Bob's my framer. My Fast Framer. When I asked my wife to marry me in the Jewish Journal (www.jewishjournal.com), he framed the column. When I picked it up a few days later (so, they're not that fast), he said, "I hope you don't mind that I read it," as if he breached some kind of framer/framee trust. I laughed and told him, "Don't worry. You're not the only Jew who read it." He wanted me to know how much he liked it. 67's not so old, but I figure he has lived long enough to warrant doling out some advice. Bob used to be a mortgage broker until he had a heart attack in 1987. Tired of the stress, he found a new profession selling wholesale art. The recession in 1993 hurt his business and he needed to find something new. He learned about framing and he liked it. Eight years ago he took a job at Fast Frame and he's really happy with what he does. As he says at the end of the video, "... my end of days working, this is a good place to end it - if I decide to end it... but I'm not ready yet."
Bob, The Framer
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Homeless Barbara
Barbara has been standing outside of Western Kosher market on Fairfax begging for money for many years. I have always had mixed views on beggars. I want to help yet I also worry that I'm feeding into different addictions and I end up enabling the addiction more than the recovery. Though with Barbara there are no signs of alcohol or drug addiction. She used to beg with a hunchbacked woman who would offer a blessing in Yiddish after you'd give her money. I liked the give and take. With Barbara, you don't get much in return. But maybe that's the lesson needed to be learned. I didn't give her money at all this year since I saw her with a man at the Farmer's Market, an enormous stack of lottery tickets in her hand. One lottery ticket I can understand. But, $50 worth?! Yesterday, I decided to drop my prejudice and just hand her a dollar. Figuring it would go to a lottery ticket, I asked for something in return.
Barbara, Homeless.
Barbara, Homeless.
Friday, June 19, 2009
A Quiet Life
I love Frank. We met in the neighborhood and started taking walks together. It's difficult for him to walk but he pushes himself because he knows he needs to. I'll walk with him to the vegetable store at the end of our block and help him carry his groceries home. Or we'll go to Abe's apartment where we'll sit on the stoop and talk like three alter cockers. Frank never married. He told me that after he came out of the war he wasn't emotionally able to have a long term relationship. He confided in me later that he did have a girl he loved when he was 18. She was 16 and from a religious family. She would sneak out of her parents house to go to the Socialist party meetings in his Polish town of Lodz, where Frank first laid eyes on her. Too shy to speak, he didn't have the courage to approach her. "I was always an introvert," he told me. One day the Germans were "putting shells in buildings" and he found a hiding place from the shootings. The girl he had been too scared to talk to hid in the same place. They soon fell in love but as the war got worse, Frank planned his escape. The girl's little sister showed up with a gift for Frank to take with him on his journey - a beret. Frank heard that his first and only love was sent to Auschwitz. Not wanting to deal with the horror, she ended her life by running into an electric wire. Frank told me, "I still have dreams about her."
Frank escaped to Russia, where he first worked in a Kazakhstan factory - and at 18, while using a planer, he chopped off the first digit on the pointer finger of his left hand. He went to a doctor, wrapped up the finger, and was back at work. Some time later, his shoes fell apart. Not being able to work without shoes, he stayed home for about two weeks. After much difficulty, he found a place which sold him shoes that were made out of used clothing and then attached to a piece of wood. He had to shuffle his feet to walk because the wood didn't bend. But he could go back to work - and he went right back to the factory where he continued to make store fixtures.
Weeks later, someone came in to arrest Frank. It turns out that Russia had instituted a law against anyone who didn't work, and he was reported for having not worked those two weeks when he didn't have any shoes. He was held for days without food inside of a tiny barn-like room with armed guards stationed outside. Eventually, because his store fixtures factory was owned by a railroad company which was in turn owned by the military, he was put on trial in a military tribunal. He explained that he had no shoes but he lost the case and was sentenced to six years in prison. "Do you understand?!" they shouted in disgust. He was in shock. He was shuttled from prison to prison, eventually landing in Siberia - the Gulag - where he became so sick he almost died. But, when Russia decided to invade Poland he was freed. He had torn up his Russian papers, thrown them in the toilet, and managed to get Polish ones. Russia, desperately wanting Poles to help fight in the war, released the Polish prisoners.
Frank has so many amazing stories and after the war he found his dad (still alive after the concentration camps) and they eventually settled in Los Angeles. Frank worked until retirement, making cabinetry for a factory in downtown, while he and his father shared the upper level of a duplex he was able to buy after working for a few years.
I walked by his apartment tonight, after having a pretty tough few days myself, and he told me this story which always helps me get things in perspective. And, of course, I also asked him for advice. Thankfully, although he tells me he's too shy to talk on camera, he was willing to do this for me. When we were done, he said, "I'm appreciative that I'm still alive after all I went through."
Frank, age 88.
