8:43 AM by Jose Barrientos

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8:43 am

8:43 am By JosĂŠ A. Barrientos

J-Squared Publishing Company

©2010, José A. Barrientos Published by: J-Squared Publishing Company. Printed by: Mezcal Printing Press. All rights reserved. Written and Designed by: José A. Barrientos Edited by: Jessica D. Barrientos J-Squared Publishing Company 1535 Hudson Denver, Co 80220 www.J-Squared.com

C :  :  :  :  :  : 

     

P REFACE

In the turn of the 19th, century tuberculosis was spreading like wild fire. People were trying to find any type of cure or way to stop the spread of tuberculosis. In 1903, The Jewish Consumption Relief Society(JCRS) was started by a group of Jewish doctors who wanted to provide a healthy and comfortable environment for patients with tuberculosis. The fresh air and high altitude in Colorado provided the necessary relief for patients to cope with the disease. JCRS was a prominent location for the treatment of tuberculosis. Life was changed for the better or the worse in the halls of JCRS.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

The characters portrayed in this story are fictional, although, the names and locations are real. Rigorous research was done in order to understand the trauma and heart-break of those living with tuberculosis in the 1920s.

TODAY

8:42 am

SATURDAY

S , , at 8:42 a.m, standing at the entrance of Union Station, I am frozen against a background of commuters coming and going all around me. Time is standing still. The only sound I hear is that of my weak heart pounding away - pum-pum pum-pum, pum-pum. I am snapped out of my daydreaming by the thankful shoulder of one of the buzzing commuters. I begin to make my way through the entrance of Union Station; often I must stop or slow to pace myself because I am so weak. I pretend I am blending in and that no one notices me, but my actions and my coughing attract the ever looking, ever lurking eyes. I see them starting at me from behind their newspapers, judging me. These clothes do not help the situation; since I have lost so much weight my old suit just hangs there on my body. I look like a child playing dress up

in his father’s clothes. I just want to get onto the the train and make my way to Pittsburgh. What great irony: that all I ever wanted was my freedom, and yet the sight and sound of the world make me run and hide, right back to what I long to escape from. I must be strong; regaining my strength will be the incentive for going home. I amble up to the ticket window and give them my name and travel information. In return, I get a crisp train ticket. I catch a glimpse of myself in the glass on the ticket booth. I am a wreck of my old self, with graywhite, moist, translucent skin and sunken, black eyes. What am I doing here? I looked at the ticket, which reads Departure: Denver, Departure Date: Sat-

urday September , Departure Time: : am, Arrival: Pittsburgh, Arrival Date: Monday September , Arrival Time: : . Out of the corner of my eye, I see a man holding a sign with my name written in thick, black: MR. JACOB ASTOR. I stare at it too long, while the words begin to blur. When the gentlemen holding the sign realizes I am starring, he begins to make his way towards me. He is a man of medium stature, wearing a three-piece, double-breasted, medium gray suit, with a white dress shirt, charcoal tie, and black shoes.

He greets me - Hello, Mr. Astor? I apprehensively nod. He reaches out to me and waits for me to shake his hand. He introduces himself. My name is William Gusky, but you can call me Will. I was sent on behalf of The Jewish Family Welfare Association of Pittsburgh– He is cut off in mid-sentence by the speakers blaring -

All Aboard The Rock Island Line Express.

We make our way to the train, find our seats, and my new companion continues where he left off. Like I mentioned before, I was sent from Pittsburgh to accompanied you on your journey. The organization was concerned about the stability of your health, due to the setback that you had a while ago. Besides, I thought this would be a good way to get to know you, since you will also be staying with me and my wife. I myself stayed at the JCRS for a short period, but I could not stand to be away from my wife and my family. I was in Denver from October thru December and I missed Pittsburgh terribly. So, I understand your situation and your discomfort due to our illness. We will be staying at  R A in Old Manchester North. Do you know that area Mr. Astor?

I nod in agreement. Well–Will continues–it is quite a lovely home, built back in . It is big enough that there will be plenty of room for all of us. He emphasized “ALL OF US” a little too much and so I turn and look at him. Will can apparently sense the question that is coming and he cheerfully answers. Oh yeah, there is a story about my home. I, having been a husker all my life, could never in my wildest dreams be able to afford the Congeliar Mansion on my own. You see, it was given to me by Dr. Adolph C. Brunrichter through quite a miraculous act of kindness. I met Dr. Brunrichter only a few times, but he left the house and his entire estate to me. I was surprised and saddened to hear of his disappearance and, then, even more surprised to hear that I was in charge of his property. Of course, his will contained some conditions, all of which I am simply delighted to uphold. One of the conditions for my inheritance of the house was that in order to live there, I would provide help to those in need in our community. I was personally extremely thankful for the support that The Jewish Family Welfare Association of Pittsburgh had given me during my illness. I immediately began

to offer my services and new found wealth to them. I want to offer my help to you Mr. Astor. I have also extended my home to fellow immigrants of Russia. I interrupt my companionâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s narrative with a harsh coughing fit. Before he can start talking again, I say William I am sorry to cut you off in the middle of your story, but I a m f e e l i n g w e a k a n d c o u l d most definitely use a bit of rest.

