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MAX: You could make, you could make a story, with me now, when I started my trouble with Pauline, when the cast was thrown, and I saw right that my life with Pauline, will have to end, and nothing can stop [it]. My personality changed also. I wasn't such a tsotska, you know, angel, at that time, and when I came here after the break, and they brought me to the door here... She's a nurse, she's a married woman, but she does nurse work in the hotels with people, handicapped people. And I was considered a handicapped person, when I came.
LISA: Why?
MAX: 'Cause I didn't know what I was doing! I knew I was the center of something and I didn't know what to do about it. So she came, 'cause they brought me over to the door, first thing they opened the door, and I saw this woman. And she took me, little by little, and she nursed me like a mother. And I can say that I have a lot to thank her.
NARRATOR: Pauline left Max on April 1, 1978.
NARRATOR: Although the problems with Pauline had been building for a couple of years, in the last few months their marriage swiftly and wrenchingly deteriorated. The calls from Florida began to arrive more and more frequently – one from Max, one from Pauline – each telling their side of the story. The five sons, all of whom now lived in New York, decided to go on a rotating calling schedule for about three weeks before her departure, so that Max was sure to be called each night. The situation was becoming intolerable, and eventually got to the point where Max really could not deal with what was happening.
NARRATOR: A family conference was called, and it was decided that George and Paul would go to Florida right before she left to gather some of Max's clothes and bring him back to New York. It was not known exactly where Max was going to live. The most immediate problem was to get him back with his family as soon as possible.
NARRATOR: When Paul and George arrived in Florida, Max's confused mind was constantly struggling for lucidity. It was as if they were confronting an old man in an advanced stage of senility. While they were making arrangments Max followed them around like a puppy dog, comprehending little that was going on. As they were leaving for the airport, he kept asking if they were going to Boston, his first destination in the United States seventy years earlier.
NARRATOR: The painful process of piecing Max together again was thus begun. He stayed for a week with Florence and Ben. But at night Max would wander around the house in his underwear, not knowing where he was or why he was there.
NARRATOR: But the devastating disintegration of Max's spirit ceased as quickly as it had begun. The tonic of the presence of his family was a true wonder-drug; working subtly and often unconsciously, it helped Max clear his mind and return to his senses. Of course he was not "cured" overnight; in fact it can be argued that Max never really recovered. Nevertheless, the Max who had to be physically and emotionally led through the ordeal of leaving Florida and the Max who sat at a Passover table three weeks later were two different men. To be with his children again was a primary calming factor.
NARRATOR: Concurrently, however, his children had to constantly put things into perspective for Max. He suffered a great deal from self-imposed guilt, convinced that there was something he could have done to prevent the divorce. His sons were adamant about the fact that it was not his fault, that Pauline was not concerned with Max's best interests. Intellectually Max could understand all these realities, but emotionally he could not.
NARRATOR: It was this side of Max that kept his hope – and his dispair – alive. "A man should not be without a woman" he cried to us, months after he came to New York. For although it was "an act of God" when your beloved died, for Max this was not an act of God, but was a symbol of Max's imperfection.
MAX: You get soft drinks, orange juice, tomato juice, around 9:00. Sometimes they show a movie. Sometimes they play bingo!
LISA: Yeah, sure! Do you play bingo Grandpa?
MAX: No, you know why?
LISA: Why?
MAX: I can't see the numbers.
LISA: They're not big enough for you?
MAX: It's not that they're not big enough, there's something, a defect in my left eye. And I went to your father, and all the brothers, to take me to a doctor, who supposedly know, how to cure it.
LISA: I don't know what we can do, except get a very big magnifying glass. I assume that my dad and everybody else have done all that they can.
MAX: What can I do?
LISA: I don't know! You can do anything! You can take walks. You know what he does? He takes walks. Everybody else, they sit around all day, and he goes out and he walks from one end of Long Beach to the other. You want a cracker with cheese?
MAX: Give me cracker with cheese. Will that make you happy?
LISA: Does that make you happy?
