Ivan A Ivanov
IVANOV PUBLICATIONS DENVER
ÂŠ 2010. Ivan A. Ivanov Published by Ivanov Publications, Denver. All rights reserved. Design by Ivan Ivanov Third Edition
To Michell Laurence, for making me run.
Prologue i Terrible Times
The beginning of the 20th century was a very uneasy period. Even the strong found it hard to survive it, not to mention the weak and ill ones. Charity was just another foreign word. However, there was a bunch of people who tried to resist the indifference of the epoch. Denver, Colorado. A few immigrant Jews who had come to US in search for a better luck found their home here. Once full of hopes and dreams, they were tossed away from the new wonderful world with two letters carved on them, TB. However, they did not hurry to die in despair. Instead, they founded one of the worldâ€™s greatest welfare organizations, The Jewish Consumptivesâ€™ Relief Society (JCRS) that helped to cure people ill with tuberculosis in all stages of the disease. The treatment was free. It was 1904. It was unbelievable.
From that moment on, every single person in the entire US knew that as long as the organization existed there was hope for the ones ill with TB. And there was no shortage of patients in this hospital, for people streamed here from the most unknown and detached corners of the States. With Dr. Charles Spivak as the head of the sanatorium and Phillip Hillkowitz in charge of the President in 1904â€“1920s, the patients could come here to be cured for free and for good. However, there was one but. People could use it for their own benefit. For instance, a prisoner could make his runaway using the organization as a key to the freedom. It was rather easy to pretend ill and then, spending a couple of days in the ward, escape the hospital and the imprisonment once and for all. As indecent as it sounded, it was a sad reality. This was the detail that the virtuous founders of the organization could not foresee.
And the people unfair and desperate enough could make a full use of it. They say charity begins at home. For the TB patients in the US charity began in Denver.
yron Friede is sitting at a table laboriously penning
a letter. He wears the costume of a young swell of the period, and has a cigar in his mouth which is continually going out. The room is small and his table is in front of a small window with a double vertical sash. There is a grate on the outside of the window. He lives at the back of his shop. Like all shops, Myronâ€™s has its particular smell. In this case, the frequent odor is one of cheap cigars and a feint smell of welding copper. The table is yellow melamine with steel legs of the sort which was popular for kitchens at the time. It is covered with a red checked tablecloth, but it has stains on it. It is obvious that the person who made it has not been around for a while. The chairs match the table, and there are red checked seat covers which tie around the bottom of the back and the tops of the legs. This is the living room and dining room with a kitchen to the left. There are several windows, looking down on the streets.
Myron is dressed in a checkered suit pants and a pale gray shirt with nice cuff links and tie clasp and he wears a wide artsy tie and sports a very nice pocket watch. There are some movie posters on the walls of movies Myron likes: Dracula, The Mummy, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and Frankenstein. The Frankenstein poster is very new. He bought it, but the others he stripped from walls or telephone poles. He musses his well groomed hair scratching his head and thinking.
Okay, letâ€™s see. My wife is sick and I need the money for medicine. I canâ€™t even afford a babysitter.
Ah yes, sharing my lunch. Nice touch.
Dear Mr. Kaufman, I know that you are a very busy man. There are so many people in need these days. I had hopes of becoming one of those people who could afford charity, but it seems I am scant near achieving this and then something sets me back again. My wife has been ill, and the children need care, but I have them come to the shop directly from school, since there is no one else to care for them. They spend their time with homework and the radio while I try to make enough to pay the bills. Unfortunately the doctor and medicine for my dear wife is costly and so I have had a shortfall these last few weeks. If it is at all possible to help me out a little more, I can assure you that your money will be well spent and I will somehow, with Godâ€™s help, make this business enterprise more profitable. We do have revenue, but it is always the case that the cost of living and feeding my family get higher. Every day
some poor wretch comes through my door looking for a little work, and I have none to give. I sometimes share my lunch, but that is the best that I can do. I am so grateful to have had yours and my sisterâ€™s help through these terrible times. You are a good man.
Very sincerely, Myron Friede September 2, 1936
wo men are talking in an office. The men are dressed
in casual looking pants and tunics in very nice mauve or blue colors. The office is larger than the frame. The chairs are very comfortable and modern. There are a couple of interesting looking machines or some kind of gadgets in the background on a shelf to the left. The lamp is very space like and colorful. The back wall looks out on deep space. There is a door to the right of this wall which leads to where Myron and many more people are living, or spending time, at least.
