MIRACLES

Remembering A Life Of Remarkable Happenings

By Rodd Saul Exelbert

Dear Family and Friends:

After I retired, I found myself thinking back on many of the wonderful people, adventures and accomplishments of the past 83 years of my life. Of course, as a publisher and journalist, I thought, Why not write them down? I started off thinking I would do 10 or 15 chapters, but as time went on, and I started to remember more and more, I ended up with 58! As I wrote and wrote, I realized how many remarkable things had happened to me. So Ive called my book Miracles. I had so much fun recalling and recording these great memories from my life; and for those of you who are retired, youll understand when I say that mostly it kept me busy, busy, busy. Believe me, its a PLUS to keep myself active at my age. I wanted to share my autobiography Miracles with you, my family and friends. You sure will know much, much more about one Saul Rodd Exelbert than you ever imagined! I hope you enjoy it.

P.S. A special thanks goes to Angi Collins, one of my former managing editors and current friend, for her dedicated assistance with Miracles. Also, thank you to Samantha Grim for page layout & design.

Table of Contents

SECTION I
1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. A Remarkable Happening My Real Mother 3 7 11 14 19 20 21 22 26 27 31 33 35 37 39

School Days Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn & Scrappy Exelbert A Gift to Journalism My Most Embarrassing Day My First Jobs Help Me Grow Up Boston University

My New Name is Rodney/Rodd Give My Regards to Broadway

At the Jean Dalrymple Ofce I Join the United States Maritime Service

Recreation & Morale at the USMS Training Center Editor of the USMS Newspaper at Gallups Island Jean Dalrymple, Morton Minsky & Earl Ferris

16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38.

A Brief Stint at the New York Times I Publish My Own Westchester Ave Shopping News Crosstown Comments Writing for the Newton Graphic, Mother Hubbard & the Newton Transcript My Own Publication: Teenager

41 42 44 45 48 52 53 55 56 60 61 63 65 68 69 71 74 75 77 78 80 86 87

Sports Digest My First Steps to Freelancing 1952 Looking for a REAL Job

Eastern Photo Back in New York...at the FR Corporation

Im a Reporter for Photographic Trade News My Introduction to Microlm I Start IRM Magazine IMC Journal Sybil How I Met Rae Mintzer I Love You, Dear

Rachael/Rae A Luncheon Meeting that Changed My Life Moving to Florida

Rodd S. Exelbert & Associates Communications Consultant My Greatest Accomplishments Its Great to be Honored

SECTION II
39. 40. Teamwork Led to My Publishing Success 92 96 Print Dynamics & Putnam Printing

SECTION III
41. 42. 43. 44. My Son Michael Charles & Arlene 98 101 104 106

My First & Best Friend: Sid Block

My Second Best Friend: Mike Green

SECTION IV
45. 46. 47. Trojans & the Knights of Troy 110 112 115 Were on the Orient Express Pop Warner Football

SECTION V
48. 49. 50. NMA Meant so Much to Me ARMA & Other Associations I was Close to My Best Salesmen 118 120 122

SECTION VI
51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. My Three Homes Growing Up Friendships 124 127 133 140 144 145 146 149

Romantic Times with Rachel in Far Away Places

Many Memorable Sights in the USA My Greatest Sports Moments Awesome Rodd Las Vegas

What a Remarkable Life!

Section I

A Remarkable Happening

hat is a miracle? Is this when God saves a life from a catastrophic event? Is it when the unexpected occurs to make what couldnt happen happen? Or is it a contradiction known to scientic laws? Or can it be, as Webster states, simply a remarkable happening? Ill choose the latter to describe my rst miracle for, indeed, that was surely my initial adventure into the world of journalism.

students from our rival college, Northeastern, were given rst priority for that job. How stupid I was, I thought as I left the building. There must be a different way, a better way to get an interview with the editor himself. For surely he was the one who could make it happen for me. That night in bed I devised a plan to sneak up to the city desk and hopefully nd the editor to talk to directly. I planned out how I would attempt to get this job. It had to be after school hours and at night when the newspaper ofces would be busy getting tomorrows paper to press. At 11pm, the next evening, I walked over to the elevator man and told him I had some papers to deliver to the city desk. I showed him a large envelope and somehow he believed me. We went up to the city room, and although I was scared, I was bravely determined to continue my quest. The city room was occupied by six men, some with visors on their heads, sitting around a circular table. In the middle (or slot as it was called) was another man sitting in a swivel chair. He was the chief desk editor. A rotary device on the table had six slots in which the chief desk editor placed sheets of paper. On these sheets were stories (called copy) written by the various reporters. The chief desk editors job was to scan each article and then place them into the slots that would rotate to each of the six copy editors. Their assignments were to edit each article, write headlines, and then place them in a tube that was shot down via a conveyor device 3

Ever since the 8th grade in Junior High, I wanted to be a reporter. So, in later years, when I actually set out to be one, a miracle got me that very job, or at least set me on the road in that direction. And so that wonderful experience on that special day when I was hired by the Boston Globe turned out to be Remarkable Happening #1.

When I was a sophomore at Boston University in 1942, I was majoring in journalism and learning how to write news stories. I was already sports editor of the BU News and making up my sports page at the printers, but I wanted more. I wanted the actual experience of working for a daily newspaper. So I made this desire become a reality and, you might say, in a very unorthodox manner. I decided I wanted to work for our leading newspaper, the Boston Globe. The job I wanted was copy boy, for certainly I wasnt yet ready to be a staff reporter just yet. My dream was set back, however, after I visited the Globes personnel department and was turned down. There were no openings for a copy boy. The top journalism

Miracles
I was shocked and got up from my chair. I gather, sir, that is what you expect from your reporters. He came back with, Youre damn right! Thank you, sir. When can I start? I asked eagerly. Why not right now if you can? he answered. And you wont be working for free. He grinned and added a nal statement that blew me out of my chair. Just go out to the city room, see the head copy boy Charlie thats around there, and tell him I said he should show you the ropes. Tomorrow, go to personnel and tell them I hired you. Now go to it. We can use you Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights. You can work out the schedule with Charlie. A miracle? Yes, to me it was. So during the rst week in October 1942, I became a copy boy on the Boston Globe. My shift was 5pm - 12am Thursdays and Fridays and 6pm - 2am on Saturdays. My weekly pay was around $88 but I really didnt care. It was the beginning of my career in journalism.

to the press room in the basement. Here was where the typesetting and plate-making departments made up each page that would be made ready and put onto the huge presses that would roll out tomorrows newspaper. (There were no computers in those days.) To the right of the city desk was the news room where the writers typed out their assigned stories. To its right, on a second level, was the sports department. As sports editor of BU News, I, of course, was delighted to observe that area. I saw an open ofce with the simple sign Editor on the door and quickly dashed in. No one was present. I was a bit surprised not to see anyone there. So I sat down and waited nervously while thinking about what I was going to say to whomever showed up.

