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Forms to be Filled out for Each Interview
FORM
Circumstances of Interview
STATE New York
NAME OF P,ORFEft B. Hathaway
ADDRESS 356 West 123rd Street, NYC
DATE January 12, 1939
SUBJECT FOLKLORE-- UNION SQUARE (KIRSCHBAUM)
1. Date and time cf' interview
others since.
FOLKLORE
NEW YORK
Originally September, 1938. Supplemented by
2. Place of interview Union Square
3. Name and address of informant Herman Kirschbaum
4. Name and address of person, if any, wno put you in
touch with informant.
5. Name and address of person, if any, accompanying you
6. Description of room, house, surroundings, etc.
Same as in Jacob Stein and Panhandling
In addition--- Beneath the tall equestrian statue of George Washington,
at the South entrance of the Park, whose worn granite base in times past
has afforded a resting place for innumerable of the City's unemployed, on
a warm night last summer, SOMR twenty or thirty persons, literally from
the ends of the earth, sat and stood in attitudes of ease, listening to
tales of far 'places.
(Use as many additional sheets as necessary, for any of the forms, each
bearing the proper heading and the number to which the material refers.)
FORM A (Page 2)
One of the group was from old Budapest, astride the Danube.
In him, however, was none of the romance and story that one might expect
from a native of the ancient capital of the Magyars. He had taken no
roots in the soil, reflected no color of the place of his origin. Himself
not a Magyar, he was of that tribe of wanderers that have stemmed from
Asia, the birthplace of man, since the dawn civilization. He was a cos-
mopolitan. A wanderer, reflecting nothing of his origin.
And now, in distant Union Square he sat as casually "popping
off," in broken English, about the cost of living and other trivia, as
ever his parents had done in the land of Francis Joseph.
A Roumanian from the Black Sea was telling of the Gypsies of
the Dobruja, or Delta of the Danube, with whom he had once lived, or said
he had. More recently he was Constantinople. He was one who saw life
and color in all about.
Of the round, full-orbed moon just clearing the tip of the
Consolidated Gas Company, on Fourteenth Street, he spoke with feeling,
saying it was like the Turkish moon of old Stamboul when it bathed the
Golden Horn.
The hour was late. The group had talked for hours. The il-
luminated clock atop the Consolidated Gas marked an hour long past mid-
night.
The city slept. Or as nearly as it ever does, when the rumble
of the early milk wagon mingles its threnody with that of the retiring
traffic of the day.
FORM A (Page 3)
The soft September moon wove its magic spell over the little
park. Each shrub and bush and tree took on fantastic shapes and forms.
The statue of Lincoln and Lafayette, a little farther off, were ghostly
figures. The hundred -foot flagpole in the center was a Jacob's ladder
to the Tower of Babel.
Serenely down upon the fed and the unfed, the housed and un-
housed, shone the effulgent rays, as if there were no such things as human
miseries.
The notched skyline around the Park looked more jagged than
ever against the background of silver, a jagged reproduction of the Sierra
Nevadas in the center of Manhattan.
Here and there, on the spacious benches, reposed, in sleeping
attitudes, the army of the unemployed or some of it whose status
of "transient relief," entitled them only to breadline meals at South
Ferry or Twenty-ninth Street.
Here they were sleeping the night out rent free. The big
roomy benches, set in solid concrete, were new and commodious and had
no cross bars to torture the troubled sleeper.
Full length they sprawled. They slept. Profoundly. Nor
dreamed of palaces nor golden strands
That is, until a police wagon sneaked silently up to the
Southwest entrance to the Park and snaked off, by ones and twos, some
half dozen of the bivouacked sleepers. Smack into the wagon they were
chucked, still half asleep. The rest were scattered down Fourth Avenue
and on rolled the Black Mariah for other worlds to conquer.
FO2Py.
Per:sonalinforint
STATE New York
NAME OF V,WIKER B. Hathaway
ADPESS 3E6 West 123rd Street, NYC
DA1F January 12, 1939
SU6JECT FOLKLORE UNION SQUARE
1. Ancestry Russo -Jewish
FOLKLORE
YORK
2. Place and date of birth A small town near Libau, Province of Courland,
old Russia, in 1896. Courland is now the independent state of Latvia.