So you got another letter today from Myron? Oh yes, he is just like clockwork, once a month. How long has he been in there? The man points or nods towards a door. Well, let’s see. It’s about thirty years now. So you just keep sending a little money every month? Nothing else I can do. I call once in a while, but of course he doesn’t remember and he always tells the same falsehoods and pretends to be concerned for others. It’s really sad. I keep hoping he’ll grow a little, but not so far. Doesn’t he suspect anything? No not a thing, he seems totally unaware that anything is different. Perhaps he just has no ambition.
yron at his same old writing table having a drink
straight from a bottle of inexpensive Port wine. We can see the brown paper bag it was wrapped in on the floor. There is an advertising calendar on the wall from L.C. Smith and Brothers Typewriters with a fairly big picture of a pretty blonde secretary typing at her desk from a fold-over steno book. The calendar shows September 21, 1936. Myron is glancing through a copy of Saturday Evening Post. Wish Myrtle would come home. She’s been away a long time. Her Mama doesn’t get any better and she doesn’t die either. I think maybe she doesn’t want to come home. Myrene and Jane only write once a week from Mother’s. It was nice for Mama to take them. Gets them outta my hair, and she feeds them, but I miss them.
He turns the radio on and drinks. The announcer is talking about Burma Shave and Lipton’s Tea. Then a jingle is played about Carter’s Little Liver Pills. Finally, we hear the voice of Lou Gehrig as he leads in the “Breakfast of Champions” show just ahead of game time. Myron takes note, realizes it’s still a commercial and finishes reading the article in the magazine.
We hear the sound of a crack of a baseball bat and the music “Take Me Out to the Ballgame ” plays, followed by the voice of “Dutch” Reagan. “Hello
fans, it’s game time. The Cubs against the Phillies!...” Myron puts the magazine down and moves to an overstuffed easy chair. He puts his feet up on an ottoman and sips his wine as the game announcer calls the line-ups. He smiles and relaxes to listen. Phillies games were not all that exciting, but
they did win now and then. Myron was a Chicago fan. He was not a rabid fan, but he had written the sports editor a few letters and two were published! He listens for a while, but the game is rather predictable.
So he falls asleep.
yron is asleep in a small prison cell, containing
two steel bunks attached to the wall, and very thin striped mattresses. Someone is asleep on the upper bunk. Myron is under a dark brown wool blanket like the army used to use. He is wearing the black and white striped prisoner suit of the day, no shoes and black socks. There is a round sink on one wall and an old fashioned toilet with a string to pull for flushing and no seat. The door has a square steel plate where a key can unlock the cell. Below this is a slot large enough for a tin plate to be handed through. A turnkey is waking him with a letter he holds out as he reads the return address. He has a small cart he wheels along delivering mail and books. Some paperbacks are stacked on the cart plus a box of letters. He wears the same stripes, but he has a black waistcoat vest with pockets and a small hat that says mail.
Hey, Myron, you got a letter from Saint Agathe! You know somebody in Canada? Sure, Freddy. Lotsa people. Iâ€™m famous there. Freddy hands him the letter through the slot. You wanna book, Myron, I got a couple new detective novels and a real nice Sears Catalog left. Nah. Donâ€™t feel like reading, well maybe that catalog. Does it have swimsuits in it? Oh yeah and some corsets too, and silk stockings with legs in em. He takes the Sears Catalog and Freddy moves on.
yron opens the letter. We see it is posted from
the Ste Agathe, Quebec. The postmark reads December 20, 1929. It is a copy of a letter telling Myron he will be sent to the Colorado sanatoriam by the JCRS to recuperate from his illness. His sister has secured his release. Myron cannot believe his good fortune.
A wide grin starts
to spread all over his face as he reads.
Heâ€™s done it. Heâ€™s out! He realizes what a powerful thing a letter is. They are going to let him out of prison, because of what he wrote in a letter. Myron wondered what else he could get with a letter. Might be a nice racket.
Dear Mr. Kaufman, We are pleased to inform you that since your kind sister has secured your release to the sanatoriam, you will be transferred by railway to the Denver sanatoriam run by the JCRS there. It will be closer to your dear sister and within the borders of the United States. We wish you God speed and a timely recovery.