Will nods in understanding and settles comfortably into his seat.

8:11 am

Sunday

I feel refreshed after my nap. I request for Will to continue telling me about the situation in Pittsburgh. The other residents at the Congeliar Mansion certainly are never around. They work all day and most of the time just come home to sleep before heading right back to work. They work at a large company, Equitable Gas Company, which is right around the corner from the house. They occupy the basement and some of the first floor. My wife and I live in the south wing. You will be the only one staying in the north wing for the time being, until we have more guests arrive. They are returning to Pittsburgh from all around the country, just like you, Mr. Astor. Thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s quite a storyâ&#x20AC;&#x201C;I say.

Then, I quickly apologized–I’m sorry I did not mean it to sound so harsh. You see, I have yet to regain my ability to think first and speak second. My manners seem to have disappeared during my last bout of illness. I was being rude in the face of his kindness. Here he was sharing his story and taking time out of his life to travel with me, but I felt ill and worried about my future. By this time, I was getting tired of being called Mr. Astor, which he insisted on calling me even though he requested I call him by his first name. To make amends, I say–Will, please call me Jacob. He nods, smiles and adjusts his glasses. I explain to him–I am just a little nervous and, well, excited. I have been living in some sort of sanatorium for more than ten years now and I am ready to take back control of my own life. I want to live the American Dream, which is the reason I left Russia to come to Pittsburgh in the first place. Plus, I am both excited and terrified to reconnect with my closest friend in the United States. I almost did not board this train; as soon as I saw the crowds, I wanted to run back to the taxi, but it had left already. So, I had to gather all my strength and begin my journey.

Mr. Gusky interrupts me. So, why do you want to return to Pittsburgh? I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t believe you have family there because the Association would not be sending you to stay with me if you did. I reply with a sound of discomfort in my voice. Well, Pittsburgh is the only place I now consider home. It is the only place where I ever felt happy and wanted. I lost all communication with my family and friends in Russia when I immigrated to Pittsburgh in 1907. They were not happy when I left. I was not able to help to my family, but I was tired of living with the fear of death by starvation or violence. No, I am in charge of my own life now. I choose where I go. I want freedom in my life, so I left my dark country and never looked back. When I arrived in Pittsburgh, I stayed with an old family friend in the Squirrel Hill area. He soon became sick and died quite suddenly. By that time, I was working as a dishwasher at at small, local restaurant. I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t remember the name of it at this time, but maybe it will come to me. As my English improved, I began to venture out and move my way up from dishwasher to cook to waiter. I continued to work as a waiter until I became ill in 1913. Later, I worked at the Oyster House also as a waiter. Did you ever eat at the Oyster House, Will? 15

He shakes his head. Well–I continue–they sold fresh oysters for a penny. They were very well known for serving great, big fish sandwiches. Quite delicious, if I do say so myself. The interior of the restaurant was plastered with photographs of the crowned Miss America for each year since it opened, a tradition which the owner took very seriously. I was making $25 a week; that’s pretty good for a guy from Russia with broken English. While working at the Oyster House, I met a very interesting character named Sam Goldberg. We got along just fine and he was always interested in my background. He especially wanted to know about Russia. So, I shared stories about my country. I always gave a true picture of the bad situation there, but I missed my childhood home. Despite everything, I still held Russia in high regard; maybe one day I can return. Sam was a very friendly person, full of kindness, and an entertaining kind of fellow. We would always go out on the town and just enjoy the life of the city. We soon became close friends and it is because of Sam that I am now returning to Pittsburgh. You see, Will, I’ve never learned how to make friends or to keep the few I manage to make, mostly because I

like to keep to myself. Despite my awkwardness, Sam did not mind my ramblings about nothing at all; he just enjoyed them, I guess. After about a year of each other’s company, Sam decided it would be a great idea for us to become roommates. I immediately jumped to the idea because we had such a good time being around each other and living expenses could get tough sometimes for a man alone. I soon moved into his house at  C A. We settled right in together. He helped me to be open-minded and encouraged me to mingle with people. So, we often hosted parties and dinners with groups of Sam’s seemingly endless supply of friends and acquaintances. They never seemed to mind me around so we all got along quite well. I was always jealous of his ability to speak to strangers without fear, but also grateful for this, since his curiosity is what led to our friendship. I felt he was my only true friend and that he accepted me despite my personal troubles. Suddenly, I felt a rattle deep in my lungs and soon my entire body was shaking with a painful bout of coughing. When I could catch my breath again, I looked at Will and said–I feel exhausted.

I feel this trip is taking

a great

toll on my health. The rocking motion of the train quickly lulled me into an exhausted sleep.

7:29 am

Sunday

When I awoke, I was slightly disoriented. The tedious, flat landscape which I had fallen asleep to continued to roll past my window, giving the illusion that I had closed my eyes only seconds before. However, the sun was in a much more western location than when I last remembered, so I assumed several hours had passed. Will was sitting beside me and he smiled when he realized I was up. He handed me a glass of water and said 窶的 would like to hear more about your time in Pittsburgh if you feel up to it. I still felt rather weak, but thought that the uncomfortable time on the train would pass more quickly if I had something to occupy my mind, so I continued.