3. Fuilly No relatives in this country. Parents and one
brother now living near Antwerp, Belgium.
4. Places live' i, it;1 dnt,' In his native village until 15 years of age.
Wandered in Berlin, Belgium and London about one year. Arrived in New York
in 1912, where he has lived almost continuously since.
5.
Fewcatior, with daes Formal education in the German private schools
of Courland. What would correspond to gramnar schools here, 1902-1911.
6. D:!cnpations nnd accocapintF, with aate
Worked in the fur business since about 1913 or '14,
where he was engaged in the manufacturing end of the business. Worked there
until the depression ended his employment.
7. Special skills and interests
8. Cm:triunity and religious actiNitles
Atheistic and radical in philosophy.
9. Description of informant Tall, stooped, even gaunt, the forty -two -year
old informant was almost as attenuated as an interrogation point and about
the same shape. Well -dressed for Union Square, from his upper lip dangled
(See page 2)
10. Other Points gained in interview
On Home Relief. Member of W. A.
FORM B (Page 2)
a perpetual cigarette that jiggled up and dawn as he talked. He was
courteous, suave, soft spoken, a ready grin greeting the most savage
jibe in return. I never saw him other than poised, considerate and im-
personal.
Argues continually about Marx. Never questions the eternal
rightness of his patron saint, but does it with a regard for the other
fellow that is exceptional in Union Square.
His mental attitude might be accounted for by his size. He
couldn't hope to put up much physical resistance to the plug-uglies that
sometimes invade the Square. Or it might come from the mixing of his
parents with the "big gentiles" (see Form C), in old Russia, that resulted
in a broader, more cosmopolitan point of view than that possessed by his
fellow emigres.
I think, however, it was merely the fact from whatever
cause that he saw the humerous side of the world about him.
Fanaticism does not jibe with humor, or the trait that sees
the incongruities of life. The fanatic is usually in such deadly earnest
that he can't see himself. The fanatic is not an analist. He is a
motive man. He organizes and moves society. That is his job. He is
least of all concerned with the why.
Any humor he may possess cribs and counteracts his motive
power and makes him less the fanatic. At heart a humorist could not be
a crusader. He is not narrow -gauged enough. He might be in a crusade,
but he could not motivate one.
Thus our informant had his crusading spirit tempered by a
humorous insight into human weaknesses that lent greatly to the reason-
FORM B (Page 3)
ableness of what he said.
He had not a trace of that "to -hell -with -everything" attitude,
"the more -misery -in -life -the -better," on the theory that the worse things
are, the quicker will come his particular brand of reform. Instead,
he sanely recognized that the world will go just as fast as the people
are capable of going and no faster; that trying to pour things into
people with a funnel is not only wrong sociology, but wrong pedagogy.
FORM C
Text of Interview (Unedited)
STATE New York
NE OF WORKER B. Hathaway
ADDRESS 356 West 123rd Street, NYC
DATE January 12, 1939
SUBJECT FOLKLORE UNION SQUARE
FOLKLORF
NEW YORK
At the base of the Statue the group of all-nighters had ar-
rived at the standard of living in old Russia.
Professor So -an' -so, according to Budapest, was a "tight
wad." Even here, in free America, he would scend no more than five
cents for a cigar. And he had no excuse for it. He was well to do.
'Why should I?" he was quoted as saying. "Pouffl" The
speaker made an expressive motion with his hand in the air. "Just
like thatl" the Professor would say
"That's smoke. Why should I spend money for that? It is
gone. Nothing remains. You have nothing to show for it. Why should
I spend more than five cents for nothing?"
The man from Budapest gave it as his opinion that nearly
all those from poor sections of Europe, like Hungary and pre-war Russia,
were too miserly to appreciate the higher standard of living here, or
were afraid to spend.
They were too stingy. They were afraid to risk five cents
for a smoke. They were not used to it. The old standard of living
still gripped them here in the new world.
That started the informant.
Alert he stood, hooked like a question mark in the soft light
of the moon, that lent an air of unreality to the tale he told of haw
he came to Union Square.