And then it happened! A man came in to the ofce. He was short in stature, his collar and tie were open and loose, and his sleeves were rolled up. Despite his obvious shock at seeing me, he spoke softly and slowly. Son, what are you doing here? he asked. I answered eagerly, Sir, I want to be a copy boy. I am majoring in journalism at BU, and Im on the school paper. I want so much to work for the Globe at night. Ill even work for free. He seemed a bit stunned. He took his time looking me over and nally said, Sorry, my boy, but this job usually goes to Northeastern students. I squeaked, I know that, sir, but couldnt you possibly make an exception? I grasped the arm of my chair and closed my eyes for a moment. I prayed silently with just the words, Please, let this happen. Again, he took his time, gave me a good look-over and said, Son, you deserve to have the job. You amaze me how you went about getting in here to see me. Youve got guts. 4

My job was to be on the move every moment. In a small wire room I learned how to operate the Associated Press and United Press automatic wire machines, tearing off the many articles that were continuously sent to the Globe from around the world. I would rush each article into the copy desk circle and place them on the desk of the chief copy editor. Believe this I was the FIRST to read some of the major stories that would appear in the next days papers. Constant calls (yells, actually) from the Globes city room and sports department were simply, Copy boy! That was the signal for me to pick up their stories and rush them to the desk editor.

A Remarkable Happening
That was the easy part. There were also countless calls for coffee or cigarettes or to send me on errands to other ofces in the building or to the post ofce or to nearby restaurants where the reporters and city desk editors often went on their breaks. When they were needed PRONTO to get back to the ofce, I had to rush out and nd them.

would have been if the players were celebrating their victory party that night.)

I would also answer the phones when the reporters werent available. One night I remember clearly was Nov. 28, 1942. I had to man one of the city desk telephone booths in order to write the obituaries of those who died in the infamous Cocoanut Grove re that took 492 lives and injured 166.

I stayed at the Globe during my sophomore and junior years at BU, working the graveyard shift as it was called. I loved the experience, but I didnt like the late hours and working on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. I couldnt date any girls during the week. It nally got to me. Dating, or lack thereof, wasnt the only thing getting to me. My asthmatic condition was also making it extremely difcult to continue much longer. I was doing too much at school and at the Globe. I struggled to get up early and rush to school for classes, then to the BU News, and nally the Globe. The late nights and cold winter weather nally took their toll, and I left BU and the Globe in November of 1943. The doctors encouraged me to leave Bostons wicked cold and miserable winters and settle in a warmer climate like Tucson. I had a letter of recommendation to the Tucson Citizen from my college journalism dean and from the editor of the Globe.

The Cocoanut Grove nightclub re in Boston in 1942, which killed 442 people. [photo from
http://archrecord.construction.com/resources/ conteduc/archives/0512wondoor-1.asp]

That was my rst and only writing for the Globe. It was a tense assignment given to me suddenly because three of the reporting staff left for the scene of the re. I was in the city room with just one other staffer. I WAS a cub reporter for one night! But what an awful experience that was, receiving those calls. I believe I left the ofce to go home around 3am what an ordeal! (Its interesting to note that this was the same evening Boston College was scheduled to throw its victory party against arch rival Holy Cross. BC was the heavy favorite in this football game, but they lost and cancelled the party. Wow what a major catastrophe that 5

It was extremely difcult for me to leave BU and the Globe; I loved being a part of both. But I was very ill. I was wheezing day and night. My mother was up with me every morning at 3am making me hot tea and placing a cloth over my head so I could breathe in the hot steam. It was just awful getting up at 6:30am to shave, dress and have breakfast with my mom, and then rush out to catch the trolley to school.

During the turbulent weeks of November 1943, another factor caused a disturbance in my life. Asthma was the major cause of my illness, but a terrible relationship with my father who thought I was wasting my time at the Globe and

Miracles
I knew from many summer weeks and holidays spent there in my youth. I was off on another adventure. This time, a more serious one to the unknown. My second miracle took place that Christmas week while I was still in New York. Another Remarkable Happening.

a difcult time with my mother (who meant well) taking me here and there to doctors was making me worse. In fact, I was having a back problem (actually scoliosis) that wasnt being taken care of, and no doctor considered it serious enough for an operation. On top of everything, I was having quarrel after quarrel with my folks over so many things, and it just became unbearable. I nally went to see a psychologist at the Harvard University Medical Clinic. The advice? Just what my regular doctor told me get away from the cold, get back your health, get away from the strife at home. You bet, I was in a bad way!

I knew I should make the move to Tucson, but I also knew I just wasnt ready yet. I had little money, no hotel to go to, no job. I was thinking I could stay at the YMCA and continue my studies at Arizona State. And I was praying that I could get a job at the Tucson Citizen. What a miserable time that was. Not just because I had to say goodbye to my folks, friends, BU classmates and colleagues at the Globe, but because this new adventure I was facing seemed impossible to accomplish. I was frightened just thinking about the move. But my mother came up with travel money and initial expenses. God bless her for standing by me night after night.

So, I nally made that step forward. I took my medications, my one suitcase and a spirit within me that I couldnt believe I had. But I had to be positive regardless of the drawbacks. With tears in my eyes (and my mothers), I walked from my home to the railroad station for my trip to New York. My train to Arizona was planned for the second week in January. I was going to stay with my relatives in the Bronx during the Christmas week of 1943, and the following week I was going to say goodbye to them and the friends 6

My Real Mother
was born April 30, 1923 at Winthrop, Massachusetts Hospital the son of Samuel and Sophie (Weinstein) Exelbert. Unfortunately, from day one, I never knew my mother. I never felt her kisses or her warmth. It wasnt until years later I discovered she died giving birth to me. Why did our God let her go and yet save me? How in the world can anyone offer an explanation that makes any sense at all? My father, Samuel, a tailor, already had a daughter, Anne, eight years older than me. My dad must have been shattered when his lovely wife, my mom, passed away. He was unable to take care of a newborn child by himself, much less a 12year-old daughter. So while my father recuperated from the terrible heartache of losing a wife so young, Anne went to live with a friends family in Winthrop by the Sea. As for me, my father took me to New York to live with 7

my Aunt Dora Epstein, dads sister. She had a husband, Joseph, and ve children: Florence, Ann, Ruthie, Eddie and Lester. I grew up in their Bronx apartment until I was ve years old. As far as I knew, they were my parents, my sisters and my brothers. I wasnt legally adopted by the Epsteins, but I called my Aunt Mom and my Uncle Poppa. Saulie with cousin Eddie. They always told strangers who looked adoringly into my stroller that I was their son. No one told me about my real father or about my real mother who died. Im sure it was difcult for my father to visit us. Not only was he constantly working, but he had to live without his own son and daughter. However, when he did show up in New York to visit, I never remember calling him daddy or hearing that he was my real father. What a well-kept secret for everyone in the family!

Dora Epstein, my mother until I was ve, and me.

Miracles
Nevertheless, time passed quickly and little by little I warmed up to a new mother who truly adored me and took marvelous care of me. Before long I was going to Shirley Street Elementary School. I was growing up, making friends, playing sports and then graduating from high school. During all my teen years, I never, never knew anything about my real mother. What a terrible secret. Sadie and I were kind of close to each other, but my sister, Anne, didnt have much time for me. My father was like a stranger. He worked from early morning to about 7pm ve days a week and to 3pm on Saturdays. He never played ball with me, took me to a game, or came with me to the ice cream parlor. I never went to a movie with him or even for a long walk on the boardwalk. Worst of all, I seldom had a nice conversation with him.

During the summer of 1928, when I was ve, an awful thing happened. My aunt and uncle (but, to me, my Mom and Dad) took me by boat from New York to Boston where I was given over to two strangers. These strangers were my real father, Samuel, and his new wife, Lillian. With them was my sister, Anne, now 13, and Sadie (called Sue), Lillians step-daughter, who was nine.