The fun came to a halt in the summer of 1913. I inexplicably began to feel rather weak and often had trouble breathing. Next, I began to cough constantly. I thought, at first, that it was just a common cold, but after weeks of suffering, I began to suspect the truth. To this day that “DA MN COLD” still haunts me. An older woman down the aisle loudly cleared her throat and shot me the evil eye at this outburst. I lowered my voice as I continued, but my anger at all of my suffering simmered just below the surface. I suffered without aide for quite some time. It was not until 1916 that I entered the care of Mt. Alto Sanatorium. I regret not having the courage to admit myself to the sanatorium sooner and, by the time I entered, my health was deteriorating very fast. Sam visited me quite regularly for about a year, but soon he stopped coming. Why would he come visit his disgustingly ill friend when he had plenty of healthy friends beyond the sanatorium? In retrospect, I can’t blame him, not really, but at that time I was very hurt. The combination of my illness and my depression at the loss of my only friend worsened my health. I would be asked to walk around and get some fresh air or otherwise participate in my rehabilitation, but I would just turn away from the doctors and mope.

Dr. Weest, one of the doctors in charge of my health, suggested my transfer to Denver. He was concerned about my lack of family or friends in Pittsburgh. He told me about a successful sanatorium with a large population of Jewish patients from Russia called the Jewish Consumption Relief Society, or JCRS for short. Did you know that the doctor in charge at JCRS, Dr. Spivak, is an immigrant from Russia? Will shook his head at my question. Dr. Spivak is making excellent progress in the field of tuberculosis. Dr. Weest thought that the new techniques and break-throughs that were being developed at JCRS would be my best bet for the improvement of my health. He also believed that the fresh air and high altitude would aide in my recovery. The thing that really convinced me to make the move was a chance to be around fellow patients of Jewish decent. Since I already lost my only friend in the world, I had nothing to lose. I thought I would at least be comfortable, if not entirely happy. I arrived in Denver in 1919 with help from the United Jewish Charities of Pittsburgh, which paid the ticket for my trip and provided me with money for food, clothes, and lodging until I could enter the care of the JCRS. I

was amazed and awed by the beauty of the mountains and the wilderness surrounding the sprawling city. I had become used to being surrounded by buildings and people and forgot the beauty of open spaces. Still, there were many people in Denver and I had underestimated the massive number of patients swarming to Denver in the hope of being admitted to JCRS. But you know all of this already, Will. I forget you were a patient there as well. I doâ&#x20AC;&#x201C;he repliedâ&#x20AC;&#x201C;I had the opportunity of sending my request for admittance a month before my arrival to Denver and so my place at JCRS was guaranteed. I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have to wait and worry like so many others. How did you get through until you were admitted? My condition soon worsened and I had to be admitted to the National Jewish Hospital. I was not able to remain there permanently because of the nature of that hospital. The NJH would not provide long term care for patients and only admitted people with early signs of consumption or those with less-severe cases, like myself. I was admitted and released to this hospital endlessly between 1919 and 1923 as my condition alternately improved and worsened. When released from the hospital, I was placed in a home for others suffering from tuberculosis.

I officially summited paperwork to JCRS on the 23rd of January in 1923. I was soon admitted and I arrived at JCRS on March 15 of the same year. Regardless of my ups and downs during my stay at JCRS, I have to say the care was excellent and I felt more relaxed and safe there than at any of the other sanatoriums I have had the misfortune to visit. Even though the news of my admittance was about the best news that anyone carrying the â&#x20AC;&#x153;white plagueâ&#x20AC;? could hope for, I felt imprisoned by my disease and soon fell into depression again. Despite my excellent care, I was restless and confused. I wanted only to find myself and to have a chance to become a happy person despite my disease. I set my mind on living out the dreams for which had brought me to America and caused me to work so hard to improve my station in life. In January 1927, I was fully ready to leave Denver and break my chains of illness and depression. I requested to be returned to Pittsburgh. And well, here I am, though the arguing back and forth between the JCRS and the the United Hebrew Relief Association almost made me go insane. I owe a great deal of gratitude to Mr. Kaufman, the Social Service Director at JCRS who fought for me to return to Pittsburgh. I came to Kaufman one day and notified him that I was sick and tired of being in the care of JCRS.

