Jewish Journal

I wrote a column in the Jewish Journal of Los Angeles this week (jewishjournal.com).

July 22, 2009
New Old Friends


by Seth Menachem



From left: Frank, Seth and Abe. Photo by Dan Kacvinski

I’ve recently become close with Abe and Frank, two older guys in my neighborhood. At 90 and 88 respectively, they’re not the typical age of my other friends. At first I wasn’t sure if it was friendship. Maybe they were just humoring me or passing the time. Why would old people want to be friends with me, a 35-year-old?

But then there was one day I heard a knock on my neighbor’s door. Soon the voice of an older man, who sounded confused as he spoke with my neighbor, grabbed my attention. I peeked through the blinds and there was Frank. two-thirds the way up my neighbor’s stairs, his hand gripping the railing intensely.

Frank had seen me entering my apartment on a few occasions, but didn’t know exactly where I lived. I don’t even think he had remembered my name at that point. I helped him down the neighbor’s stairs and then back up to my apartment.

“I just came to say hi,” he told me.

As we sat on my couch and chatted, that’s when I knew we were friends.
Almost every day Frank walks over to Abe’s house, where they sit on the stoop and speak to each other in Yiddish. I would pass by as I walked my dog, and soon I was sitting with them (they switched to English for me). I’d spend upward of an hour talking to them, sharing details about my life, but my interest was in learning about their lives.

I’ve always felt a kinship with the elderly. I’m sure, in part, it’s because of the close relationship I had with my grandparents. But it could also be my penchant for comfortable clothing and early-bird specials.

Collecting advice from the older generation, thanks to Abe and Frank, suddenly became a habit, which in turn inspired me to start a blog (LifeAdviceFromOldPeople.com). The blog collects pearls of wisdom from aging Hollywood celebrities to people like Abe, whose advice to me always focuses on finding a good job and getting paid for whatever I do. I think that’s mainly why he agreed to talk to me for my blog. He mistakenly thinks this is a living. How am I supposed to tell him I just enjoy it?

I started collecting advice because I love to hear from the older generation. I miss my grandparents, my dad died when I was 18, and I live far from my family on the other side of the country. Collecting advice is a way for me to constantly evaluate the choices I’ve made in life. I’ve also met some pretty great people. And, I’ve learned that they get something out of giving me the advice, as well – a reminder that what they say matters.
The blog is barely a month old and it’s still difficult for me to walk over to someone, introduce myself and then ask for some life advice. I feel like I did when I was single, nervously approaching an attractive girl. I used to break my neck at a nice pair of gams in a short skirt; Now I cross the street to chat with the lady holding a walker.

I get “no” on a daily basis. We’re not used to strangers coming over to us and asking for our opinions on life. Also, the word “blog” doesn’t exactly resonate with someone born before 1940. But, once there’s a “yes,” something interesting happens. People begin to open up, and they usually don’t want to end the conversation.

Not all of the advice is the most original or brilliant:

“Be happy.”
“Enjoy life.”
“Have friends.”

These aren’t gems destined to change the way we look at life, nor are they roadmaps for how to accomplish them. But the people giving me advice have influenced me with their stories.

Some of the advice has been powerful.

Jon Voight, a man whom I probably have little in common with politically, has given me advice I still think about. I was lucky enough to spot him in my neighborhood, hanging out with a friend, another man I’d interviewed.
“Cherish the beautiful things you have, take care of your health, and go forward and be a good guy,” Voight told me. “When it’s all finished, look back and say, ‘I was one of the good guys,’ and then you’ll be fine.”

And after directing me in a commercial, I was lucky enough to ask Oscar-winning director Errol Morris for advice.

“Life is an opportunity to make mistakes that can never be fixed,” he told me. Maybe he was right. I should strive to be a better person – always. But, when I make a mistake, don’t keep kicking myself. Accept it and move on.

Frank, one of the guys who inspired this whole project, told me how important it is for him to lead a “quiet life.” That was his advice to me, both on and off camera. He doesn’t want for more than is necessary. He reminds me of the importance of simplicity, and after striving for the simple and basic pleasures, being content and happy with what you have.

Even when the advice doesn’t seem as interesting as I had hoped, or one person is not as eloquent as another, I take pleasure in the conversation and in getting to know someone new.

And now I have a whole lot of new old friends.

Murray just mailed me pictures of his art, and asked me to spend time with him in his studio while he paints. David wants me to go with him to a blues club I recommended. Mollie asked that I come to her house for a Sunday brunch. I’m even receiving invitations for Shabbat dinners and drinks – simply for stopping strangers and asking them for a little advice.

Seth Menachem is an actor and writer living in Los Angeles. His blog can be seen at www.lifeadvicefromoldpeople.com.

