Introduction
Let me say at the outset that I have revised some of these notes as a talk.
My remarks are meant to be suggestive and I would love to open up this discussion to your questions, comments,
and participation. I would urge you to consider Beth Israel—or the Patten Free Library—as a repository for these
stories, pictures and other family artifacts. I would certainly love to hear from my pre-1960 peers as well as
from the eighty families that now comprise the congregation as we review the synagogue life, community experience,
and daily rituals of life fifty to one hundred years ago.
This memoir doesn’t pretend to be history. I’ve always been interested in memoir and
biography, and in the social history of the Bath Jewish community . Fortunately I have retained a vivid sense of
the life of a Jewish community that ate herring and kichele along with schnapps at the shul.
I remember that sense of camaraderie shared by my parents and their friends. Yiddish was, of course, the mamaloschen,
or mother tongue of that first generation crowd comprised of elders like the Cohens and Petlocks,
that is my family, and those families I knew both at shul and as a vital part of the commercial life of Bath.
Those families include the Ariks, Browns, Greenblatts, Gedimans, Goldsteins, Levins, Mikelskys, Millers,
Poviches, Prawers, Rubins, Singers, Smiths, Ziblatts and my late uncle and aunt
David and
Anna Cogan
who migrated to Oregon in 1948, just two years after my father had died,
and with whom my late wife
Sara
and I had the good fortune of knowing and appreciating in our adult lives well into the early Nineties.
Families and individuals both had come to America before WWI, right off the boat, though some had migrated to
Bath from Boston or Portland as late as WWII. Some families or individuals came during the War years and simply
left. That would have included
Frankie Freeman
who kept two stores—one in Bath and one in Portland in the 1940’s; or
Jack Finklestein ,
Nathan Press -- the manager of the
Uptown Theater
–who left Bath for Oregon with the Dave Cogans in 1948 and then moved back to New York state;
Loren Jaffe of
Harmon’s Men’s Store ; and the itinerant
Rabbi Einhorn. I have no history of the Ginsburgs, nor families like the Soloviches who had a store on Front Street, but by 1940 or so closed it.
My sense of the 1940’s or life sixty plus years ago provides us with a glimpse of how these families fared. That first and second generation’s sense of camaraderie was not only shared by my parents and their friends, but it has been illustrated beautifully by Irving Howe in his 1976 publication, The World of Our Fathers. Most important, most of the Jews who came to Bath in that half century 1886-1935 provided goods and merchandise that would have been more difficult to attain without the convenience of those shops. Bluntly stated, the small shops of the Jews became a vital and necessary component of a town moving from the self-sufficiencies of 19th century independent farming and living and local trading to a 20th century economy, where groceries, for example, could be charged and paid for on pay day. And as one speaker at Beth Israel reminded us in the early Fifties, the Jews in America—because of Samuel Gompers-- made a huge contribution by democratizing clothing so that the poor could dress like the rich!
As the son of the Cantor, and as the younger son—my brother
Ed or “Vemi”
was already 17 years old at my birth!--I felt privileged. In the shul I had a front row seat, and in his grocery story
I could feast on open boxed cookies. My sister
Sylvia (born 1932)
remembers the thrill of sitting on the bimah while our Father led services. However, my unique birth as a triplet—
with two girls at my side in my first six years—was distracting:
do I need to confess that I felt awkward and freakish?
David Ziblatt, my old friend, claims the triplets were celebrities,
almost like the Dionne quintuplets. If that was the case, I really don’t have a memory of it, except in photographs.
More important, my sense of being “different” was simply that my Jewish-ness and having a sense of my parents
as immigrants”gave me a special outlook, not unlike the experience of French Catholic kids like the Rouillards
who also viewed themselves as “outsiders,” especially because of their spoken French. Equally important,
this special community of immigrant Jews—albeit foreigners--provided simultaneously a cohesive core of social
values partly based on Judaism, but also on the loss of the old world, the challenges of English,
their new language, and the customs of a community that was, I’m sure, very alien when
they first arrived. They loaned money to each other without interest; indeed, the concept
--the Hebrew Free Loan Society--
still exists in America.