I told him that even though it is a great institution, I could not stand to stay any longer. I simply could not bear to live my last days in such an institution with such restricted activities no matter the benefits for my health. I also felt strongly drawn to find Sam and resume our friendship. I want my last days to be in the city I love with the only friend I care about. My days at JCRS were so amazingly tedious. I very much miss having a job; there is nothing quite like working hard to earn your own keep. To entertain myself, I reverted to my waiter skills and memorized all of the food lists. I can still quote the menus. Would you like to hear it, Will? He chuckles and says–It’s probably still the same as it was when I was a patient there. Let ‘er rip! So, in a the voice of a professional waiter, I begin–

B Grapefruit

Oatmeal

Boiled Eggs

Toast

Butter Bread

Milk

Coffee

Cocoa

D Barley Soup

Roast Beef

Boiled Potatoes

Pickles

Stewed Apricots

Bread

Coffee

Tea

S Canned Salmon

Sour Cream and Cheese

Boiled Potatoes Butter Bread

Cake

Coffee

Milk

The same thing every day, and by the end of my stay I was so DONE. With the help of Mr. Kaufman, I pursued a course to return to Pittsburgh:

1) First Letter sent by Kaufman

February 14, 1927 Doris L. Victor, Superintendent United Hebrew Welfare Association Washington Trust Company Bldg. Pittsburgh, Pa. My dear Miss Victor: Mr. Jacob Astor who was admitted to the sanatorium March 13, 1923, for whom your organization has paid the transportation to come here, is now ready to return to Pittsburgh. Please authorize us to secure for him a half rate ticket at your own expense. We shall give you our detailed report about his condition before he leaves the sanatorium. Trusting you will give this matter your kind attention and thanking you for your cooperation, we are sincerely yours. Sincerely yours, S.B. Kaufman Director of Social Service Department.

2) Reply to Kaufmanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s letter

February 20, 1927 Mr. Kaufman, Director Social Service Department Jewish Consumption Relief Society Denver, Co. My dear Mr. Kaufman: Your letter regarding Jacob Astor was received today and I am sorry I cannot comply with your request to authorize you to purchase a ticket for the manâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s return to this city, the legal residence to which he has lost years ago. Referring to our correspondence, the following are the facts in this case. The man was sent to Denver in June 1919 and was admitted to the National Jewish Hospital June 27th. He was discharged the end of 1920. During the time that he was in the hospital he was helped with clothing and all other necessaries by this organization. At the end of his stay in the institution, he was advised to remain in Col-

orado by Dr. Swezey, who was then in charge. When the man could not find himself a job in Denver, the hospital asked if this organization would support him in Denver. Mr. Cooper, the then superintendent of this organization wrote November 1920 the following: â&#x20AC;&#x153;I have your kind letter of the 23rd inst. In reference to Mr. Astor and beg to say that if it is absolutely impossible for him to become at least partly self maintaining in Denver, Colorado that he better return to Pittsburghâ&#x20AC;?. We heard nothing more regarding the man until August 30, 1921, when a letter was sent by the National Jewish Hospital stating that the man had again applied for admission to the institution. After a short time, the man was again discharged. Then without any consultation with this organization whatsoever in January of 1923 he applied to your organization for admission, at the time Dr. Spivak asked for what information we could give him and we wrote him a letter giving that information on January 21, 1923. In addition we also informed Dr. Spivak

that we again stood by our letter of November 1920 in which we refused to assume any further responsibility for the man while in Denver. Since the man had not returned at that time and as over two years had elapsed since then, we felt that he had established a residence in Denver. Again we heard nothing from this man until August 31, 1925 when he himself wrote us asking that we sign his application to the National Jewish Hospital in Denver. Since the man gave us no address we could only answer him general delivery, Denver, and this letter was returned. In it we said the following: â&#x20AC;&#x153;I am very sorry that I am unable to sign your application for admission to the National Jewish Hospital since you have not been a resident of Pittsburgh for the past six years. However, if you will make personal application to Dr. Baum, I am sure he will give you the necessary consideration. The man, then a month later applied to the Central Jewish Aid Society and this organization wrote us. We answered them in a letter of October 5th substantially the same as we

had Mr. Astor. We had thought this concluded the entire matter but apparently Mr. Astor feels otherwise and continues to refer to Pittsburgh as his legal state of residency. Very truly yours, Doris L. Victor Superintendent of the United Hebrew Relief Association of Pittsburgh

(I experienced a brief coughing spell, but was determined to continue my story.) After a couple of weeks, I asked Mr. Kaufman if he had heard anything regarding my return to Pittsburgh. At that very moment he was holding the return letter from Miss Victor. After explaining to me the â&#x20AC;&#x153;legalitiesâ&#x20AC;? of my situation, he reassured me that he would do everything in his power to return me to my home city, and as he had much experience dealing with large organizations he had much faith that he would succeed. He promised to keep me informed through the process. Despite his reassurance, I felt my entire body heat-up from anger and felt my face begin to radiate heat. I assume Kaufman noticed my agitation, as he tried to calm me by explaining the system and asking me not to worry. I reassured him that my anger was not directed at him or the institution. I soon managed to make myself appear calm despite my frustration. I thanked Mr. Kaufman for his assistance and left the room before my anger could boil over again. Then, I walked away with the intention of hunting something down and destroying it. Luckiy for the other patients and doctors, no one acknowledged me as a stormed on by. I burst through the doors of the sanatorium, stalked into the field, found myself a nice spot of dirt, and I punched it

until I was too weak to continue. I was exhausted and bent over to catch my breath. I turned from Will and starred out of the train window. My mind was racing with the past, and I thought I should get used to let downs, since my life has been full of them. Yet I always forget the pain of almost touching the sweetness of life before having it swiped away by the cruel hand of fate.