Without a trace of pride and the stamp of utter sincerity,
he said
Herman Kirschbaum
Mein fader was in Courland like a rich man here. He had
great acres of land hundreds of acres. He traded in land and became
very rich. He was like bourgeoisie here. Petty bourgeois.
He had the biggest house in town. That was in Courland, in
old Russia. In a little town near Libau.
When he came hone at night, I remember, mein fader would have
in his buggy champagne and meat and every kind of food. Champagne didn't
cost there like here.
It only took eight hours by train to go to France. And when
mein fader would go there, he would bring back with him anything he
liked champagne and all kinds of drinks. In my home champagne was
like water. Nobody thought anything of it.
3
We always had plenty of everything. I never knew what it
was to go without anything I wanted. Mein fader was in with all the
big gentiles and traded with them.
He was Jewish, but not very orthodox and everybody liked him.
He always made plenty of money. Naturally he was up to everything that
was going on in business and cashed in on it.
But for all that (with a deprecating wave of the hand), I
didn't like it. I never did like it. My home was too strict. Not
enough freedom. For me, anyway.
Everything had to be just so. That was the way the gentiles
did. So that's the way we had to do. Mein fader had, what you call
Social standing. And lived up to it. He wanted the good opinion of his
neighbors.
If I went out with a girl, mein fader said people were talking
about me. As if I gave a damn what they said! But the folks cared and
I was blamed for it.
If I took a little too much drink, the folks complained. The
gentiles didn't do that way. The gentiles did this and the gentiles did
that. It got on my nerves. It was too cramped there.
So when I was fifteen I ran away from hone.
From mein fader's desk, in the big front room, I took some
money and ran away. I took a good deal. Plenty. Enough to last a long
time. An' I ran away.
I had no pasiport, but in Europe with money you can do anything.
I bought one. I went to Belgium. Conditions were freer there. Before that
4
I was in Berlin a while. But always I was looking toward England. In
Belgium I stayed a while and then got a boat out to London.
I had no trade. I didn't know how to do any work. A rich
man's son doesn't learn a trade. I didn't even know the language. But
I had some money an' that's what carried me through.
Well, in London I met an English Jew. He told me that America
was the place. At home in Courland i had always heard that America was
no good. A place of gangsters and lawlessness. Only bad people went
there. And it was the same way in England. They all cried down America.
In fact, all over Europe everybody believed America was a bad place.
But this English Jew wasn't fooled. He knew. And he put
me wise. He knew, what you call--- Onions. He knew his onions. I
couldn't talk English, but we got along together in Yiddish.
America's the place, he told me. You have no trade. There
you can learn a trade. At that time no Jew could learn a trade in London.
And all over Europe it was the same way. Before the war no Jew could
learn a trade.
He was either mercantile such as shoestring peddler, or
sometimes the gentiles would allow him to have a bigger business.
Whenever it was to their interests. But he was not in the trades.
It's all different now. But before the war, with only rare
exceptions, a Jew could not learn a trade.
So this London Jew said to me, suppose we go in together.
You help me an' I'll help you. You got money, you can't talk English.
I ain't got enough money, but I know the ropes. I manta go to America
too. You help me with the money ant I'll get the passports and arrange
everything.
5
Well, I paid for the tickets an' we landed in New York. That
Was in 1912. Prices were very low then. I still had a little money
left. For fifteen cents you could buy a whole meal. I'll never forget
those meals!
I walked into a restaurant on Rivington Street. It was the
corner of Eldridge, I remember it as well as yesterday. I should drop
down dead if I didn't for fifteen cents buy a four or five -course meal!
I had soup a big meat order, and goodi desert and
then tea, coffee or milk. And on top o' that, they gave you a big soda
order you know, at the soda fountain if you wanted it. Free, mind
you. And if you gave the waiter a nickel tip once a week, he was your
friend for life. He would give you the best in the house. To a waiter
a nickel was a lotta money in them days.
Believe me, when I walked outa that restaurant, I felt as if
I had eaten something! I thought New York was the best city in the world.
I still do. I went to that restaurant, regular, for a long time.