So moving the shul from a rented hall above Hallett’s Drug on Front near Center
to a building of their own in 1922 was a near epic event.
The shul was both a social center and a house of worship.
It immediately symbolized the confidence the community felt, especially their new found citizenship and
a level of prosperity that they could never have realized in their European shtetls.
At the shul they performed their own minstrel shows; in the 1930’s they would aid and abet itinerants
seeking a place to stay. The women formed a
Ladies Auxiliary
to help new immigrants and to fund synagogue projects. Since my house was kosher my parents always
used the spare bedroom for new arrivals in Bath, like
Kurt and
Esther Diamant. (Kurt by the way was not only manager of the
Congress Sportwear Company ,
a small factory on Middle Street, but was a survivor of Nazi Germany.)
In the 1940’s somebody donated a nicklelodeon juke box and that was a prize community possession.
In 1948
Bessie Greenblatt Singer, who had worked with
Frances Smith
running the Sunday school program in the 40’s , led the singing of Hatikvah when Israel became an independent nation.
Rabbis were always scarce; minyans—except for the high holidays—were ad hoc, especially kaddish minyans.
Most of the merchants kept their shops open on Shabbat; the only exception might have been
Solomon Greenblatt, the tailor.
The McCarthy years in the early Fifties fueled that mindless equation of Jews as communists in the minds of some,
though my sechel or sixth sense always told me that the little shops owned by the Jews,
the Italians, the Greeks, and the French were characteristically “capitalistic.”
Arthur Gediman
would complain that the BIW did not hire Jews, yet my near uncle
Isidore “Pitch” Arik
held a job there before he moved to Oregon in 1948; my cousin
Ruth Cogan Finnerty
also held a summer job as a timekeeper there during the War years. I remember in 1952 attempting to apply for a
job in a Front Street printing shop and heard, “we don’t want any Jews working here.” The anti-unionism of the
Bath Iron Works
after the War years, perhaps into the early Fifties when unemployment was horrendous, was an edgy topic.
Supporting a union at the BIW in the Fifties was equated with being un-American; so too fluoridation!
I personally and quietly accepted the relatively mild anti-Semitism of my youth with a degree of resilience.
I did not feel negative in the way my sister Ruth did, twenty years earlier. Still in 1954 after the late
Ray Farnham, then principal of
Morse High
, nominated me for
Dirigo Boys State in Orono that summer,
the local American Legion post, breaking the old way of doing business by sending one or two boys,
collected enough money to send twelve boys to the Orono program! In the McCarthy period there was always
my mother’s fear of Jews being singled out; the Rosenberg case in 1953 had stuck a dagger into the community.
So vermacht der moil—“shut your mouth”—was a Yiddish response for fear of Gentile rejection. It reflected the
fear of being associated with communism. Stated another way, my mother’s refrain was: “Don’t bring shame on the
Jewish community,” be a conformist; always be polite with the goyim, or non-Jews. When I gave the honors speech
at Morse in 1955 on the topic of the 1954 Supreme Court case-- Brown versus the School Board-- on school
segregation, I would hear that ugly defensive tone in the statement, “Why are you talking about segregation
when that has nothing to do with us?”
Presumably
Dr. Joe Smith
battled it out with the town fathers when he built his Mexican style home on
Washington Street in the late Thirties; it was his way of saying, I serve this town as a physician,
I don’t need to have the design of my house restricted! And when a kindly Catholic lady informed me
that 1938 was the first year Catholic kids could be eligible for Davenport Scholarship loans,
I realized early that it takes time to wear down the biases of our elders.