My stepmother, Lillian; father, Sam; sister, Sadie; and me.

I have no recollection of that day or those moments at all, so I can only imagine what the scene must have been like. Many years later, my Uncle Joe, with tears in his eyes, told me that I wept and wept continuously after he and Aunt Dora returned to the Bronx without me. He said he never should have given me back to my father. That day was the worst of his life.

In order to keep the big secret (that Lillian was not my real mother), other secrets were My sister Anne. kept. For instance, I never knew that my sister Sadie was actually my stepsister. Lillian had adopted her niece (Sadie) when her sister died. (Sadie had a twin sister and an older brother that were adopted by other relatives.) My father never ofcially adopted Sadie so she attended school as Sadie Schwartz, but because of our age difference, I never knew that until I graduated high school. One day, I was showing 8

My Real Mother

face was ushed. He stood up, banged his st on the table and stormed out of the room. Everyone was speechless. My mother, somehow more composed, asked the girls to leave the room. She took me into the parlor and calmly told me the sad news, the truth. Well, most of it. She left out any reference to Sadie, and I never bothered to ask. You might think that I would be angry about the secret kept all those years. But all I could think about at that moment and through the night was wondering why my father was so upset that he didnt speak to me for the rest of the evening. Or, for that matter, the next day. I had so many questions to ask, but I didnt ask them. Maybe I was just too embarrassed or too upset over what happened. My sisters didnt console me. However, time passes, and injuries, even of the mind, eventually heal.

Nine-year-old Saulie at Winthrop Beach with sisters Sadie and Anne right behind, stepsister Ruth in front to my right and family friend Molly.

Sadie my senior yearbook and my picture in it. When I asked her to show me her yearbook from her graduation year (four years prior), she was reluctant. But I kept pressing her and she relented. When I looked up E names, for Sadie Exelbert, I couldnt nd her picture. It was then she told me her real name was Sadie Schwartz and that my mother was actually her stepmother. It was only a few days after that revelation that all the secrets came out. I was at Harrys Grocery on an errand for my mother. Harrys wife was at the cash register as I was waiting to pay the bill. Youre Saulie Exelbert, arent you? she asked. Yes, I replied. Congratulations on your graduation! Your mother would have been mighty proud of you. Then she looked at me sadly. Its a shame she had to die. She is proud of me, I replied, stunned and a bit shaken. And shes not dead but alive and waiting for me at home. I left the store bafed. God, whats happening here? I asked myself as I raced home. That evening at the dinner table with my dad, mom and two sisters, I told them what had happened at Harrys. When I nished, my fathers 9

After that, I met my grandparents from my mothers side, the Weinsteins, who lived in Malden, Massachusetts. I also met the Gordons, my mothers sister. My stepmother Lil took me by

My real mother, working in my fathers tailor shop before I was born.

Miracles
bus to their homes on a few Sundays. They all adored me, but they never visited us. And no one had anything great to say about my father.

After my high school graduation, through college, working in New York, joining the US Maritime My sister, Sue, 18, and Service, and way Saulie, 14. into the 50s, 60s and 70s, I just forgot to seek out the true story about my mother. To this day I have no idea where my real mother is buried. In 1985, I made a weak stab of trying to nd her gravesite. I traveled to Woburn, Massachussets to the cemetery where many Jewish families are buried. I went with my friend Ramsey Moore, hoping to nd a gravestone marker with the name Sophie Exelbert. No such luck! I still hope I can nd a way to make another attempt of locating that cemetery. I am determined to do it.
My sister Sue, sister Anne, and Sues husband Marty.

10

Give My Regards to Broadway

uring Christmas week of 1943, I was in the Bronx to visit with my relatives, the Epsteins, for about two weeks before catching a train to Tucson, Arizona around mid-January. I wanted to say goodbye to them and spend some time with my friends in the Bronx before my departure. I had with me two letters of reference for the editor of the Tucson Citizen: one from my college journalism dean and the other from the editor of the Boston Globe. I had also packed my medications, one piece of luggage, and a prayer that I would make it in Tucson. I admit, I was nervous about going out into the unknown for the rst time in my life. I kept asking myself, How in the world did I get myself into this? But I had no other options. The so-called medical experts in Boston did say I was suffering from asthma and a lot of stress, so going out west was advisable. As frightened as I was about my uncertain future, I just had to go. This was going to be extremely difcult for me. It was to be the rst time I had ever traveled such a distanceand alone. Then something strange occurred the very rst evening I arrived at my relatives house. Another Remarkable Happening. 27

10

My Uncle Joe saw my medications and asked me about them. I told him about my asthmatic problems as well as the difcult times I was having with my folks. He listened patiently to all my reasons for going to Tucson. But instead of offering sympathy, he scoffed at my story. In fact, he shocked me with a burst of anger. Why are you taking these pills? he yelled. Youre not taking them while you are in this house! He threw all my pills down the toilet. (Close your eyes and imagine that scene!) I was stunned and couldnt reply. You will not need these pills, he insisted. You will get better by being away from home, and youll stay with us until you nd a job in New York. My God, what is happening here? I mumbled as I went to my room. Maybe Uncle Joe was a Christian Scientist, but I didnt dare ask him. So, feeling as if I had no alternative, I did what he told me to do. The next morning, I found myself on the subway, heading for Manhattan to seek employment. Even though I wasnt ready to give up my plans to go to Tucson, and even though I thought living in warm Tucson would be wiser than bitterly cold New York, I wanted to appease my Uncle Joe and even my Aunt Dora by at least making an attempt to nd a job. Silently, I kept

10

Miracles
During the ve days of Christmas week, I called on a few more PR rms (around four or ve each day) and still failed to make contact. It was now a cold New York winter day before Christmas Eve, and I was exhausted from my rounds and very sad. But I just couldnt give up my quest to nd someone who would just talk to me about an internship position. Late that afternoon, about 2pm, I was in the lobby of Rockefeller Plaza on 6th Avenue scanning the Ofce Register board for PR rms. I came across the name David R. Lowe, Public Relations and thought, Well, there cant be anyone as low as I am. I guess Ill give him a try. Up the elevator I went. I gured the odds were 1000 to 1 that I would be able to see him.

repeating to myself, I am going to get better. I am. I am. During my rst evening with the Epsteins and into the following morning on the subway, my wheezing was actually starting to ease up. Maybe it was because I was in a different environment. Or maybe it was because I was looking forward to being with my old friends from the neighborhood. I had spent many summer and holiday vacations in the Bronx, and I was always happy hanging out with guys I had known since my youth. And, yes, my aunt and uncle were just wonderful to me. They invited me to live with them if I found a job.