At that time six dollars a week was good wages. If a man got
eighteen, he was a prince. That was in 1912, as I say, when I first
landed here. I was sixteen years old. But if I live a million years
I'll never forget those old days on Rivington Street!
At that time that section was the old Ghetto that is around
in Seward Park, a little farther down. There was plenty Jews there. I
thought I had never seen so many Jews! As a matter of fact, I never had.
And friendly!
6
New York was a wonder city. Everything was cheap and I
still had a little money. Less than fifty dollars, to be exact, but
I was a prince while it lasted.
My friend, the London Jew, had friends in Boston and he
went there shortly after and I sort o' lost track of him. Later I
heard from him on the Pacific Coast, where he enlisted for the war
in Europe. Still later, I heard that he was killed in France.
Poor fellow, I guess the Argonne got 'im. I never heard of
him after
Well, my money didn't last forever. I had to go to work.
I had no trade. One day I began selling shoelaces on Broadway. Below
Fourteenth Street. Fourteenth Street then was the main crosstown
thoroughfare and Broadwaylas a small section. Or it seemed so to me.
A little later I got a chance to learn the fur business and
jumped at it.
In New York today, as you may know, the fur business is en-
tirely in the hands of Jew. That wasn't the case in 1912 and '18. In
that day the Jews were not in the fur business at all. They didn't know
anythirg about it. Before the mar the fur business here was handled en-
tirely by the French.
That may seem strange today. But that was the situation.
In that day you didn't see furs on every shop girl, as you do now.
Cheap furs didn't exist. They were very expensive. And only the rich
could afford them. A good set of furs ran into the thousands of dollars.
-7
And no manufacturine_ was done here. Furs all came from Paris.
And that was true not only for America. The French at that time did
the fur business for most of Europe.
For instance, if a New York purchaser wanted furs he gave
an order to Macy's, or some of the department stores, and they were
ordered from Paris. Stores here were order houses on Paris. No manu-
facturing was done here until the close of the war. The war brought
alout the change. It broke the French fur monopoly.
Toward the close, when the war began to absorb all the in-
dustrial energy of France, some French Jews, who knew the fur business,
came here and started manufacturing furs on a small scale.
From that kind of a start came the huge industry we know
today. And all in a few years. Just before the depression, the fur
industry in the metropolitan area alone was estimated at a billion
dollar a year turnover. That is, total the clothing, the dyeing
and the assembling branches.
Those figures are from the Ladies' Garment Worker. But I
think they are correct. I was in the manufacturing, or assembling branch
of the industry. That is, the putting together of the furs and the
cloth into the finished garment.
Well, inside of two years I was getting fifty or sixty dollars
a week. I was sitting pretty. From shoestrings to half a hundred per
pretty good, eh? It went a little to my head.
It was the war that did the trick. The war created a demand
for American products. Up jumped prices. And up jumped wages. There
were no more fifteen cent meals on Hivington Street. They were charging
fortyfive and fifty cents for the same thing now.
I moved up to Riverside Drive and went in for culture.
I wore expensive clothes, smoked high priced cigars, paid four
prices for food. And if that ain't culture
But, as I say, the depression cane. Everything has a catch
in it.
Now I'm on relief
Yes, my parents are still living. In a little town near
Ahntverp, in Belgium. In the war they lost everything and finally
escaped into Belgium. That was during the Menshevik regime of Alexander
Kerensky. Just before the Bolsheviks came in.
My oldest brother has a little business in Ahntverp, or near
it, rather. My father and mother live with him. They are very old
and living is cheap there. Now and then I send them ten dollars. They
can live a week, both of them, on that in Ahntverp
(He straightened up, pulled in his belt)
An' that, gentlemen (flipping a lammt-out cigarette over the
railing), is haw I happened to be in Union Square, on the bright summer
night of September 19, 1938 or the 20th rather (with a glance at the
9
clock, now pointing to three) and enjoying the hospitality of Uncle
Sam, of whom I had never even heard in my Courland home; instead of
lingering there, like a barnacle still, in a village near the present
city of Libau.
I am not there. I an here
An' that's why.