On reflection I wrote this memoir primarily to preserve notes on my family and impressions of
sixteen other families who made up the Bath Jewish community of my youth so that a collection of biographical
notes—short and long-- could be used by the current generation to better understand the story of the first
immigrants. Obituaries and wedding notes in The Bath Daily Times and The Portland Press Herald can only go
so far. Perhaps the stories of the families I present in this memoir will meaningfully add to a history of these
Eastern European pioneers.
Additionally I wrote this memoir because of my life-long interest in the immigrant as a pioneer coming to America,
while fleeing often dreadful economic and sometimes political conditions back “home”—whatever home had meant.
My interest in “foreigners” in general may have begun with my realizations of how my family got to America in
the last century. But many of my personal life experiences dovetail with my parents’ status as immigrants or
even refugees. For twenty years of my professional life (1983-2004) I directed an international high school
student exchange in the Pacific Northwest; I also taught ESL at Berkeley while working on my degree in English.
I have always wanted to connect to foreigners, outsiders, and the strangers in our midst. That’s why in 2008
I worked in Uganda with
American Jewish World Service
, or for the past five years have served as the chair of
American Friends of Kehilla,
a family and child service outreach of the urban kibbutz Tamuz in Beit Shemesh that
focuses on new immigrants to Israel, especially Ethiopians. To re-construct life among Bath’s first generation
in this memoir has, thus, been both engaging and joyful.
Indeed if anyone were to misread this memoir simply as the product of my ethnocentrism (or Judaeo-centrism),
I’d like to correct that impression. First, my interest in Bath’s Jewish community is one of several interests of mine.
Perhaps I just liked people. In my role as a newsboy and my imaginary world as a stamp collector,
I delighted in the range—perhaps the variety of Bath’s many non-Jewish immigrant families as well.
I’ve always wondered if other landtsmen shared my appreciation for the other immigrants in Bath.
Perhaps my interest in collecting foreign stamps had parallels in identifying and relating to “foreigners” in
Bath in the Forties. I always thought the stamps, for example, from both Lithuania and Kenya, Uganda, &
Tanganyika [one country then] were exotic. So too I was fascinated by names like Sarkis
(from Sarkisian), an Armenian-American family;—George Sarkis played football with Vemi and
Abe Greenblatt
back
in 1938, or Alkazin—Syrian?, our shop teacher at Morse. That the Jews of Bath had numerous compatriots from
the Mediterranean world especially Greek Americans was a fact of life, and I loved the mix of names and
personalities behind them. If these “foreigners” were in the same boat, so to speak, linguistically or in
their self-identifications as foreigners, so be it. The Tinneys were Bath’s only African-American family,
and our family sympathetically related to them. Assuredly they must have felt like outsiders or foreigners,
as much as the Jews did. Most important, all of these outsiders had the resilience to gain acceptance and
respect in an increasingly pluralistic America where the Puritan virtues of hard work and thrift made their
experiences dovetail..
Among Bath’s small shop merchants were a number of Greek families—many in the food service world-- like
Tom Canacaris (Tom’s Restaurant}, Charlie Venos, George Poulos, George Liberty (Liberty Bottling), Nick Mihalos
(Nick’s Shoeshine stand), and John the elderly Greek baker on Center Street adjacent to the Bath Opera House
whose name I have forgotten but who wanted me to learn Greek so I could read his Bible! I have positive memories
of French Canadians too, like the Rouillards and their cousins the Pouliots—who did not have a shop—but with whom
I felt an automatic kinship precisely because we were strangers in a strange land.
Lemoine’s Market on Center where I bought 5 cent candy bars during the war years was exotic—the idea of
French speakers was cosmopolitan in my mind. Ironically my folks in their need to seem assimilated,
avoided Yiddish at home, except for private conversations and eating chicken.
My siblings and I could never talk about the parts of a chicken without referring to the pupik
and the fligula—the gizzard and the drumstick. And we all knew hazarye and treif –
non-kosher food--as a matter of communal survival and values.