3) Reply to Miss Victor (excerpt) March 22, 1927 Dear, Miss Victor We are of the opinion that Mr. Astor is still a resident of your city, and if you believe that your opinion is the correct one, I would suggest that we submit the question to the Transportation committee of the National Conference for a revision. Trusting you will give the above your earnest consideration and let us hear from you as soon as possible. Sincerely, Mr. Kaufman

I shifted in the train seat, trying to find a more comfortable position. I closed my eyes, resting a bit, while at the same time continuing to speak. After several weeks of doing nothing but laying around in bed and wallowing in the depths of my depression, Mr. Kaufman came to my room and asked to speak with me. I immediately expected the worst - I had become quite good at expecting the worst of things. I waited for Mr. Kaufman to speak, covering my anxiousness with a blank stare. He informed me that he had contacted the superintendent of UHWA, and demanded that that organization take responsibility for my case. They based their refusal for assistance on the assumption that I was a resident of Denver, but Mr. Kaufman had discovered that I was never self-sufficent in that city. Instead, during my entire time in Denver, I was a dependent of institutions and therefore never established legal residency. Apparently, the law states that if a patient remains in health institutions and has no means of supporting themselves, they remain the responsibility of whichever state they did have residency in. UHWA still refused to act responsibly towards me, so Kaufman threatened to report their actions to the Transportation Committee of the National Conference. When they again refused, he did indeed submit the

paperwork. Mr. Kaufman was certain that the UHWA would be forced into helping me, but I was very worried that he was wrong. However, by the time that the social worker spoke to me about this entire process, he had already received word that the Transportation Committee did rule in my favor. He looked into my eyes and spoke the best words that I have ever heard -

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Jacob, you are going back to Pittsburgh, my friend.â&#x20AC;? At that very moment I felt like a I was a free man for the first time in a long time. I felt as if those words returned me to a time in my life where I was healthy again. They gave me strength to give the evil living in my lungs a good punch; I had cornered the illness and was standing over it, beyond it, breathing, smiling and ready to live. Kaufman waited for me to calm down from the excitement before sharing the logistics of my upcoming travel. I was required to take a physical examination so that a report of my current health could be sent to the UHWA to assist with my care in Pittsburgh. He stressed that by returning to my city, I was leaving the excellent care of the JCRS and also foregoing care focused on my 44

Jewish heritage, as there are no Jewish tuberculosis sanatoriums anywhere in Pittsburgh. My care in the future would not be among my brethren. I was fully aware of all I was giving up and I believe I will be receiving something better in return. I told Mr. Kaufman these exact words–“I am extremely thankful

for what Dr. Spivak, JCRS, and specially you have done for me, but the truth is that I am tired of living everyday wishing to be somewhere else – on the outside living and breathing happily. I understand that my health most likely will worsen in the future, but I have no plan of being put back into any kind of sanatorium. I just want to go to Pittsburgh find my dearest friend Sam, and try to enjoy however much of my life I have left. NO MORE HIDDING! I will not allow the disease to cripple my will to live as it has crippled my body. If I stay in an institution, a prison, I will wish to die rather than working to live. I thought these last few months that I was ready to give up and die. However, this amazing news has made me realized I would much rather try to live in the truest sense of the word. I know I will die eventually, that I have come to understand. But in the mean time, I will live.”

Mr. Kaufman was glad to see my enthusiasm. I asked him to try and locate Samâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s current address and he assured me he would do his best. I promised Mr. Kaufman that I would use the support of the UHWA as little as possible, that is I would need only the means of getting to Pittsburgh and a place to settle while I readjusted to a normal life. He promised to obtain my specific travel information as well as look into Samâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s location and to bring all of this information to me as soon as possible. He left me to my rest and made me promise to rest as much as possible in the days before my journey. I was content to do just that with the hope of returning to Pittsburgh and thoughts of renewing my friendship with Sam to help me relax.

4) Letter from Kaufman May 12, 1927 Dear Miss Victor: I have attached the up-to-date medical examination, as you requested. I believe that Mr. Astorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s health is in good standing and he has been stable for some time. I am happy to inform you that the news of his imminent return to Pittsburgh has buoyed his spirits and aided in his swift improvement. When I notified him of the news, Mr. Astor came out of his worried state, his entire face brightened, and he began to care for himself again. There is no cure for illness as successful as hope. Mr. Astor shared with me his desire to locate an old friend in Pittsburgh. This person seems to be the reason for his determination and drive to improve his health and his wish to return to Pittsburgh. He has cordially requested that we should try to locate this friend, Sam Goldberg, so that he may assist Mr. Astor with his reentry into everyday life.

