his friend’s daydreaming. “He can’t be far—the card says 210 Delancey Street.”

  In a few minutes, Pincus and Jakob found themselves in front of a six-story apartment building with the number 210 on a large, oval, white ceramic sign centered over the pair of wooden doors. Lining the block on either side of the entryway was a variety of stores, each one draped with a worn-out, faded fabric awning. Pincus watched as Jakob took the six steps up to the vestibule in three leaps. He might have expected Jakob to be so bold, but he himself took one step at a time.

  The sign by the door advertised the same name as the card in Jakob’s hand. The stairs were barely wide enough for Pincus and his valise and definitely not wide enough for Jakob, who had to carry his bag front of him as he would a small child. The old, dilapidated staircase tilted sharply to the left, which was disconcerting for Pincus, who had to fight the pull of gravity in two directions as he climbed to the fourth floor.

  Moments later they stood in front of a door with the name MANNY PLOTNICK ENTERPRISES neatly printed on it. Jakob knocked boldly, and a voice from within shouted, “Come in.”

  After a quick glance and a reassuring wink, Jakob turned the doorknob and entered with Pincus right behind him.

  Pincus saw someone hunched over a desk, his back toward them as they walked in. Dust particles floated by in the streams of daylight dancing their way across the room. Pincus couldn’t identify the odor, but it appeared to be something rotten that should have been thrown out weeks ago. The man spun around on a swivel chair and, without losing any momentum, hopped out of it to face them.

  “Good day, gentlemen. My name is Manny Plotnick. How may I be of service?” he said, offering a handshake to the first taker.

  “I am Jakob Adler, and this is Pincus Potasznik. Mr. Gorpatsch of Warsaw gave me your card and recommended that we contact when we arrived. He said you could help us.”

  “Oh, Mr. Gorpatsch, my good friend,” Manny said enthusiastically.

  Pincus had heard the story from Jakob about how they had met on the train from Warsaw. He was skeptical that this would turn into anything helpful, but maybe he was wrong. Manny seemed as disheveled as his office. He obviously shaved and bathed infrequently, which probably accounted for some of the offensive smells in the office. It appeared that he lived here as well, perhaps sleeping on the lumpy brown sofa and in the same wrinkled clothes he was wearing. But he seemed friendly, and his brown eyes sparkled as he shook hands.

  “Good to meet you, Pincus. You are both from Warsaw, I assume?”

  “No, I am from a small village in the southeast called Krzywcza, and Jakob is from Warsaw.”

  “Good, good. Tell me how can I help?”

  “We need a place to live, and
I need to find a spot for a store. I’m a cobbler.”

  “Wonderful, I can certainly help. What about you, Jakob, what do you do?”

  “I’m going to work with Pincus and help him out with the business.”

  “That’s good, but I imagine that a man of your stature,” Manny said, looking at him from head to toe, “has certain skills that Mr. Gorpatsch recognized, and that’s why he sent you to me. But we can have that conversation later. Let’s get you settled.”

  He reached into a drawer and pulled out a key with a wooden block attached with a twine. “Ninety-seven Orchard Street, apartment six-E. You will both be very comfortable there.”

  “How much is it?” Pincus asked with concern.

  “We’ll work that out after you get settled,” Manny said as he handed Pincus the key.

  Walking many flights of stairs was something new to Pincus. Back in Krzywcza, the tallest homes had two or at most three flights to climb. Lumbering up the five flights at 97 Orchard Street was not only exhausting but also precarious. Scattered on almost every step were pages from old newspapers, half-eaten and rotting fruit, and oil-stained rags—or perhaps old shirts, Pincus couldn’t decide.

  With his valise in one hand and steadying himself with a grip on the rickety wooden railing, Pincus reached the first landing of the dilapidated building. Laid out in the entry to the two hallways that led to the apartments were battered and stained mattresses, pillows, and clothing.

  “Are people living here?” Pincus whispered, turning to Jakob, whose face showed equal disbelief at the sight.

  “Apparently so,” Jakob replied, as he pointed at several children and adults milling around the two hallways leading to the apartments on this floor.

  Pincus saw more evidence of overcrowding on each floor until they finally reached the sixth. Walking down the long hallway required some zigzagging around tossed garbage, sleeping people—though it was midday—and an assortment of household items used for daily living.