That morning (the beginning of the week before Christmas Eve), I decided something that would later change the direction of my life more than I understood at that moment. I wanted to avoid the stress I had When I opened the door, I was just left behind, so I didnt want immediately encountered by the to apply for a copy boy job at any receptionist. She quickly scanned one of the six daily newspapers me over and asked, Yes, what can in town. What kind of job would I do for you? make me happy in New York? I decided to seek a job as an intern Miss, I replied, I am from in a public relations rm. After all, Boston, and I would like to see I was a journalism student and a Mr. Lowe if hes available. I am reporter on my college newspaper! looking for a position as an intern. Jean Dalrymple well-known And I knew the make-up of a daily I am a journalism student from Broadway theater critic and my Boston University, and I worked newspaper very well. Even though rst boss in public relations. for the Boston Globe. I had no experience doing public relations writing, maybe, I thought, an internship position would get me, at the very least, in the She cut me off, and seemed annoyed. Im sorry, we have no need for an intern. Im afraid he doesnt door. have time to see you. I got off the subway at Grand Central Station, found a telephone booth with a yellow pages and copied down at least a dozen names that looked promising. For hours, I walked around town, cold calling the companies I had written down. But I failed on every visit that week. There were no openings for an intern. 28 I wasnt too surprised over yet another disastrous visit to a PR rm. But as I was walking dejectedly out the door, a voice called from the opened ofce to my right. Beatrice, send in that young man. I would like to see him. Obviously, Mr. Lowe overheard my conversation with Beatrice.

Give My Regards to Broadway

I walked (or did I run?) into his ofce. Wow, was I excited! I almost cried out, I did it! I did it! I nally am going to speak to someone about a job!

10

What do you think I said after that? It was all I could do not to burst out with You bet! Instead, I politely thanked him (I believe it was three times!) and I hurried off to meet Miss Dalrymple. Miss Dalrymples ofce was in the Chanin building at the corner of Lexington Avenue and 42nd Street, across from Grand Central Station. Standing nervously in the elevator up to the 4th oor, I was scrambling to put my thoughts together. How should I present myself? How would she perceive me? Soon enough, the door slid open, and I walked into the reception area. I saw a switchboard up front with a desk behind it for a typewriter and the person running the switchboard. A large ofce was in the back where three writers seemed to be banging out copy on their typewriters. To the right were two other ofces: one for Miss Dalrymples secretary and another for her assistant manager, Margaret Hartigan. In a back room for storage, there was also an area where a Kodak copy machine was situated. Miss Hartigan asked me a few questions and then brought me into Miss Dalrymples ofce. Butteries were uttering wildly in my stomach. I had never been interviewed by a woman executive. Jean Dalrymple was my rst. Sitting on a black swivel chair, she was a petite, attractive woman with beautiful blue eyes that went perfectly with her glorious smile. The bangs of her short, curly hairdo were tucked neatly over her brow. She wore a simple necklace on her otherwise bare neck. Her desk was very neat. She asked me my name and I said, Saul Rodney Exelbert, and then she went right into querying me with the same kind of questions David Lowe had asked me. She also remarked how much she loved Boston and that she was also very close to the theater critic at the Globe. She even mentioned that in her younger years she had been in a vaudeville musical that was playing in my hometown, Newton. I beamed over hearing that! 29

Before either of us spoke, I noticed he was looking at the BU red-and-white athletic sweater I was wearing. I admit, it was certainly an unorthodox way to dress for an interview. But it was freezing out, and I wasnt going to wear a suit under a light overcoat to walk around the city. It turned out to be one of the best decisions Ive ever made. Son, says Mr. Lowe. I heard you are from Boston. I have a lot of friends from Boston, and I know the theater critic at the Globe. By the way, what did you do at BU to earn that sweater? I smiled. I was manager of the BU Hockey team. He smiled back. Now thats nice. Im a big New York Ranger fan myself. Mr. Lowe asked me my name and why I was doing what I was doing. I could have hugged him someone was interested in me! I told him why I was in New York and that I wanted to stay here and nd a job as an intern for a PR rm. I even mentioned that I had been very low these past days and that was what drew me upstairs to see him. He laughed at that. Then he came up with the surprise of the day no, the surprise of the entire week! Saul, (that was my ofcial name then) I dont have a job for you, but I know someone who does. Her name is Jean Dalrymple, and she is the leading theatrical press agent in New York. You stay right where you are. Ill call her right now. I almost fell out of my chair, abbergasted. He was going to help me get a job! Sure enough, he called this Miss Dalrymple, told her about me, and, when he hung up, said, Youre in, kid. She wants to see you. But this job calls for someonethats youto handle the switchboard, run errands to the local newspapers, and help her staff prepare the press releases they write up every day. Youd be a fortunate young man to work for her. How would that faze you?

10

Miracles
and remain home, go back to school, return to the Globe? God, I was confused. It tortured me to do nothing but sit and wait for that letter and wonder each long day what I should do. It was terrifying to say the least. But I still had plans in mind to travel to Tucson before the end of the month. Then came the letter and my third miracle. That Remarkable Happening happened again.

I liked this Jean Dalrymple. I felt at ease talking to her and really comfortable in my rst, real interview. I liked how she seemed to be interested in me, and I thought right then and there that she wanted me to work there. I was praying she would say, We would love to have you! But, no, happen. that didnt

I was told to return to see Miss Hartigan again, who told me more about what the job would entail, its On January 10, I received hours and salary. But she the letter inviting me didnt offer me the job. to join the staff of Jean Instead, she said she would Dalrymples ofce. I read send me a letter in a few the letter a delightful, days to let me know. She friendly letter over and didnt say, Ill call you. I over. I gave my mother a The letter that invited me to join the Jean was distraught, but I didnt big hug and kiss and read Dalrymple team. reveal my disappointment. it to her over and over, too. I just said, thank you and I hope you will want She seemed to be happy for me. My father didnt me. really care.

I told her to mail the letter to my home in Newton, even though I continued to look for a job after New Years Day. But after close to two weeks in New York, I had made up my mind to return home. I was already running low on money and I needed some warmer clothing if I was going to stay in New Yorkor lighter clothing if I was still going to Tucson. I was terribly upset. I had worked hard to nd a job and failed. So, ve days after New Years 1944, I returned home to Newton. I was feeling much better than when I left. I was no longer taking the medication. I gured my previous problems must have been a psychosomatic experience what else could it be? Maybe I will get the letter, I thought. But then, if I didnt, should I forget warm Tucson 30

Right then, I decided to forget Tucson. Forget about going back to school and the Globe, I told myself. Stay healthy, be strong, and go to New York with a lot of enthusiasm. Youre going to work in a public relations rm at last. Broadway, here I come!

My Own Publication: Teenager

n the day before Christmas 1949, I conded to Bill Chagnon about losing my job at the Newton Transcript. He was very sympathetic. Still, I was surprised when he asked, What do you plan to do? What can I do to help you? I hesitated before I answered, because I honestly didnt know what he could do for me. But I did know what I wanted, so why not ask? Mr. Chagnon, I ventured. If I had the money, I would publish my own newspaper for teenagers. He put his hand on my shoulder. My boy, Ill back you and lend you the money. How much will you need?

20

And so, Teenager magazine was born. First, I visited a local printer to nd out how much it would cost to print 2000 copies of a tabloid-size sheet, both sides. Then I sold advertising to the same merchants I had worked with while editing the teenage section in the Transcript. (Mr. Chagnon himself gave me a half-page ad.) I also had to write articles to ll the rst issue. Lastly, when my rst issue was printed, I asked a friend with a car to help me distribute the newspapers to all the shops who advertised so they could give it out to the teenagers who visited their shops.

Is he serious? I thought, amazed. Well, something like $500 would probably get me started. Youve got it! he said. Ill set up an account for you at the bank. (Mr. Chagnon was also a vice president at our local Newton Savings Bank.)