The outcome of this request may determine the future health of Mr. Astor and his future success in your city. Sincerely yours, Mr. Kaufman

5) Reply from Miss Victor May 17, 1927 My Dear Mr. Kaufman: I am sorry to inform you that Sam Goldberg is no longer living. He passed away in 1924, as a result of a short and violent case of tuberculosis. I am aware that this news may prove devastating to Mr. Astor, especially due to his fragile state of health. You may or may not choose to share this information with him as you see fit. We will continue to plan for Mr. Astorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s care upon his arrival in Pittsburgh unless we hear otherwise from you. We are currently working to find a welcoming and understanding home that can meet his unique medical and personal needs. Best of luck, Doris L. Victor.

Mr. Kaufman came to my room several weeks later. He greeted me with a warm smile and inquired about my health. I told Kaufman that I felt terrific. I regaled him with tales of my improved strength and my cleared breathing with only a cough here or there, allowing me to spend up to four hours in outdoor activities. I did not tell him about a recent weak spell that resulted in a terrible coughing fit and ending with spatters of blood in my handkerchief. My spirits were up and I did not let the limitations of my body stop my upcoming adventure. Mr. Kaufman seemed relieved at the news of my current health. He informed me of my imminent departure from Denver on Monday, August 8th. He apologized for having no news of Sam, but a ticket back home was good enough news for me and I reassured him that I would continue the search for Sam once I arrived. As the tales of my arrival in and escape from Denver came to an end, I felt vicious fluids rise in my chest. It was many minutes of painful hacking before I could catch my breath and beg Will’s pardon. It’s helping the time pass nicely, Will, but I don’t think my lungs will hold up with much more talking.

Will patted my shoulder and assured me he could entertain himself for the rest of the trip. Just rest as much as you can, Jacob. You will need all your strength when we get to Pittsburgh. I smiled, then, full of memories as I drifted into a restless sleep.

7:00 am

MONDAY

S ,  Hey Jacob, Jacob, wake up. I resisted the interfering voice and prodding from the seat next to me, but was unable to remain asleep for much longer. I opened my blurry eyes and squinted at my traveling partner. What is it, Will? I was dreaming of PittsburghWill grinned at me and said - Dream no more, Jacob. We’re here! My city has changed so much that I barely recognize it. The streets, the skyline, the new buildings everywhere, the smell - everything seems new and exciting. In my rapture at being home, I have completely forgot-

ten my illness and pain until a racking cough shakes my whole body. Will pats my shoulder in concern and waves down a taxi. The vehicle snaps me from the city’s hypnotizing grasp. Jacob come on; you will have time to stare at the city later. We need to get home, unpack your belongings, and let you rest. The stress from this trip may still kill you. By the way, you said you were suppose to leave August . What delayed your trip? I coughed again, but found the breath to answer.–I became very sick. The doctors said that it might have been caused by the stress and anxiety related to my upcoming trip. All the improvements I had made up to that point were quickly dragged away by the strengths of my returned symptoms. I began coughing blood and vomiting anything and everything I ingested. I had night sweats and I was even told that I was delirious some nights, screaming for help and talking about Sam. No medicine seemed to help. I have no recollection of anything for several days, but somehow I managed a slow recovery. My coughing lessened and I began to eat a little better. I am not feeling as strong as I hoped to, but I did not wish to reschedule my trip any longer. I 60

told Kaufman–You get me on that train. I don’t care if it kills me, I am going to Pittsburgh. I was caught off guard by another coughing fit and I mumbled–Here I am in Pittsburgh and it just might kill me yet.

6:30 am

SATURDAY

O , . I am resting in my room; it has been almost a month since I got here. I have not received any information about Sam. I could not find the address that Kaufman gave me for the UHWA and I have not received an answer to my inquiries from him either. In other words, my time here has been much less than fruitful. I open my eyes when I hear movement in the room. It is Will coming to check on me. Hey Jacob–he says–How are you feeling today? Same as yesterday, Will. I am so angry with myself about this relapse. I am finally here, but somehow I am still a prisoner to my own health. I don’t even have the strength to go to the bathroom on my own. I came

here to regain my independence but all I have been doing is adding to your responsibilities. Will patted my back reassuringly.–Look, I was aware of the limitations of your health when I agreed to help you and I am fully capable and willing to take care of you as you need it. Worrying and feeling guilty will not help you get better, so please stop and focus instead on regaining your health. At least you’re not in Denver anymore and you are alive and mentally capable. Your physical health will improve again. I think you will be out that door and on your way to find Sam any day now if you will let yourself heal. Can I sit with you and help keep your mind off of your worries? I nodded and gave him a week smile and Will pulled a chair next to my bed. Jacob, did you know that this house is famous? I sure hope you aren’t frightened by ghosts. I shake my head but inside I’m not sure if I want to hear about any haunts Well–he continues–people around here, old time residents of this neighborhood, believe that the house is haunted. I have never seen or heard anything but I