Frank escaped to Russia, where he first worked in a Kazakhstan factory - and at 18, while using a planer, he chopped off the first digit on the pointer finger of his left hand. He went to a doctor, wrapped up the finger, and was back at work. Some time later, his shoes fell apart. Not being able to work without shoes, he stayed home for about two weeks. After much difficulty, he found a place which sold him shoes that were made out of used clothing and then attached to a piece of wood. He had to shuffle his feet to walk because the wood didn't bend. But he could go back to work - and he went right back to the factory where he continued to make store fixtures.
Weeks later, someone came in to arrest Frank. It turns out that Russia had instituted a law against anyone who didn't work, and he was reported for having not worked those two weeks when he didn't have any shoes. He was held for days without food inside of a tiny barn-like room with armed guards stationed outside. Eventually, because his store fixtures factory was owned by a railroad company which was in turn owned by the military, he was put on trial in a military tribunal. He explained that he had no shoes but he lost the case and was sentenced to six years in prison. "Do you understand?!" they shouted in disgust. He was in shock. He was shuttled from prison to prison, eventually landing in Siberia - the Gulag - where he became so sick he almost died. But, when Russia decided to invade Poland he was freed. He had torn up his Russian papers, thrown them in the toilet, and managed to get Polish ones. Russia, desperately wanting Poles to help fight in the war, released the Polish prisoners.
Frank has so many amazing stories and after the war he found his dad (still alive after the concentration camps) and they eventually settled in Los Angeles. Frank worked until retirement, making cabinetry for a factory in downtown, while he and his father shared the upper level of a duplex he was able to buy after working for a few years.
I walked by his apartment tonight, after having a pretty tough few days myself, and he told me this story which always helps me get things in perspective. And, of course, I also asked him for advice. Thankfully, although he tells me he's too shy to talk on camera, he was willing to do this for me. When we were done, he said, "I'm appreciative that I'm still alive after all I went through."
Frank, age 88.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Don't Get Married
Louise and Tony are always together. I've literally never seen one without the other. They love my dog, Lola and they love each other more. I just saw them passing in front of my window a few minutes ago so I ran out and stopped them. Before filming they were cracking each other up about their mutual advice - don't get married. After I shut the camera off and was about to cross the street, Tony turned back to me and shouted, "Oh... Don't get sick!"
Louise and Tony, married for 58 years.
Louise and Tony, married for 58 years.
The Hospital Waiting Room
I spent all day and night in the hospital waiting while my mother-in-law had surgery. She's fighting breast cancer and hopefully she'll kick its ass. I met a woman in the waiting room. Her name's Christine and she was waiting for her husband to get out of surgery. We talked for awhile, having each been there for about seven hours at this point, and I asked her if she minded giving me some advice for my blog. I was about to explain what a blog was (though, I'm barely sure myself) and she cut me off and said, "I know what it is," and immediately shot me a quick sound bite with some insight into what she sees is the most important piece of advice she could give me. Soon after we finished talking, the nurse called her in to see her husband. She jumped up and excitedly followed the nurse, beaming. Her daughter turned to me and said, "She and I both had breast cancer. And as soon as her chemo was done, her hair grew overnight. She's just always been that way." I'm new at these interviews but I guess sometimes you get better advice by paying attention to what's between the words.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
The Cutest Couple In The Neighborhood
Every time I see this couple I get happy. They just look like the nicest couple in the world. They've been married for 60 years and both are holocaust survivors. Abe told me that they wouldn't be comfortable with the camera so while talking to her I just stole a quick shot. She's been keeping her husband alive by taking care of him and by making him walk with her up and down the block twice a day. He used to be a tailor for a company in downtown Los Angeles. Abe told me that the man showed up to shul on Yom Kippur in one of his suits and it was the nicest cut suit anyone had ever seen. Abe still remembers it. I filmed this on June 16, 2009 - the day after my one year wedding anniversary. I asked them, having been married 60 years, if they had any advice for me.
My First Advice
So, Abe's been my neighbor for years. He's a good guy who's had a rough patch while taking care of a very sick wife for the last 15 years. It's drained him financially and emotionally and having caretakers in his house 24/7 is "a pain in the ass." So, he spends a lot of time outside of his house. We take walks together and I sit and talk with him and his friend, Frank - both of whom are from the same town in Poland and as Jews had to escape during the war. They ended up in Russia. Frank worked for a short time in Siberia and then was locked away in a Siberian prison for years. Abe worked in Russia and also spent some time in prison. When he got out, he went back to his town to find his parents were both dead and his house razed to the ground. His parents were killed in Auschwitz. He went to Israel where his brother had emigrated and they lived together there for years. It is Abe and Frank who sparked this "life advice from old people" idea for me, as I often sit on the stoop and talk to these guys for hours. Here's the first, and maybe the best, advice I'll get.
Abe, age 90.
Abe, age 90.
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