My inaugural issue was on the streets in January of 1950. I did it! I was so pleased with myself. My only disappointment was that I couldnt get my own father to advertise his tailor shop even for a single $10 ad. One month later, my second issue grew to four pages. I sold more ads, and the paper already showed a small prot. Mr. Chagnon was very happy and proud of my accomplishment. The third issue increased to six pages four pages plus an insert. I was happily in shock. I paid off my loan from Mr. Chagnon. My little enterprise was making money but still not enough for a decent salary for myself. But I was determined to continue. So I came up with a new scheme to make Teenager more attractive to my merchants and to my young readers.

48

My Own Publication: Teenager

I decided to change from a tabloid newspaper format to a 5 1/2 x 8 , two-color, 16-page magazine. I began using Brookline Citizen Printing, the same printer in which I placed Mother Hubbard ads some months previously. The Teenager ofce was now situated in the basement of our local Newton Corner Foto Shop (next door to the Paramount Theater). The Foto Shop was also one of my advertisers, by the way, and liked the idea of locating my magazine at the shop. A lot of teenagers came to the store to visit with me, and I had a staff of aspiring journalists volunteering from Newton High School. It was good publicity for the Foto Shop to have me as a tenant, so there was no rental charge for my ofce.

20

declining. I needed a miracle to save it from folding. And that miracle did happen. Mr. Chagnon, who was also an investor of the Wentworth-Jennings Lincoln-Mercury dealership in town, suggested to me that Mr. Jennings might support and sponsor the printing of Teenager. But I had to visit him and convince him that a Wentworth-Jennings sponsorship would benet his dealership. Mr. Jennings knew about Teenager from Mr. Chagnon as well as from his own teen daughter who was familiar with the magazine.

So I set out to sell Mr. Jennings. My pitch to him was centered on his Mercury convertible and the teen market. My argument was that 17-year-olds drive and would certainly drive more in the future when they go to college. The Lincoln-Mercury dealer was located in Newton, one of the wealthiest cities in the country, and parents could easily afford to purchase a Mercury for their teens. In addition to that, I had a mailing list of approximately 2000 subscribers to Teenager. (I had passed petitions around all the Junior and Senior High schools in Newton for signatures and addresses, so Teenager could be mailed to the students). I presented that list to Mr. Jennings and threw my winning punch: Teenager, Mr. Jennings, will now also be seen by the adults of the household. They will surely notice your ad on the coveted back cover. He loved it! Teenager was still alive and kicking. On our masthead, we wrote sponsored by Wentworth-Jennings as a public service for the teenagers of Newton. I was amazed (and so were my sponsors Mr. Chagnon and Mr. Jennings) at how well I was doing selling ads. Just run down the following list of advertisers from my January 1951 issue that shows you how much the local merchants catering to the youth market supported Teenager: Tots n Teens, Newtons, Inc., Paramount Newton Corner and West Newton theaters, G.R. Jeweler, the Regent 49

From January until December 1950 I was doing fairly well publishing Teenager as a monthly magazine, but the Korean War was hurting the economy more and more. My business was

20

Miracles
to be crowned and received a beautiful bouquet of owers. The winner and her date then walked down the red carpet to the waiting Mercury convertible. (All applicants were asked beforehand to bring a date to the event.) The chauffer drove them to their homes to change into evening clothes; they were treated to a fabulous night out at a lovely restaurant in town to dine and to dance. And at midnight she was to have her good night kiss at the stroke of midnight at the steps of her house. What a fantastic evening! What was I doing while all this was going on? I was photographing the entire evening at the theater, in the Mercury, at the restaurant and the goodnight kiss at Cinderellas door. But thats not the end to this fairy tale. Not only was the Cinderella publicity appreciated by Wentworth/ Jennings, they received a bonus slap on the back from Ed Sullivan himself. He had heard about my Cinderella contest and Wentworth-Jennings sponsorship and came to visit their showroom. (National Lincoln-Mercury sponsored the Ed Sullivan TV show.) We had a picture taken of Ed Sullivan, Mr. Wentworth, Mr. Jennings and one Rodd Exelbert with a copy of Teenager in hand. In addition, Lincoln-Mercurys Detroit headquarters ran a feature story on my magazine and my ability to appeal to and cultivate the teen market towards their future purchases of Lincoln-Mercury vehicles.

Shops, Newton Cycle Shop, Hillarys Candies, Freddys Music Unlimited, Belkins Pet Shop, Mandells Tuxedos, Barrons of West Newton, Newton Savings Bank, West Newton Cooperative Bank, Greenelds, Driben Footwear, Community Barbers, Wentworth-Jennings Lincoln-Mercury dealers. Wow is right! I sold them all.** But being a sponsor and now the back-cover advertiser in Teenager wasnt enough of a benet for Wentworth-Jennings. I had to come up with a striking promotional idea. Within a few weeks, an idea struck me like a bolt of lightning.

The movie Cinderella was set to premier at our own Newton Paramount Theater in a few weeks. I had the ambitious idea that Teenager could sponsor a contest to nd a local Miss Cinderella. I approached the theater owner with the idea, and he was excited to hear my plan and publicity scheme. He gave me the ok to do it! Applicants were asked to mail in their photographs. They were then posted on a large bulletin board in the lobby of the theater three weeks before the movies opening night. Moviegoers voted for their choices on Miss Cinderella ballot cards during those weeks. The theater was packed! Ushers picked up all the cards right before the movie began. Then the cards were counted and scored, and when the movie ended, the theater manager turned on the lights and announced the name of our Miss Cinderella winner from the stage. I had rented boom lights to lighten up the entrance to the theater and set up a red carpet to lead out from the theater to the street. Waiting on the street in front of the theater was a Mercury convertible (her chariot) with a chauffeured driver awaiting the new Miss Cinderella celebrity. The roar of the audience and cheers for Miss Cinderella was thundering. She came to the stage 50

**

One year later, I got a part-time job with Gilbert Research out of Chicago, IL. Somehow they heard about my Teenager magazine and called to offer me a parttime job as a teen researcher, visiting high schools and colleges to gather data about what kind of specic products and brands appealed to that age group.

My Own Publication: Teenager

I was surely now the Man About Town. Wentworth-Jennings loved it. So did my benefactor Bill Chagnon.

20

I sure was proud of my efforts here. My colleagues on the Globe shook my hand when I went up to see them. Their former copy boy scooped them on this unique story. But even after my success as creator, editor and publisher of my own magazine for two years, I had to cease publication in November of 1951. The end of Teenager was mainly due to the fact that the Korean War had escalated, causing sales to drop from local merchants and my sponsor WentworthJennings. Out of work again!

Thats me to the left (in suit and tie) rallying student support for German-born Werner Fehrenhold so he could stay in the country and nish high school.

Of course, my Miss Cinderella contest was a featured story in Teenager. I was beaming especially when the Globe also ran the story, and the guys in the editorial department congratulated their former copy boy. Now this was really reporting!