did have the house blessed by my Rabbi before I moved in and I think that is why I have never had any trouble here. Still I have heard and sometimes remember many crazy stories about this building According to the talk from the neighbors, the house was built in  by Charles Wright Congeliar. He was living here with his wife and servant girl. One day, Mrs. Congeliar arrived home earlier than Charles had expected her and found the servant girl and Charles entangled in carnal affairs. The rumors say she simply lost her mind to anger, ran downstairs, picked up an enormous butcher’s knife, went back upstairs, and hacked away at Charles’ head. Then, she turned on the girl and decapitated her. They say the authorities didn’t arrive at the Congerliar residence for another week. They were forced to knock down the door and were greeted by a week-old, gruesome mess and the apparently insane Mrs. Congerliar carrying the head of her dead husband. She was sent to the Asylum. That bit of history may be true, although whether the ghosts of either of the murdered adulters truly walked these halls is anyone’s guess. I have also heard a story involving another previous owner, a man who I counted as a close friend, Dr. Brunrichter. This rather outrageous story goes that

one night the neighbors heard wretched noises coming from this house and called the authorities. The policemen came and knocked down the door only to find a women tied to the bed screaming for help. Then, in the basement, they found five severed heads. It seemed the murderer was experimenting to see how long the head would survive after being disconnected from the body. I knew Dr. Brunrichter well and cannot imagine he perpetrated such atrocities. Now it is a fact that Dr. Brunrichter disappeared without a trace, but the rest is full fabrication! This seems much more like a local urban legend blown out of proportion. However, along with these grisly stories came stories of ghosts and hauntings. Apparently a rather scientific fellow named Thomas Edison came to do experiments on the house to see if it was haunted. He found no concrete evidence of ghosts. After hearing these gruesome tales, I checked the archives at city hall, but there is no mention about any of these events, except, of course, the signed documents transferring ownership of the house and news about Dr. Brunrichterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s disappearance. That is all I found. I really donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t think these stories hold any truth, but they just stick around because people love to gossip.

Now try to rest. As he stood to leave my room, I cleared my throat and asked–Will, have you found that address that I gave to you? The one for UHWA? Will smiled and nodded his head. I think Mr. Kaufman might have given you the wrong address by accident, Jacob. The UHWA offices are located in the building at  F S. As soon as you feel better and are able to walk on your own, I will take you to that place. I leaned back and tried to relax for a nice rest, but found that I was a little unsettled after Will’s stories.How am I supposed to ever sleep in this house after all that talk of murder and haunting? I begin to shift my eyes around the room, checking all of the shadowy corners for movement. Every creak and noise in that the old house makes the hair on the back of my neck stand out. I shake off my unease and blame mental distraction on Will’s excellent storytelling skills. He certainly got my mind off of my worries for a few minutes and I find that I am too tired and weak to worry about anything of the spectral sort. I still find my mind drifting and wondering why Kaufman give me the wrong address. I feel fairly sure

that it was an accident because he has no reason for any sort foul play. Then, realizing I am villifying a man who worked very hard to help me, I wonder if I am beginning to have delusions as I did the last time the â&#x20AC;&#x153;white plagueâ&#x20AC;? grew stronger in me.

6:00 am

MONDAY

N , . I woke up early today, feeling much more my normal, healthy self. I believe I might have gotten my very first good night sleep, since 1919 and I feel great. I was up at 7:00 a.m. on this beautiful morning. I stood in front of the window for some time watching the snow fall down. As I stare out the window I see the snow falling peacefully. They are big flakes that look almost like feathers, hanging in the air for what seems hours and collecting on the ground. I have not had the energy to leave the bed and look out of this window since the day I arrived from Denver, and then I only glimpsed the beautiful city on the other side. Today, though, I found a new strength within my body and I am ready to live again. The city has

been awake for hours now, as the commuters drive or walk to work. Newspapers have been delivered, the

world is moving, my city is awake, and finally I am ready to explore it once again. I take a shower and I am so pleased to be able to complete simple tasks and care for myself again. I feel like an adult today; I feel so alive. Will gave me one of his many suits that he does not fit into anymore. Will is 54 years old, and has lived with the same illness that I suffer from. His success gives me hope, but I think he must be stronger than me, since I have not been able to suppress the pain and w e a k n e s s . I will ask him to teach me to push the illness into the back of my mind. I am so thankful for everything that he has done for me these last weeks. Who would have thought that I would put my life into the hands of a stranger? I hope one day I can help others suffering as Will has been doing for me and others like me. I put on a nice navy suit, and although it is still large on me, it fits better than the first time I tried it on since I have gained a little of my lost weight back. I am ready to face the world and head downstairs. It is : a.m. Mrs. Gusky is shocked to see me walking into the room. O h m y Ja cob –she says–W ha t a r e y o u d oin g o u t of b e d ? 84

I smile at her and say - I feel good this morning and I think its time for me to go the United Hebrew Welfare Association and speak to Miss Victor regarding the whereabouts of Sam. We l l , w ha t if sh e ca nâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; t h e l p y o u Ja cob? I nod solmnly and reply - I am hoping that she will be able to help me, but if she has no idea where he is or how to look for him, then I will have to figure something else out. However, I think this is a good way to start my search. We l l , l o ok s l ik e y o u a r e goin g t o n e e d a l l t h e e n e r g y y o u ca n ge t in o r d e r t o go o u t t h e r e . Ho w a b o u t s om e b r e a k fa st ? That sounds great. Where is Will this morning? He w e n t o u t t o r u n s om e e r r a n d s , b u t h e w il l b e ba ck a r o u n d 8 :3 8 a .m . W ha t w o u l d y o u l ik e t o e a t ? Yo u m u st ha v e s om e a ppe t it e n o w t ha t y o u a r e fe e l in g b e t t e r. Anything would be wonderful. I have a hunger that I have not felt in years. My, my, you might just be in control of the illness.

