HARD TIMES GET HARDER

The Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941 brings the US into World War II and causes a major business setback for my father.

It wasn’t long after the ice skating episode when Dad had a financial fall from which he never recovered. The Great Depression started in 1929, when I was two, and lasted far into the 1940s. During the depression Dad struggled to make a living in real estate. He also had a sideline selling coal that he brought from the mines in Pennsylvania himself. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of real estate in the Bay Ridge section of Brooklyn where we lived. Most of the houses in Bay Ridge were single family.  In our frequent walks together he would describe the history of nearly every house we passed.  He knew when they were built and by whom, and he knew the details relating to every time the house changed hands.

 He bought houses at distressed prices (for example, when they were auctioned off for unpaid taxes) and sold them for a profit after making improvements. He kept some small buildings as rental properties and maintained them himself. Sometimes I helped with painting and odd jobs. We lived in a house on 6^th Avenue that Dad owned.  It was a three story tenement with a small apartment on each floor. We lived in the apartment on ground level.

It sounds as though Dad would have been making a lot of money, but he didn’t, for several reasons besides the depression. His lack of capital held him back. The business deals were small and far between and the profits were low. His major weaknesses included a tendency to trust the wrong people in business, as well as a habit of allowing tenants to live rent free if they had a hard luck story. And many of them did have hard luck stories, real or imaginary.

The depression went on and on.  Despite his continued struggles, Dad never gave up.

Things started to look up by early 1941.  Mom was working and her income helped. We were able to rent a large apartment overlooking New York Harbor.  Around that time, Dad took a bold step by buying a vacant twenty family tenement in lower Manhattan. It was cheap because it needed substantial repairs before it could be occupied.  The timing couldn’t have been worse.

Dad had obtained a construction loan and was all set for contractors to begin work when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941 and launched the US into World War II. The US government immediately put the country on war footing. This included putting a freeze on building supplies because they would be needed to construct facilities for the war effort. I can still see how crushed he was when he learned that his project was doomed.

While Dad was trying to figure a way out of this mess, the building was deteriorating and neighbors were dumping their garbage into it. Dad still hoped to succeed. Then the final blow came. He received a notice from the City of New York that his building was a health hazard and would be torn down by the city at his expense.

It took Dad years to pay off the debts that resulted from this misadventure. Although he continued to own and manage a few small properties, the income from them wasn’t enough to pay off his debts. To make ends meet, he took a clerical job, working all night at Todd Shipyard in Brooklyn, which had expanded to meet the country’s defense needs.

The war also scattered the family. Barry was immediately drafted and Fred and Lolly left soon afterward, as I have described elsewhere. Being the youngest, I was the last to leave. While I was still home, Dad and I spent what time we could enjoying the beach and other outdoor activities together as we always had. Dad was a nature worshiper and I seem to have inherited it from him. To this day, when I’m on the water or in the woods and fields I feel that he is with me. It’s a good feeling.

When I got back from the Army in November 1946, I spent about six weeks at home before going back to college to continue my premed studies. Dad and I spent a lot of time together before I left. After losing his shirt in Manhattan his hopes of making a business comeback were kept alive in his mind by the knowledge that he had three sons. By this time, Barry and Fred had made other plans and had shown no interest in joining his business.  He apparently thought of me as his last hope, but I didn’t know it until he was dropping me off at the train as I returning to college.

 Just as I was saying goodbye and getting out of the car, he grabbed my arm and said, “Don’t leave. Stay and go into business with me.” Dad was not accustomed to dramatic expression of emotions, but I sensed his desperation. In his mind I was the one who was supposed to rescue him and his failing business. Gently pulling away and saying goodbye was one of the most painful things I ever had to do. It still hurts.

As the succeeding years went by, Mom became increasingly incapacitated from osteoporosis and fractures of her hips and spinal vertebrae. Over time, she went from crutches to a wheel chair to being bedridden. Dad was devoted to her and had little time to give to his meager business interests. His only consolation was from a stray dog he picked up that turned out to be a wonderful companion. He called the dog Lassie. We joked about her being his other woman.

By 1960, Mom needed more care than Dad could provide and she wanted to enter a nursing home. The costs were too high in New York, so I brought her to Baltimore and placed her in a nursing home where I could see that she was being properly cared for.

Dad insisted on remaining in Brooklyn to manage what little was left of his business.

He had become an orphan at the age of eight when both his parents had died. Once again he was an orphan of sorts. He didn’t look well, but he refused to see a doctor. He lived alone and ate poorly. His clothes were shabby and hung on his wasted frame. Lassie was his only regular company and when she died he was almost completely abandoned. From time to time he would drive down to visit us in Baltimore in his old, unsafe car.  By this time Betty and I had five kids. Mom was always happy to see him and we enjoyed his company, but he was never willing to stay, because it would mean giving up his property in Brooklyn.

 He moved back to the old house on 6^th Avenue.  I dropped in on him when I could. On one occasion that stands out in my mind, I looked in the refrigerator and found nothing there except a stale, hard boiled egg. I took him out to eat at Lundy’s, his favorite sea food restaurant. It had once been a fine place, but now the clientele and the atmosphere had changed for the worse. His meal was ruined when an ashtray got carelessly dumped onto his dinner. I was reminded of the neighbors who dumped garbage into his Manhattan tenement.

Not long after that Mom died and Dad followed her to the grave within a few months. Nearly everything they had owned had been dissipated, but there were some personal items that were of great value to me. Mom had taken up painting when she was confined to a wheel chair. With no instruction, she became quite skilled and produced some gorgeous landscapes in water color and in oil, some of which hang in my home. Dad left a silver pocket-watch that is a family heirloom. It now sits in my safe deposit box.

 He also left an item of clothing that seemed to have special significance for me. It was an old pair of under shorts, partly worn, but still serviceable. I tried them on and found that they fit perfectly. At last I was able to wear Dad’s pants! I could imagine both of my parents smiling at me. I wore those pants until they became threadbare and fell apart.

Around that time, I began investing in real estate. Although I have earned my living as a physician, most of my real estate ventures have been moderately successful.

Dad would be proud.