IMAGE: untitled (Left: Max answering door, Right: Max peering into hallway)
IMAGE: untitled (two empty chairs beside a single bed)
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IMAGE: untitled (closeup face-on head-shot portrait of Max)
NARRATOR: Max moved into the Jackson Manor Hotel just one week after his arrival in New York. Situated on the boardwalk in the oceanside town of Long Beach, Long Island, the hotel was for elderly people who don't need round-the-clock nursing care, but who can't live independently. Much of the boardwalk area is made up of similar hotels and apartments, with a nursing home and hospital nearby.
NARRATOR: Approximately one hundred people live at the Jackson, each with their own room and telephone. There is always someone on duty at night, and during the day an activities director organizes movies, bingo, and afternoon excursions to parks or shows on the Island. Most of theme, however, there is little to do, and the residents can be found at any hour lining the benches on the boardwalk, or clustered in little groups inside the lobby.
NARRATOR: Although one of Max's problems with Pauline had been her reluctance to help him adapt to his declining eyesight, now he was totally on his own. He had to learn to "feel" his key into the lock of his door, and to shave without cutting himself. Max's adjustment to a basically solitary life was slow but steady; he dealt with each situation as it arose.
NARRATOR: If Max couldn't read anymore, he still had his legs, and so he walked constantly. It was a panacea for him to move his body and observe life around him, allowing his thoughts to wander.
MAX: So I used to like to sing while I was working. And I like it, I always did it, and I liked it. See now, [in the] hotel we have a Rabbi, a little fellow – you know him? He's ninety-six. And we have a chazzan, you know, a past chazzan, he used to be in his glory. Now he's old, and he's sick, and I suppose he's got family trouble similar to mine, so he doesn't live with his family, or wife, or children, but he lives in the hotel. But I know he's a chazzan, cause when they call him to the telephone, they address him Cantor So-and-So.
NARRATOR: The majority of people at the Jackson were Eastern European Jews like Max, finding solace in the historic and cultural similarities among them. They had come from the same areas, had worked all their lives for the education and success of their children, and now awaited death. Providing their children with the tools to escape poverty and oppression, their job was now completed, their lives now coming full circle.
NARRATOR: The gifts these people gave to their children resulted in the establishment of their own lives. As the children comfortably ensconced themselves in suburbia the need was created for the existence of such hotels as the Jackson. The seaside locations resemble somewhat the Miami Beach condominiums many of them had come from. But the function of those condominiums was mainly for retired couples to enjoy their remaining years together. When a spouse died, however, the community could not serve the same purpose; it therefore became necessary for these people to be with their children, close enough to visit them but far enough away so that their children's lives would not be intruded upon.
LISA: I'll bet that your singing rubbed off on Uncle Saul, huh?
MAX: Saul used to sing alright. He likes music, you like music, and I like music. You know what we do, there is one man where I am there, an old man and sick man, but he likes to sing. So he's got little books with Jewish songs, English songs, and songs that are [translated] And evening, after supper I go out with him, sit down over there, but he forgets, he forgets the melodies, so I help him find the melodies. And then we go and enjoy ourselves!
MAX: But he's a sick man. It happens with him that he walked through the aisle, and he fell and he fainted and he was laying on the floor until they called a doctor and revived him.
MAX: So there is a few of them that know how to sing. One of them claims that a certain general in the Russian army picked him to be the soloist when they used to have parades. I mean it! He's very old now. He's ninety, or something. So sometimes I feel good, and he feels good, and I sit down with him outside and I poke him a little, and then I start singing some of the songs. This brings him back to, you know, younger years. So he tells me that the general picked him for certain festivities, and I can believe him, because I see he undertands music.
NARRATOR: Music was one of the most profound illustrations of Max's romantic methods of survival. His was more an innate perception of the beauty of music than formal knowledge of it– he knew what he liked and called on this awareness whenever it was needed. A case in point is when Jennie died. One day, almost immediately after the funeral, he called George, bereaved and needing support. But at one point in the conversation he interrupted, informing George that he had just heard Beethoven's Ninth on the radio, and noting how beautiful it was. Music was not an escape for Max; rather it alleviated some of the pain. He employed music throughout his life, firmly instilling his appreciation for it within his children.