Very sincerely, Morton Mihaelovich September 2, 1931
yron is in a bed in a dormitory full of beds lined
up on the wall. Other patients are coughing and Myron looks really scared. All the beds are lined up with small bedside tables next to each. The counterpanes are white and the curtains are pale blue on the two windows in the room. There is a pitcher of water and a glass on each table. Myron is sitting up in bed and looking around at all the other patients. Some of them look really sick and all are coughing. Myron coughs a little as he watches the others warily. The man in the next bed is just laying there half asleep. His eyes are bloodshot and he sits up in his bed half slumping.
These guys are really sick. That guy might die.
Lotta these guys could die.
Just keep my distance, unless somebody wants to play poker maybe.
Donâ€™t guess any of these guys have much money.
yronâ€™s sister is reading the letter about Myron. Her
husband is watching. They are in a nice sitting room with two easy chairs and a pretty wooden secretary desk. She is wearing a plain ash colored ankle length jumper with white ruffles and white high necked blouse. Her brown hair is done up in the Gibson Girl style. Her husband is a bit overweight and he wears a pin striped suit without the jacket, which is hanging on a coat tree nearby. We can see he has a pocket watch as the chain hangs from his vest to his pants pocket. His shirt is white with small blue threads running vertically every inch or so. The collar is peter pan type and starched as are the cuffs and he wears small gold cufflinks matching the tie pin that joins his wide blue silk tie to his shirt. There is a light blue brush stroke on the tie, like a gust of wind. Dark blue suspenders hold up his pants.
It is from that kind Mr. Kaufman. He says that Myron is going to be ok. He sent a small bill for some things Myron needed. Sure, your brother always needs something. Herbie, Donâ€™t be so hard on him. Myron tries. He really does. He just has no luck. He never had any luck. Luck didnâ€™t send him to prison. He was trying to feed his children. He is my only brother. Lucky thing for us. Yes, Dear. But I do love him.
yron is in a hospital bed and the doctor is
looking at a chart and talking. The doctor wears a white waistcoat and a stethoscope hangs around his neck. The look on Myronâ€™s face is fear, but partly concealed. Well Mr. Friede, it appears that you have recovered completely. You are a very lucky man. You can be discharged. Myron does not look too happy at the news. Relax Mr. Friede, You will not be going back to prison. Your release was not on condition. Since you had no history of violence they simply let you go. Now you can make a life for yourself. Myron looks quite relieved. But sir, what will I do? I have no money and no job. How will I manage? I have a wife and two children, and my wife cannot work much. She is not a strong
woman. I hate so to be always asking for credit. I just don’t know where the money will come from. I’m a poor man and I don’t have any education except that I took a correspondence course in radio repair. I can fix things pretty good... We’ll figure something out. You will be released here, but Mr. Kaufman says you should go back to Chicago. He says you can mange there much better, where your family is. For sure we will help you get started. Myron thanks him with a smile that looks shy, but it is really sly. He is thinking how well this could work. They will keep right on helping me as long as they think I need it. This could be a good racket. I just have to look devout and make like I am trying and they will keep helping. This could definitely be a good racket.
yronâ€™s sister and her husband are again in the
sitting room, and another letter has arrived. They are sharing some beverage and biscuits from a small cart. She is wearing a light blue dress with a slightly lower neckline than before and a string of pearls. Her dress has a semi-full skirt to her ankles. He wears the same type suit as before in brown with a cream colored shirt and a brown bow tie. What is it now? Does he need Matzos Ball Soup? Maybe a new Yarmulke? No dear. You know he never wears one. So devout he should be. Well, he just never did well on the Talmud and he barely managed to learn enough to make his bar mitzvah. No poor Myron is lucky Papa was a gentle man. His only son and not a proper Jew.
Oh well he was proper enough to apply for Jewish aid. He was sick. Can you blame him? Of course I can. But you will never do that. You sent my best cigars to Kaufman to grease the wheels for poor Myron. I should be so lucky. But, dearest, you have me, and you know that I would walk through fire for you. But you do not need it. My poor brother does. Now they are discharging him. Discharging him! He is not sick any more? Fancy that! Now Bernie, he was sick. Now he is better. Good, he can go on his way and leave us alone. But Bernie, he has no job and a ill wife and two little children to feed. So now we are going to feed them too?
No dear, we will just help him a little. Mr. Kaufman suggests that it go through him so Myron does not know it comes from us. Good idea, or he would be on our doorstep. Well it is better that he is with his family. Yes, yes, a thousand times better. You are so good to me. Just happy that you only have one poor brother, and I am so glad he doesnâ€™t like me.
yron wakes with a start. I never told him that!