I sure hope so. I’m telling you Mrs. Gusky, I have not felt this great for a long time. I feel like today will be a good day and everything will work out. My improvement today surprised me. I have never been this optimistic about anything. I think I’ll take advantage of it while it is around. Mrs. Gusky works her magic in the kitchen, and soon the delicious smelling plate of scrambled eggs, toast with jam, and coffee is placed in front of me. It is a wonderfully simple breakfast. I feel even better now. Will came through the door at exactly 8:35 a.m., just as I was finishing breakfast. Mrs. Gusky greeted him at the door, and I heard Will ask if anything is the matter. Mrs. Gusky replied–It’ s Ja cob. Will asked what was the matter in a concerned voice as he started to make his was upstairs toward my room. Mrs. Gusky laughed, and this must have surprised Will enough that he stopped his rush upstairs. She said–S l o w d o w n , d e a r. He i s f in e ; b e t t e r t ha n f in e a c t u a l l y. He i s o u t of b e d a n d in t h e k it ch e n e n jo y in g b r e a k fa st .

Will came slowly into the kitchen and starred at me cleaning the plate clean with my piece of bread. He just stood and stared until he could finally speak. I take it you are feeling well this morning. I shared my miraculous recovery, my morning adventures, and my plan to go in search of Sam with him and then stood to allow him to see me clean and dressed in his suit. It’s a bit big on you – he said, chuckling, - but it looks good. I am glad you are feeling better. If you want to go outside I will have to get you a coat, some gloves, and a scarf. It is about  degrees out there. Jacob, I did promise to take you to the building as soon as you were feeling better and I intend to keep that promise.

C ome on. We both walked towards the entry hall and Mrs. Gusky was waiting for both of us with clothes to bundle in and protect us from the elements. I put on so many layers that I could barely move but I felt ready to face the world. We began to make our way towards the front door. It felt strangely far away. looked at the clock it said 8:42 a.m. How strange, I think, that I am again going out into the world at the exact same time that I

began my journey from Denver. My heart is beating faster then I can ever remember it thumping - pumpum, pum-pum-pum, pum-pum, pum-pum-pum. I feel a thrill deep in my belly that I am finally going to look for Sam. At last, I will see you soon, my dear friend.

November 15, 1927

MfQ``Q

WORLDâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S LARGEST NATURAL GAS TANK EXPLOSION The quite of a November morning was shattered throughout the Pittsburgh district by the terrific blast. Buildings rocked and windows crashed. At first it seemed that an earthquake had gripped the city. Telephone lines were broken and the fire alarm system was crippled. The city stood still waiting and wondering what was to come next. Streets had been heaved into the air, breaking water mines and sewers, and flooding the district. Homes factories, warehouses, and industrial plants lay in ruins. Men, women and children, many with blood streaming from face cuts and other injuries, ran screaming through the streets as if mad. The cause of the disaster was soon apparent, for, in the midst of the ruins lay a twisted mass of steel, some of the supports of the giant gas tank, said to be the largest natural gas reservoir in the world. Thirteen men went to work repairing the tank at 8:00 AM, forty-three minutes later, as the workers handled their blow torches on the steel frame work, the shock came. Eye witnesses said that the tank with a capacity of some five million cubic feet, shot into the air like a balloon. The disaster griped an area of about one square mile, fronting on the Ohio River and centering on Reedsdale street. The destruction from this explosion was felt over a radius of twenty miles. The section is one of the oldest districts. It was thickly settled, old fashion brick and frame dwellings crowding one upon the other, with factories, warehouses, and industrial plants intermingling. The houses for the most part were the families of the working men. While the fire department officials said their checkup of the district showed more that thirty persons missing, including residents and workers, twenty-eight workers of Equitable Gas Company were confirmed dead. The Congeliar Mansion, a famous haunted house for the residents which hid many stories of violent, and grotesque murders in Old Manchester north was destroyed in the explosion. The house had become a home was for immigrants who worked at Equitable Gas, the home once owned by the deranged Dr. Brunrichter. It was totally obliterated in the massive explosion. The fire department found 4 unidentified bodies due to being burnt past recognition.

Equitable Gas Tank Explosion at 1212 to 1218 Reedsdale Street. looking West from Frontella Street. November 15, 1927. Pittsburgh City Photographer.

Equitable Gas Tank Explosion, 1228 to Horne Warehouse. looking East on Reedsdale. November 15, 1927. Pittsburgh City Photographer.

Equitable Gas Tank Explosion, L. H. Cornman property on Reedsdale Street. November 15, 1927. Pittsburgh City Photographer.

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THANK YOU

Thanks to my lovely wife, Jessi, my awesome mom Martha, and my great family for letting me be who I want to be.

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