MAX: At the hotel, they need people to work for them... so they employ Polacks. They give them a nice wage, according to the government standards. But they can't speak English. If somebody wants to express something to the boss, he picks out a man like me, who knows both languages. And you know the nice thing, they have waitresses, young girls. Two weeks ago a new girl, a waitress comes in to work. So if they need sometimes extra help, they hire for a week or two, and then they send them away. There's no union. Here they come, here they disappear.
MAX: So you know what happened? Once a new girl appears on the floor. A different sort of type, and right away I felt that something pulled me over to her. So they start talking, one with the other, and I noticed that she speaks with an Argentinian dialect. So I start talking to her, so she tells me she comes from Argentina. Soon enough, I found out that she comes from Buenos Aires, where my sister lives. Don't ask! But I got excited so what. She's not Jewish. But she knows my sister. So I start talking to her, "you know Cucha-Cucha Street, 2811 Cucha-Cucha?" She was so wild: "Boy oh boy I know those people, I know those people!" So naturally I became friends with her, gave her a better tip, what she was waiting for, and she would sit down with me and tell me all about Cucha-Cucha Street. Now I can't get rid of her! So every week, heh, every week she gives one day to work, and when she comes to work, first thing she does, she taps me on the back, "Cucha Cucha Street!"
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GEORGE: What's your sister's name – I can never remember it?
MAX: Bluma! She was the prettiest. She married in Europe, and what happens with men, happens with women! They couldn't make a living, so they decided to immigrate! They immigrated to Argentina. That was the two places where the Jews could escape at that time. Argentina was open to immigration. So when she comes in, right away she taps me on the back, Cucha-Cucha, it means a dollar! A tip!
GEORGE: What's your sister's last name?
MAX: Last name!? That's a shonda, I don't remember... So how come I don't remember the second name?
NARRATOR: Slowly Max became somewhat established at the hotel. Acknowledging his circumstances, he carefully observed his surroundings and tried to make the best out of them. Always a clown and looking for an opportunity to have and be the cause of a good time, he took advantage of the coincidence with the waitress. Thrilled to learn that she knew his sister and brother-in-law, he gladly subsidized her in return for some attention. She gave him the opportunity to have some fun, as well as to be somewhat of a "celebrity" among his peers.
IMAGE: untitled (Max sitting in a lawn chair on patio in front of foliage)
MAX: You know the room where the girls put the room in order so the occupant of the place... he was dizzy, something happened, he fell on the bed, his head on the floor with also, with his feet on the bed. So they couldn't do nothing with him, so they called an ambulance, took him away to the hospital and brought him back to life, pieced him together... Heh, heh, you're laughing!
LISA: Well, it's funny how you're describing it.
MAX: Well, they're all, uh, corpses.
LISA: Max was dealing with the situation of those around him realistically, yet in referring to them as "they," he still separated himself from the others. This is partially justified, as he was one of the few who were active and refused to resign themselves to a corpse-like existence. Yet the truth of it was that he was very much aware of his own impending death. He constantly vacillated between acceptance of the inevitable and refusal to let go of life.
MAX: We watch every morning, people getting up, 6:00, and each and every one wants to be the first to go on the boardwalk and watch the sunrise and sunset. A lot of fun when you get there early in the morning, when you come to pray, to daven.
MAX: So there's all kinds. The jealousy between one and the other, even to get an aliyah, you know what that is, is so big, heh heh, that they go through all kinds of intrigues to get an aliyah. But lately, you know I got a friend he's my second in command. I can't see in front of my eyes, I only see the big letters. Not the small letters, I can't see! I only remember by memory what there is, from using it all my life.
NARRATOR: With nothing to do all day, the people in hotels like the Jackson ascribe much importance to the most trivial events. The sunrise is a reminder that they have lived through another night, and perhaps brings them hope that they will live to see it once again. It is just one of the many daily routines that ceremoniously maintain their awareness of their present position in life.
NARRATOR: Prayer is more than just another time-filler, for it returns many to a God and way of life that had receded while they were struggling to survive. To be part of the aliyah gives them a sense of importance as well as drawing them closer to God. Max, though, tempered the heaviness with an acknowledgement of the antics involved. Once again, adapting himself to his situation, he made sure that he would be able to join in the prayers.
