Lisa introduces herself and her project:
NARRATOR: Max's granddaughter, Lisa, narrating her interviews of him I was given the opportunity to get to know my grandfather, Max, when he moved to New York from Florida in April, 1978.
After his second wife left him, Max's children decided that he couldn't be alone, and so brought him to a retirement hotel on Long Island. Many of us, his descendants, lived nearby.
During the next eight months, I spent more time with Max than ever before. At first I couldn't talk to him about anything but trivialities. Essentially we were strangers to one another; given my ignorance of what the man Max Leavitt was like, how could I possibly discuss the trauma of his wife leaving him?
Max was very traumatized.
Close contact with his family calmed him and he was gradually able to achieve some clarity. He badly needed to talk it out, and to have his family to listen and help him comprehend the progression of events.
It was his urgent desire to understand that drew me into his life; no longer was I just his granddaughter but was another adult for him to speak to. I was intrigued by his frankness. I came to realize how little I knew about my grandfather: eighty-five years of experiences of which I knew very little.
Lisa introduces us to the Max she knew. She and her father were at the beach. Would Grandpa Max like to join them?
We were lying on the beach on a balmy August day, trying to soak up the remainder of a summer that had, as usual, passed too quickly. It occurred to me that Grandpa might like to join us, for although he was living just five minutes away, he had not yet gone down to the beach. His legs unsteady and eyesight poor, he preferred to remain on the boardwalk with the others, watching the joggers and cyclists whiz by, their youth freeing them to enjoy the summer.
(Max lived 5 driving minutes away from Lisa's New York residence. In Max's native village, Wysokie, every point –every family member– was no further away, on foot.)
But as Max had always loved the beach, Dad and I decided to drive over to the retirement hotel to ask him to join us.
We parked the car, and as we approached the ramp to the boardwalk we saw a stooped figure sitting on a low stone ledge behind the hotel. It was Max, dressed in lightweight slacks and sport-shirt, his straw hat low on his forehead. We approached him silently so as not to confuse him, but upon reaching him extended our greetings. It was an awkward moment of recognition for him. His startled expression quickly melted into one of calm interest.
Max explained: He was waiting for a bus that would take him to the hospital where his old friend, Barney, lay dying
We can imagine that this revelation led Lisa to be hyperaware of her grandfather's emotional state.
With a slight smirk on his face, he made an off-hand remark about senior citizens paying half-price for the bus, flipping the quarter slowly in his hand.
Max was now in the hands of his family, exactly what he needed at this point.
We asked him to come to the beach with us, buoyantly extolling the virtues of the sand and ocean and reminding him of his love for the water. There were lots of people around, and mom was there, and a cool breeze was rolling off the waves. It would certainly be more pleasant to spend the afternoon at the beach than to sit at the bedside of one who could no longer recognize him, who could no longer even speak. Max resisted for a while; it was his duty, after all, to see the man with whom he had worked for so many years one last time. But we could sense that he really did not want to make that visit, and he let our arguments persuade him. I waited outside while Dad helped him change into the bathing suit that Max hadn't worn in months, and the three of us drove the short distance back to the beach.
The beach brought on a flood of memories.
Max reacted to the beach like a kid feeling the sand for the first time. But unlike the child, Max's sensations were enlivened by a flood of memories of this beach – lengthy family gatherings and the requisite bar-b-ques in someone's backyard. All occuring a very long time before. But Max's memory was acute and we talked of people whose lives had since undergone changes as radical as his own.
Lisa and her father clearly knew what Max needed:
Later on, Dad and I convinced Max to try out the water. The waves were fairly small. We held Max's elbows as he gingerly stepped in. We advanced a few feet, just enough to allow the waves to crash up against his legs and wet his bathing suit. He squealed with delight. This was followed by a true Max Leavitt belly-laugh as he teetered back and forth unsteadily. He was so exhilarated to be with us amidst the joyful noises and sights of humanity.
Refreshed, we went back to the blanket, and Max began to talk about his life.
In Max's old age, Lisa had the chance to get to know him. The process took time and effort.
Max and I came from completely different cultures – how could I understand him without knowing his world? So I began to ask him about his past, and began to see the genesis and evolution of his attitudes and values. Hearing the facts of his early upbringing and the way in which he chose to present them, gave me insight into the true identity of Max Leavitt. I considered the environment he had created, comprised of his work and his family, and I began to understand his individuality. His place in my life became much clearer.
Lisa summarizes her method and her goal:
In this thesis I have focused on Max's life experiences, expanding on his words with my own knowledge and research. It was my desire to offer a broader comprehension of life as he knew it – for this is Max Leavitt's own story.
Approaching 50 years later, as this is written, we can observe that Lisa's thesis –and to some degree, her life– was a continuation of Max's story. This is an opportunity for all of us, descendants of this small Eastern European town, to explore continuity and what it means to each of us.