Soon after the Miss Cinderella bonanza, I came across another big story. It was my scoop, and the big city newspapers ran it after it appeared in Teenager. I was instrumental in sponsoring a special rally for a 16-year-old Newton High School Junior, Werner Fehrenhold, who was facing deportation to Germany because of his illegal entry in the United States. The rally was to obtain signatures from his classmates and faculty to inspire immigration officials to alter their decision. Somehow the petition helped. And the Boston Globe, Boston Herald, and the Newton Villager (formerly Newton Graphic) all ran stories on my story in their papers. 51

How I Met Rae Mintzer

31

ichael was gone. Sybil was gone. She was determined to live without me, though she had never mentioned divorce. Yet even though I was devastated and depressed, somehow I slept better than I had in months. I was breathing better. I was alone but relaxed. I was no longer having arguments with Sybil day after day. I just kept repeating to myself, You must stay healthy. You must keep a cool mind and focus on your new job. Dont lose that. I guess my mantra worked. I was doing very well as publisher of IRM. Everyone was congratulating me. Advertising sales were soaring. Both professional societies in the records management eld ARMA (Association of Records Managers and Administrators) and NMA (National Micrographics Association)applauded this new publication. It was the rst commercial magazine in the world dedicated to the records management profession, reaching over 40,000 readers. IRM was the key medium in the worldwide business community that supported the value and importance of records management professionals. But personally, I was on my own; the silence and sadness when I came home to my empty New Rochelle apartment really bothered me. I needed to nd some companionship. The long May holiday weekend was upon me, and I was not going to celebrate the holiday alone. What a terrible time Sybil chose to leave me.

Plaza on Sunday afternoon. I took the train to Manhattan on Sunday and walked from Grand Central Station to the Barbizon on West 59th Street. When I arrived, there was a lot of activity and noise. Guys and gals were chatting, drinking and dancing. I joined in but never stayed with anyone for long, even though I danced with two or three different girls. Around 9pm Id had enough. I left for the long trip back home to New Rochelle. As I was walking down the steps from the hotel mezzanine oor, I noticed two girls sitting on a sofa in the lobby. One of them was an attractive blonde. Why not go down, I thought, and sit opposite them and maybe get acquainted. (With the blonde, of course!) After a few minutes of casual conversation, the blonde (her name was Selma Ganz; her friend was Janet Kaufman) rose to go to the Ladies Room. When she stood up, I was stunned. She was about 5 foot 7! I rose to say goodbye for the eveningI just couldnt date a gal taller than me. She saw I was going to leave. Oh, dont rush off now! she exclaimed. I want you to meet my girlfriend. She should be coming out of the Ladies Room any moment. I grinned. Oh, ok. Well, why not! Sure enough, out came a sweet, lovely looking short blonde gal wearing an adorable blouse and skirt outt. She strode towards her friends. I liked what I saw immediately. I was thinking fast. How should I start a conversation? But Selma 71

While reading the New York Post on Friday, I noticed an item about a dance social at the Barbizon

31

Miracles
During the fourth week in July, I was in my ofce managing the companys moving operation going on all that day. I was to make sure all was going smoothly while the rest of the staff was over at the new building putting everything together. It was a hot summer day. Our windows were open because some of the larger furniture was being hoisted down to the street from our 6th oor ofces. I was so uncomfortable in the heat that I decided I would go out for a nice dinner in a cool restaurant before I took the train home. But I wanted a companion. I looked through my address book for a name to call. There were many names in my black address book from business contacts to female acquaintances. I saw Rae Mintzer written in red but couldnt recall meeting her. But I called her anyway and asked her out. Even though it was very short notice, she agreed and told me to meet her outside the Pepsi Cola building on 5th Avenue and W. 59th Street. (Rae was a secretary to the vice president of Pepsis International Operations.) At 5pm I stood outside the building and waited for this Rae to show herself. How ashamed and embarrassed I was that I didnt remember what she looked like. But in my own defense, in June and July I had been very occupied with my job, constantly traveling, keeping late hours, returning to Boston every other week to see my son, and worrying about whether or not I was going to move to Manhattan. I just didnt have much time for dating. But, yes, she surely recognized me. I apologized for my being so late in calling her as I had promised. I apologized mostly for not recognizing her. She was sweet in not making me feel worse. We had a wonderful rst date. Im sure it was because I took her to a delightful French restaurant off 5th Avenue and 55th Street; then we walked several blocks to 49th and 6th Avenue to Rockefeller Plaza where we took the elevator up to the Rainbow Room on the top oor for a drink and dancing. It was a beautiful evening. The moon was out while 72

solved that problem for me by quickly introducing me to her friend Rae Mintzer. The ladies invited me to stay awhile longer. Why not? I thought. Rae had a cute smile and radiated with shimmering personality. We all talked and talked and talked about the social, the guys they met, the girls I met, who I was, what I did, and so on. Finally Selma said, Im sorry, but I believe we should leave now. I really didnt want to leave just yet. I wanted to know more about this charming Rae. Fine, I answered, but how about letting me treat you gals to coffee-an (coffee and dessert) at the coffee shop next to the subway station? They

Rae and Rodd at the famous Rainbow Room restaurant at Rockefeller Plaza where we had our rst date in July 1977.

smiled and agreed. That would be nice. I gured they must have been thinking, Now thats a real gentleman. At the table the coffee shop, I had time to ask Rae for her address. I wrote it in my book in red ink. (Any good editor has a red pen on him at all times.) At last, the evening with these three girls had to come to an end. I gave Rae a warm handshake and said, So long for now. But I will be in touch. Unfortunately, getting together again didnt happen right away. It was two months later when I saw her again.

How I Met Rae Mintzer

we looked out the windows to see New York all lit up. We danced and to our delight we danced beautifully together. She knew and I knew that we hit it off very well that evening. When I took her home to Queens where she lived, she introduced me to her son Charlie, age 13, and to Arlene, 19. We all sat in the living room getting more acquainted with each other. At 11pm I was nally on my way home, very pleased with my rst date with Rae Mintzer. I also liked Charlie because we could talk about sports together. I never had a connection like that with Michael. I liked Arlene because she was sharp and inquisitive while making me tell the truth at the outset that I was separated from my wife, that I was living alone, and that, yes, I had a very nice job. On the way home, I somehow knew that Rae was saving me from the disaster of my problems.

31

We were a happy-go-lucky couple. Everyone noticed that we loved dancing together.

During the next few days, we talked to each other over the phone several times. She could sense and I could sense that we both wanted to be with each

other more often. I knew that I was comfortable being with her. I really, really adored her just from our phone calls and letters to each other. Our next date was the following Wednesday at a restaurant next to Grand Central Station. We loved that place. An organist played popular Italian music and Rae and I danced and danced and danced on the empty dance oor. No one else was dancing but us. The diners clapped after we nished our dancing in between servings. Later that week, we spoke over the phone about my idea of moving to Queens near Forest Hill. I wanted to be near to her home. Rae helped me nd an apartment in Rego Park, Queens, just a 15-minute bus ride from her apartment off Main Street and Queens Boulevard. She helped me buy furniture and all the necessities that go with it. I made the move during the second week in August. Without her help, I never could have done it all. I considered this yet another Remarkable Happening. It started when I noticed that item in the newspaper about the social at the Barbizon and culminated in the remarkable way I met Rae on that hot, late afternoon in July when I called the Lady in Red. If her name hadnt stood out in that red ink, I dont believe I ever would have called her. This latest miracle was leading to a major, major change in my life. I knew I was going to love this lovely woman. Somehow I knew she was to be my destiny. 73

Rachel and I gussied up and out on the town.