MAX: Once you know piano, you can't forget it. I have an old lady over there, eighty-five years old. She's a good piano player. So I hire her for her service, you know what I do for her, sometimes she has to go to the doctor, dentist... I take her, walk with her. And she plays my favorite pieces! Beethoven... Yeah!
LISA: Do they have a good piano there?
MAX: Well, they have a piano, but I wouldn't say good. You know my children, my Herbie and his, what do you call it? Vitamins! She's a believer in vitamins. So we exchange, we do an exchange.
IMAGE: untitled, Max embracing a young girl wearing a bikini
GEORGE: You give her vitamins and she gives you music!
MAX: Yeah. But lately she gets lost. She walks with a cane, everybody walks with a cane. Even those that don't need it, they walk with the cane.
NARRATOR: In love with women of all ages and types, Max was a magnificent charmer. It was quite natural for him to be attracted to this woman, both by virtue of her gender and her musical abilities. Physically she was an extremely frail lady, but in conversation her caustic wit would emerge in full force, making her a perfect companion for Max. They made each other's acquaintance not for the intention of spending the rest of their lives together, but out of their mutual need to survive. He got her vitamins from Herb or Paul's health food stores, she played music for him. People in Max's position have no reason to play games with one another; after living in the world for such a long time they know their needs, and for the most part have no qualms about expressing them.
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MAX: And Saturday morning when we go to pray, there are some pieces that we sing aloud, Yiddishe. And some people know some things, and you pray it for yourself. So when I, when I feel like it, and I do feel like it! I like the Jewish prayers! There's a lot of music involved in this. So I let myself go, you know. But you know I can't see well, so I sit near that fellow with the black uniform. He always wears the same suit, black suit, and needs some sort of an interpreter. For people that don't know to speak English. So he comes in and interprets as a sort of intermediate between the management and customers. I don't know what he gets for it. He talks a good Polish. He deals a lot with Polish people, who work in the launderers and the kitchen, and you gotta know [how] to speak Polish. So he's what you call one of the five, six helpers, that help him out in the government. So when we go Saturday morning, to prayers, that there is a few chosen ones, that know how to conduct, like that big fellow, what's his name? Willie! He's a good performer. When he davens – shachris and mousaf – he's a real (nusach) what you call... 'cause I know about it, 'cause (when) I was in Florida I used to go watch the good Chazzanim with the good musicians. So this here new fellow discovered me. And he's already planning for me a place in his government.
LISA: What does he want you to do?
MAX: He'll give me a job! 10,000 a year.
NARRATOR: In any small tight-knit community where people have much in common there is bound to be a hierarchy of authority. It was another way of feeling important, of distinguishing oneself from the others. An astute observer of the shenanigans of the Jackson's residents, Max objectified the stratification of his peers, in treating it as if it were a corporation. But this was all for the purpose of making fun of it – he recognized the ludicrousness of the existence of such a "government," laughing at himself throughout nevertheless.
GEORGE: What time did he finish?
MAX: I don't know! I went to sleep! I was using a strategy to pull him, and I pulled him! And I went to sleep!
FRAN: Yeah, like someone used to put eyes on their head, and sleep!
MAX: Yeah. He was watching like a hawk. He doesn't wanna go to sleep, and he's watching the other ones. They shouldn't go.
NARRATOR: It is highly commendable that the residents of the Jackson Hotel conduct their own holiday services. The small room in which they play cards doubles as a synagogue where the octogenarian congregants gather to be led by a Rabbi at least as old. It is a laudable situation to us, but the participants of the services take it quite seriously. What desires these people have left in their bodies are easily tempered by the wishes of the greater whole. After all, why should they fight with one another? Perhaps in the interest of maintaining some of their individuality they would indulge in trivial squabbles, but their great need of one another overshadowed whims that might isolate themselves from the others.
IMAGE: untitled, (Max wearing zipper sweater over striped jacket)
IMAGE: untitled (Max wearing zipper sweater over striped jacket, closeup)
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