In a conversation in 2007 my Morse High classmate George Langbehn admitted that his post WWI immigrant
German family’s status made him also feel like an outsider in Bath, and so he felt an unspoken and yet shared
common bond with me because of that. Anne Amirault, another classmate, wrote me several years ago describing
her experience as a French Canadian “Acadian” who felt like an outsider in Bath in the Forties. Who remembers
the elderly Heidelbauers—a couple--who lived on Old South Place –in-laws to Rev. David Wilson’s son—who were
trapped in America during WWII? It is remarkable that the Cohens were totally sympathetic to their status as
German-speaking foreigners. The Russian Mike Zoome, who sold both hot dogs and prophylactics at his Front Street
stand—the drugstores wouldn’t sell them to sailors!—would sing “Oche chanye” with my brother Vemi and jokingly
claim that salt would made hot dogs kosher. Some of the Irish Catholics of Bath—even after several generations—still
felt like 2nd class citizens, but I was not able as a young man to gauge their immigrant feelings.
(Was the bigoted WASP population of Bath too busy hating the Germans in WWII to bother with the Irish.)
Bill Bryant—another close life-long friend—was not simply Catholic: his Mother was French Canadian and
Indian, and his father had been an agnostic Protestant. This too had a positive influence on his identity or self-image as “different.”
The philosopher Jacques Derrida—“ Reb” Derrida—often talked about “difference” and I wonder to this day if the Beth Israel diaspora can remember how the kashrut (kosher) laws impacted on their lives. The following story or joke wonderfully reflects a major difference between the immigrant Jewish community and the descendant generation(s) today:
It’s about the pre-Columbian Jewish Indians of Oregon, and the Mama Chief is waiting for her husband Head Chief to return from his buffl’ (buffalo) hunting trip. Suddenly there is a scream heard from the Cascade Mountains of Oregon to the Pacific Ocean: “Oy avey,” she yells, “you have killed the buffl’ with the milchika tomahawk’l.”
[Jay Povich would have loved this joke!]
The Petlocks and the Cohens
A footnote on the Cogan/ Cohen family name. When my father arrived in Bath in 1914, he came on a German passport as
Moses Kahn. The family’s Lithuanian name was Kagan, later changed to Cogan in the United States by my two uncles starting in 1920, but not my father who retained Cohen. The brothers
Morris Cohen and
David S. Cogan owned stores in Bath for nearly two decades. Today all members of my father’s family are Cogan, except for my five sisters who have retained the maiden name Cohen as a middle name. My brother Edward [“Vemi”] took Cogan in 1946; I in 1952. Both Cogan and Cohen are identical in Hebrew as “priest.”
NATHAN PETLOCK
. When Nehemiah Petluckas [sic] arrived in Bath in 1904 from Zesmariya (in Yiddish Zesmer),
Lithuania the country was then occupied by the Russians and so Zesmer (in Vilna Geberne—or the Vilna jurisdiction)
meant Russia on his national passport. The family’s name had been anglicized in Boston to Petlock.
The first generation would have referred to Vilna Geberne as their home territory in the Russian empire.
Zesmer, a shtetl about 50 kilometers southwest of Vilna, was primarily Jewish before WWII.
In Bath, the elder
Mrs. Mikelsky
suggested to the newly arrived Nehemiah, alone without his family—they were to come in 1907-- that he adopt a Yankee [sic] name, Nathan Franklin Petlock, that Nehemiah Feivel useful in the synagogue simply was not acceptable in the town. Hence the Bath junkyard,
Nathan F. Petlock Junk, Inc. , 1904-1964; his son
Louis Petlock
, a mason by trade, came back from Boston to run it. Using a pony and a wagon all though the mid -Thirties, Nathan bought and sold junk, and by 1907 had made enough to send and pay for the passage of his wife
Ann (Hannah Leah) Hurwitz Petlock
and their four children or kindele:
Louis,
(my mother) Dora
,