46
Were on the Orient Express
he International Micrographic Congress (IMC) commenced its annual ve-day convention in Vienna, Austria on October 12, 1982. I was an IMC Fellow at that time, and as publisher/editor of the IMC Journal, I was to open the convention with a slide presentation of the products on exhibit. A colleague of mine, Carl Nelson, chairman of IMCs board, and his wife, Ernie, would also be going to Vienna. It was Carl who suggested, Why dont we go early, the weekend before the conference begins, and take the Orient Express from London to Vienna? It didnt take long at all for Rachel and me to say, Lets go! So, on October 10, we found ourselves preparing to board the famed Orient Express, with its long Pullman cars, two dining cars, bar, salon and sleeping cars. It is a rebuilt train, a duplicate of the original as it was in the late nineteenth century. The Orient Express has carried kings and queens, presidents and lm stars, and a generation of discerning travelers (like the Exelberts!). As the epitome of style and grace, elegance and comfort for luxurious rail travel, it has been hailed as the most handsome, romantic and historic train in Carl Nelson, Britain.
IMC president.

This is what we wore when we boarded the Orient Express. What a moment that was!

Thirty minutes before the trips departure, a portable check-in counter was set up in Victoria Station (London) at the entrance of the boarding platform in the terminal. A red rug was rolled up to the counter a VIP courtesy, of course.

The rst leg of the journey traveled south from London through the Kent countryside to the Folkstone port on the British Channel. As we chatted and gazed out at the gorgeous scenery, we were served a delicious luncheon in our parlor car (seating four). An hour and forty-ve minutes later, we arrived at Folkstone, where we boarded a British Sealink ferry that would take us to Boulogne, France. The Channels heavy swells made everyone in our group, as well as most passengers in the lounge, seasick. Except for me. I stepped outside and 112

Were on the Orient Express

climbed to the top deck where a seaman told me how to roll with the movement of the shipsway up and down, up and down with the motion of the ship. I did so and it worked. I did not need the throwup bag that was attached to every chair in the lounge on the deck below. Even so, it was a tough trip. We were all praying, God, when will this trip end? Afterward, we were all exhausted. At Boulogne, the Orient Express carriage/sleeping cars awaited us near the dock. We would be continuing south, through the beautiful French countryside to Paris. On the platform, a steward wearing a blue uniform greeted us, then picked up our luggage and led us to our cabin. When he opened the door, we stared disappointingly at a very neat but very small room. We soon learned that the cabin is actually a private day room until its nightly transformation into a bedroom. When the upholstered seat is opened up, it creates a lower and upper berth. A ladder, covered in green plush to match the rug, is used to climb up to the upper berth. Rae slept on the lower berth and I had the top. The wash basin in the cabin was situated within an oriental-inspired cabinet (gorgeous when closed) with three drawersenough for our day clothes. (The luggage itself was stored in a special baggage car toward the front of the train.) There were hooks and hangers on the wall especially for our evening dress wear. A small writing desk was near the window, and postcards and writing paper were provided. The toilets (thats what they are called!) on the Pullman car were at the end of the platform. T h e f l o w e r- p a t t e r n e d mohair berths folded up into a single, comfortable seat for two. Sitting there, we could look out the large window to our left at the beautiful countryside of France as we headed south to Paris. It was about a four-hour trip to Paris and our group had a chance to nap in our respective 113

46

cabins until the steward knocked on our doors to announce the seating call for early bird dinner. We followed the suggestions of the Orient Express code-for-dressing ladies wore evening gowns, men donned tuxedos. In the two dining cars, a tantalizing six-course meal was prepared by superb French chefs and accompanied by famous wines. The plush seats, veneered walls and brass lighting (topped with French designer Rene Lalique shades) created a charming atmosphere of twentieth century opulence. After dinner, we relaxed to live music (a baby grand piano, no less!) in the bar/salon. We enjoyed a nightcap, a sing-a-long and conversation with other travelers from around the world. It was a wonderful end to a wonderful evening before we retired to our cabins.

Unfortunately, we missed our chance to visit Paris itself, but we were able to see the glittering lights of the city from our window. When we awoke early the next morning, we were rewarded with a spectacular view of the Alps during a delicious continental breakfast served in our cabin. As we passed Zurich, Switzerland and headed for the dizzying Arlberg Pass and the 6 miles of amazing tunnels to Austria, the scenes from the window were just glorious. Towering forests, snow-capped peaks, crystal clear streams rushing into roaring waterfalls it was awesome! Around noon, the Orient Express stopped to give us a three-hour chance to stretch our legs and explore Innsbruck, Austria before continuing on to Salzburg and then Vienna. Innsbruck, nicknamed the Roof Garden of Europe, is a Cinderella town with striking snowy mountains. The 1976 Winter Olympics were held here, and we explored the former ski lift way up in the sky where we had a fabulous wide-screen view of lovely Innsbruck.

46

Miracles
Ahhh, Vienna, the city of the waltz! Its luscious pastry shops, fabulous gourmet restaurants, numerous boutiques, many wine taverns, quaint antique shops and relaxing coffee houses enthralled us. While staying at the Motel Ananas, Rae and I visited the Schnbrunn Palace, the epitome of opulence, and took a boat trip from the banks of the Blue Danube to Budapest, Hungary. As you probably know, Vienna is home to some of the worlds greatest music composers Hayden, Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert, Brahms and Johann Strauss. So, of course

Dining on the Orient Express was magnicent!

Afterward, we toured this delightful town of beautiful shops, buildings and churches of exquisite design and architecture.

The cobblestone city of Salzburg was home to Mozart. It is surrounded by spectacular mountains and is lled with charming, historic baroque architecture. I think Salzburg is one of the most beautiful regions on earth. And this lovely city hosts the Leopaldskron Palace, one of the most beautiful rococo buildings in the Salzburg region and a key location for the lm The Sound of Music. Also nearby are the Austrian villages of St. Gilgen and St. Wolfgang on the banks of the Wolfangsee (Lake Wolfgang). St. Gilgen is famous for its association with Mozart, whose mother was born there.

This is the route the train took from England to Vienna. We recommend this experience to everyone!

we had to dance the waltz. While strolling in a park just outside the Palace, we danced a waltz on stage at a coffee house. Now that was romantic!

The scenes from our train were just breathtaking!

114

Section VI

My Three Homes Growing Up

I was born Saul Exelbert on April 30, 1923 at Winthrop Hospital in the seaside town of Winthrop by the Sea. My mother, Sophie, died while giving birth to me a tragic secret that was kept from me for many years. My fathers sister, Dora, and her husband, Joseph, picked me up from the hospital and brought me to their home in the Bronx, adopting me as the youngest son in the Epstein family. Eddy and Lester were my two brothers; Ann, Ruth, and Florence were my three sisters. They were my family; I had no reason to ever think otherwise.

51

inthrop, Massachusetts

I happily spent my young vibrant years there in Winthrop, from the time I was 5 to 17 years old. I was a very active boy and a fairly decent high school student. I did well in my studies. I went to Hebrew school and had a fabulous Bar Mitzvah. Whether it was cold and snowing outside, or hot and humid during the summer days and nights, I was always on the go. We lived about 30 yards from the Atlantic ocean, and my friends and I were constantly outside playing some kind of sport. I was disappointed that I wasnt taller and stronger, but that didnt stop me from my love of sports. Every Saturday and Sunday morning, during the spring and summer, I played box ball on the beach.