Life Is Like A Blooming Flower

I spent the afternoon with Simcha, my 14-year-old "little brother" in the Jewish Big Brothers Big Sisters program. He's a sweet kid who's having a tough time but I know he'll pull through it. After lunch I asked him if he wanted to help me with my blog. I've been teaching him a little bit about filmmaking, and we've even started to keep a video record of him discussing this tumultuous time in his life. I think one day he'll really appreciate seeing it all cut together.

We saw Marva getting up from a table where she was having lunch with a friend, and we asked her if she'd speak with us. Simcha was supposed to do the talking but he chickened out (that's right Simcha - I said it!). It turns out Marva is originally from Atlanta and graduated from Spelman College (entirely female). Having learned the little I know about film by taking classes at Clark Atlanta (a traditionally black university in the same area as Spelman), I had met many Spelman women - or at least I tried to meet many Spelman women :). I asked Marva, "Why do Spelman girls get all dressed up to go to class?" They were notorious for it. She said, "Not when I went to school. I didn't have any money. I had one outfit for four years!"

After the interview she asked for my info as it turns out she's a screenwriter and wants some help in producing a movie. I didn't have the heart to tell her I could barely produce a blog.

I'm Adopting A New Grandma

A friend introduced me to Mollie at a party. He's gay and knows her through the Response group at Valley Beth Shalom, in which she's very involved. She lost her son, Nathaniel to AIDS in 1989 and has since become involved in many organizations, like the Gay Men's Chorus of Los Angeles and Project Chicken Soup (PCS), where she cooks kosher food for anybody - Jew or Gentile - living with HIV/AIDS, and delivers it to their houses.

I first interviewed Mollie at PCS on Fairfax, where at almost 89 she still drives over the hill from the valley to work every Sunday. Somehow I accidentally deleted the footage, so I drove to her house last night where we could talk some more. Although I was upset about losing the first interview, in retrospect I'm glad it happened; Mollie fed me homemade chocolate chip peanut butter cookies and sent me home with blueberry bread. She's also a pretty awesome woman with whom I was lucky enough to spend time.

Born in New York City in 1920, she had to always find ways to make money. As the middle child of three girls, "I didn't have the privilege of the older, nor the spoiling of the younger. So I had to sort of fight for myself." She and her mother used to walk half a mile to save a penny on a "particular food item." At five-years-old, Mollie would hang out at her uncle's drug store which had phone booths inside the store. "People would get calls and I'd run and get the people to come to the phone and they'd give me 2 cents, 3 cents... and if someone gave me a nickel, that was a lot of money." She liked having her own money so she didn't have to ask her mother for the dime to see a movie or get a piece of candy.

At 18, she met her husband. They courted for awhile as he was working hard to support his family. When WWII broke out they got engaged. They were both determined to not give in to temptation before marriage and therefore when they would see each other they would be chaperoned by family. When I asked her if it was difficult for him to resist her, she said, "Many times we were in the middle of conversation and he'd get up suddenly and say, 'Oh, I gotta go' and he'd leave." Thinking the war would only last six months, they waited to get married; but six months flew by, the war was still raging, and he was about to be shipped off. He told her her wanted to marry her right there and then. So, they got married at the USO with a local rabbi - no white gown or the "usual flashy stuff that goes with a wedding, but that didn't affect our love." It was during the marriage where she realized how much she loved to cook. In 1953, with three small boys, they moved to California. 22 years later, the morning after they hosted a really fun dinner party, Mollie's husband died of a heart attack at age 56. Completely shocked, Mollie had a lot of support from her friends and co-workers at a school for disabled children where she worked. "When I finally got over the devastation and the realization that I was gonna be on my own from now on, I decided that I couldn't bring him back but I was going to make the most of the rest of my life."

And, Mollie did. She traveled all over the world, spending a great deal of time in Japan after discovering a free program which brought older Americans into Japanese homes to live for weeks at a time.

Her son Nathaniel, a graduate from Albert Einstein Medical School in NY, was the first doctor to practice treating and researching AIDS. He died of the same disease he tried to eradicate. Mollie had always suspected that he was gay but "I sort of denied it." Still, when the truth came out, Mollie told her son that she loved him and whatever would make him happy would make her happy. "It took him awhile to get adjusted to my acceptance because children don't see their parents the way other people do." Mollie joined PFLAG (Parents, Families, & Friends of Lesbians and Gays) and then met her son's boyfriend, Michael who she looks at as a "fourth son." When Nathaniel was very sick, Mollie flew to NY to see him. Michael had been spending every night on the floor of the hospital room to be with Nathaniel. "They had a little ceremony in which they exchanged rings and all the other doctors and the nurses came in. And when I saw those two I said to myself, 'There's no rabbi, priest, minister... no one in the world can tell me that this kind of love is wrong - this kind of love isn't real. This kind of devotion can be taught to a lot of straight couples who don't know how to act towards each other.'"

Mollie Pier, age 88.

On career:



On death: