was able to read very early, but I had never read stories. But now I had a delightful experience. I found a children’s book. I can visualize the picture on the title page: a powerful giant, a little boy, and a church bell. I see myself lying on the couch and devouring line after line with my cheeks burning. That day I discovered my “reading ego,” and my passion for reading has remained throughout my life. My parents used my voracious reading as a means of restraining me when I ran wild. When visitors came I was, as a rule, a nuisance and a troublemaker. I wanted to be the center of attention, and tormented visitors with thousands of questions; but if I had a book with illustrations, I looked at the pictures, let my fantasy drift, and hours would pass by in perfect silence. When I accompanied my parents on a visit to friends, my first question directed to our hosts was, “Have you any books with illustrations?” When my wish was granted I did not molest the adults any more.
I must mention here that the games with the boys continued, although in a different form; we now were a gang, and our captain was a boy of fourteen. We had to obey like soldiers. And yet I must say that the interest in books was stronger than anything else. My brother, who was six years my senior, had the same passion. He already had a small library; the books were in a locked bookcase; I could see them through the glass. I remember having had an idea that if my brother should die I would inherit all these beautiful books.
I tried to get books at any price. I borrowed them from other boys, and sometimes I bought the cruel books about Indians. Most of them were dirty and torn. They had passed through many hands. Usually I identified myself with the hero, and in my daydreams I was a great man, the leader of an army (the Austrian army, of course), fighting against the armies of the Czar and killing thousands of enemies. At this time an actress lived in our house, and sometimes I received complimentary tickets (standing room) from her. But I do not remember the plays. I only know how sorry I felt when the theatre was empty. I counted every visitor and was glad when a new one arrived. I wanted to create my own plays. Our theatre was the porch of the Greek Orthodox Church which stood in the center of a vast meadow surrounded by a fence. Everything was improvised, and I invariably played the villain or the robber captain.
I am sorry to say that I also wanted to be a real robber; sometimes all my wild instincts overwhelmed me. I stole money from my father’s pocket, bought candies and shared them with the gang. We caught innocent boys and gave them a good hiding. Mothers came to my mother to complain bitterly about this monster of a child. I could tell many stories of my misdeeds.
THE SHOEMAKER’S APPRENTICE
Now the situation became serious. My parents decided I was a good-for-nothing. I would never be a good student. I was in the first grade of the high school, and at the bottom of my class. So my father said to my mother, “Let him become a shoemaker.” They decided to send me to a shoemaker as an apprentice. I was very happy at this decision. Not to go to school any more! Not to be compelled to learn Latin and mathematics. It sounded like a release from the tortures of hell. Not to be looked upon as if I were a dumbbell. Not to stay a second year in the class! Wasn’t it much better to become a shoemaker?
One day I was taken to the shoemaker, Mueller, and articled to him as an apprentice. The master was a kind and witty man.
This life was to my taste. To loaf around, to listen to the talks of the grownups, to have no school, no coaching, no lessons; it seemed to me like life in a fairy tale. My first disappointment was the so-called “second breakfast” at which each person received a liqueur glass of schnapps and a piece of black bread. I could not stand the schnapps, and the bread was hard and tasted bitter. I hurried home to ask for bread and butter. Mother was not in the kitchen, but I saw a row of warm, fragrant loaves of white bread on the table. Mother had baked them. This was an art of which she was rightly proud. I seized one of the loaves, took it back to my master, and said, “With greetings from my mother! Half of this loaf is for you, half for me.” The master enjoyed it very much and I overcame my first disappointment—and then came another.
There were three of us apprentices at Mueller’s. We ran errands and were supposed to take turns in bringing repaired shoes to their owners. I was told that the apprentice who did this work received a few pennies as a tip. I greedily awaited my turn, but imagine my chagrin when they ignored me and sent another apprentice to deliver the new shoes. The other boy would get the tip I had anticipated receiving. I felt the injustice bitterly and ran away. I told my mother firmly that a hundred wild horses would not drag me back to the shoemaker.
That was the only time I ever received a good hiding from my father. My mother, whose pet child I was in spite of my bad behavior, stopped the hiding. I promised to improve at school. I had to repeat the class I had left. At the end of the school year my marks were above average.
My later school years were negotiated with ease. At the end of three years I had become one of the best pupils. I was fond of my parents, but was not attached to them. I had many playmates and was decidedly extroverted.
MY FAMILY
Now is the time to speak about my family. My father was a slim, well-built man whose fundamental characteristics were kindness, honesty, and a longing for knowledge. He liked jokes, was merry, good-hearted, and benevolent. His pride was that he had acted all his life according to the proprieties and the law. Thoroughly honest himself, he misplaced confidence in others, and many times he was cheated by his partners and friends. Shortly before his death he said to me, “I can’t leave you money but I can leave you something that is more than money, my honest name. I have never trespassed. I am proud that I have never been called to court either as a plaintiff or as a defendant.” When he married my mother he was an illiterate man. He was an orthodox Jew. My mother made him free from all prejudices, and Father tried to acquire knowledge in every way possible. His favorite books were history books, and many times he remarked what a wonderful book Graetz’s History of the Jews was. Later he became a freethinker and a strongly ethical individual. I may have inherited from him much of the good in my temperament, my benevolence, and my contempt for money. Mother called him a spendthrift.
Later I learned that my mother was his second wife. His first marriage was unhappy. He was all the fonder, therefore, of my mother who, incidentally, was a charming and pretty woman.
His emancipation advanced speedily. He read the best modern books with Mother, dropped his old ways, and even outstripped her, for he had a good literary taste, something which she lacked. His morals were strict, his sense of honor was beyond reproach, but he was as credulous as a child. His kindliness was such that we children never had a harsh word from him.
My mother had one peculiar quality. She detested servants, without exception, declaring that they were our salaried enemies. She was somewhat miserly, and this had its effect upon the domestics. The result was that our servants seldom stayed long.
Mother was in one respect like father; she came from a plain, narrowly-educated family, and early in life she hungered for knowledge. As a girl she had to hide in the garret to read Schiller because it was forbidden to read anything except Holy Scriptures. She liked philosophical books. Indeed, she enjoyed any book. Once when I was walking with her, a locksmith, laden with chains, passed by. “You see,” she said, “they are using chains to bar the harbor. Now the fugitive is trapped.”
“What do you mean?” I queried.
“Oh . . . I’m sorry,” she apologized, “my mind is in the novel I’ve been reading.” She could not tolerate life without a book. In her spare time she sat in a corner where she simultaneously knitted socks and read. Her educational method was marvelous. Without having read anything on the subject, she found the right way. When I was naughty, she never threatened that