When my father remarried ve years later, in 1928, my mother Dora took me back to Boston to live Saturday afternoons usually with my new parents, found me at the Winthrop Samuel (my biological dad) Beach movie theater. and Lillian (his new wife). 20 Sea Foam Avenue (downstairs apartment) On Sunday afternoons, I I was now living with two in Winthrop, Massachusetts. walked with my friends to new sisters, Sadie (later nearby Revere Beach Amusement Park. In between called Sue), four years older than me, and Anne, those times, I did crazy things like trying to smoke eight years older. Sadie was my stepsister her (I never liked it) and talking with my friends about stepmother Lillian adopted her after Sadies mother what sex was supposed to be like. Although I liked died. She was Lillians sister. We all lived at 20 Sea girls, I never experienced real sex as a teenager. Foam Avenue, still in Winthrop by the Sea. My new mom, Lillian, did everything you could imagine to There were a few difcult things that happened love me and take care of me. Every day, she walked during those mostly happy years. At 17, for instance, me to Winthrop Shirley Street School. 124

My Three Homes Growing Up

came the shock of my life. On graduation day, I accidentally found out that my real mother died at my birth. My father and stepmother, my Aunt and Uncle Epstein and the Epstein children had all kept this secret from me for all those years. Even to this day, I know nothing about my mother Sophie. I was also unhappy that I didnt really have a close relationship with my father. He worked from early morning to after our dinnertime. He had to travel two hours each way every day to open and close his tailor shop in Newton. Fortunately, I was my mothers favorite and that helped make up for the times that my father wasnt around. She watched over me, maybe too much, but she was loving and always tried very hard to please me. So, overall, I must say that my young years in Winthrop by the Sea were delightful and memorable. I truly enjoyed a marvelous childhood.

51

park, the main library, Chagnon Drugs, an ice cream parlor, a bowling alley, Newton Savings Bank, many retail shops, the Newton YMCA, Burkes Pharmacy (where the athletes hung out), Our Lady of Lourdes Catholic School and, most importantly, the headquarters of the Newton Graphic. Watertown Square, a neighboring town, and Gallen Street were the main routes to Boston; I rode the trolley daily to Boston University and from the Boston Globe. I worked the late shift at the Globe, so my mother often sat by her bedroom window watching for me to walk up the street, just to make sure I arrived safe and sound. I loved my mother for her tireless devotion.

Newton, Massachusetts

In August of 1940, my family moved to Newton, a very wealthy suburb of Boston. (Sue and I got to ride in the moving van. My father didnt have a car.) I had graduated from Winthrop High in June and Anne had married. My folks and my older sister, Sue, and I lived in the area called Newton Corner at 66 Boyd Street. My dads tailor shop was located just around the corner from the nearby railroad station and two stores away from Chagnon Drug. Newton was also the main railroad station to and from Boston. I took it daily in 1941, running errands for a ladys handbag repair shop, my rst job. This was after my family moved from Winthrop to Newton and when I decided to postpone going to college until I learned how to grow up. Local communities near Newton Corner were Newton Centre, Newton Highlands, West Newton and Newtonville. But Newton Corner was the most popular part of town. After all, we had the Paramount Theater, the main post ofce, a beautiful 125

During the summers of 1942 and 1943, when I had any time off from the Globe, I would go straight to the Newton YMCA to play baseball, swim in the pool, shoot pool, or perfect my champion pingpong skills. Sadly, even though I was very active at the Y, I was not active at all with any of the girls in town. And I was now 19-20 years old. I had no real close friends while living in Newton. I was too occupied at college, at the BU News and working nights on the Globe. So I guess even if I had found a girlfriend, I absolutely had no time to date her. But somehow I was able to squeeze in time on the weekends to go back and visit my old buddies at Winthrop by the Sea. I traveled about an hour and a half to get there and would leave in time to work at the Globe. Even though my years in Newton were without romance, I was a very popular young man. All the kids and many adults knew me as Mr. Ex a sports writer and theater critic on the Newton Graphic. The athletes at both Newton High and Our Lady of Lourdes were my pals. Some of their girlfriends even worked on my staff for Teenager magazine, which I introduced in 1950. There was no girlfriend, however, in my heart at that time.

51

Miracles
and stickball on 172nd Street, near James Monroe High. Two recollections of my early years at 172nd Street are sleighing down the steep hill past my front door and learning how to shoot at stray cats with a BB gun. My brother (cousin) Eddy taught me how to shoot, but I hated it and made him stop even though I was just ve years old at the time. The Bronx was and still is famous for chocolate egg cream, the New York Yankees, Nedicks hot dogs and orange soda. A trip down memory lane from my Bronx days brings to mind many wonderful times: going with my friends (and some dates) to such popular places as Orchard Beach, Ward Theater, LoewsAmerican, RKO Chester, Loews Paradise (on Grand Concourse), the Bronx Zoo, Botanical Gardens, ice cream sundaes at Jahns, swimming at Starlight Pool, foreign lms at the Ascot, candy stores, delis at every other corner, and the billiard hall on Westchester Avenue.

Living in Newton was good for me, but for different reasons than Winthrop by the Sea. Newton gave me my rst and most valuable experiences in writing and publishing. I wrote for the Newton Graphic and Newton Transcript. Newton was where I published Teenager magazine all on my own. Newton was where my quest to become a journalist began to become a reality.

Bronx, New York

As I mentioned earlier, I spent my rst ve years in the Bronx living with my Aunt Dora and Uncle Joe Epstein who took care of me after my mother died. We lived at 1532 E. 172nd Street, one block from James Monroe High School and one long block down Elder Avenue to the Elder Avenue subway station.

Later, after I moved to Winthrop by the Sea, I often traveled back to my Bronx home during school vacations and summer months to be with them again. In my teenage years, when I could travel alone, I took the train to visit them. I continued to visit often, when I was working for Jean Dalrymple in In late 1946, I was fortunate to This is me around age 16 in the New York City, and when I was join the Trojans, later renamed Bronx. with the US Maritime Training the Knights of Troy. This was School in Brooklyn. After the war ended, I lived a highly respected athletic/social group of about there again for about ve years while I returned to 25 old buddies from my neighborhood. This was work for Jean Dalrymple, moved on to Earl Ferris, surely a marvelous club to be a member. published Westchester Ave Shopping News and edited Crosstown Comments. I really enjoyed, always, being a Bronxite. I loved my friends, my sports activities, and my association So you see, I did live a considerably long time in with the Trojans. And while I was living there, I had the Bronx. so much joy working on Broadway, being a columnist on my US Maritime service base newspaper and While in the Bronx, I had many friends during my then publishing my own neighborhood newspaper. teen years playing softball at the PS 77 schoolyard 126

What a Remarkable Life!

nd so, after all the adventures Ive had during the MANY past years of my life, here I am today with darling Rae still smiling and hugging as SENIORS at Montara Meadows and now at the Renaissance. (Can you really recognize your young friends?) I hope you can see why writing down these memories, these remarkable, unforgettable happenings in my lifetime has been such an enjoyable voyage through 83 years for me. I hope you enjoyed my labor of love for the Miracles that

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made my long life very interesting, exciting and memorable. Maybe tonight you will think about writing a Miracles book of your own. Do it! Thank you for sharing my memories with me. I love all of you!

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