Then he realizes he was asleep and he is back in his own bed behind the radio shop. He goes to his table and then sees a letter under the door. He picks it up and reads.
Dear Mr. Friede, Yes, I am very well these days, and a good thing it is with all the troubles in the world. These are hard times. I wish there was more we could do than this. I am, sorry to hear that your wife has been ill. Perhaps you could send the children to your mother until your wife recovers. I have added an extra $5 to cover their transport. I am glad to hear that you are doing better and that the shop has some revenue. I have faith in your ability and diligence. It is good of you to share even in your poor circumstances. As for your dear sister she is a saint. I hope that your circumstances will improve very soon. We need good men to do Godâ€™s work.
Very Truly Yours, S. B. Kaufman October 2, 1936
yron tosses the letter in the trash but puts the
check in his pocket with a sly smile. He goes into the shop and sits down to work on a radio, humming as he works. The shop has a lot of radios around and a work bench with parts and small parts in drawers. He works by the light of a bare bulb hanging down. A plump lady, who appears to be about 55 years of age, comes in the door with a paper sack. Good morning, Myron. Howâ€™s things today? Good morning, Mrs. Klump. Same as ever. We work and get by. You looking to get a new radio? I have a nice new tabletop model. The case is real nice, looks like huge tortoise shell. Oh yes, that looks nice, but I donâ€™t think I should be spending so much money. Might come a rainy day, you know. But my big Zenith radio is making some funny sounds now. Could you maybe come over and look at it?
What kind of funny noises? Can you describe them? It is making a “shushing” sound, You know, like shushing. And come crackling too. I can hardly hear the radio announcer at all. Well, you know that radio is an old radio. I don’t know if I can fix it. And I have to charge for a house call too, unless you bring it in here. I have to take time away from the shop. Well you know I don’t have much, Myron. My check is not in yet. I could cook you a chicken dinner. You could come to dinner and then maybe listen to the radio with me. You could hear it for yourself. Ok I will come, but not for dinner. I am a married man, Mrs. Klump.But I know how you love your radio shows. Yes, I do. They are so exciting sometimes. I can imagine that I travel. So where is this wife you have? I think she is not a proper wife at all. She is never home any more. She should
come home, not leave a handsome man like yourself all alone. Myron shows her to the door and promises to come check on the radio. He really is rushing her out. Old woman. She never buys anything. Just likes to gossip. Those very words of his suddenly made him blush. She was an old woman, after all, and an acquaintance of his. What has made this wicked idea creep into his mind? His hands, well trained to work on their own, let his thoughts soar far away from here. What is that keeps him here? His family? His wife? The only things in the whole wide world he cares for. There are some parts I need to fix that jig, he says to himself, and makes the thought stream the necessary way.
Now let’s see… This one is broken for good. Have to look for another one. This time his thoughts fly faster, not held by his fears and prejudice. The man with a bunch of troubles has gone, shifted by a professional. It definitely needs a new set of buttons. I wonder if I can find a set of eight anywhere. It’s always ten. He examines the radio closely, like a good doctor examines a patient. There’s definitely something wrong about the switch lever… “Shushing and crackling”… They can never explain what exactly is wrong. It’s like being a doctor and listening about “itching” and “pricking”… His thoughts bucked again. I wonder if doctors really care for their patients.
His mind protested. What rubbish I am thinking! He tried very hard to turn his thoughts the usual sly and cunning way. He did not succeed much, however. There was definitely something going wrong about his mind. But he was not going to figure out what it was.
yron is at the table writing another letter. The
calendar says October, 1936. Myron starts the letter with: Dear Mr. Kaufman. Hmm use my dear mother-in-law. She has to be good for a sawbuck or two. Upon finishing the letter he sealed it with wax and a sealing stamp. He licks a 1 cent stamp and affixes it to the top of the letter. He looks at the clock which reads 3:14, then he picks up the phone, waits and then says. Freda, ring 4228 for me please. Hey Pete, your old lady gonna cook tonight? I got a chicken here looking to get stewed. Old missus Klump give me for fixin her radio. Iâ€™ll bring the birdie and you put up the dumplins and vegetables.
No it is not the Sabbath tomorrow, but I got the chicken today, so stop the kvetchin. So ok, send one of the kids to fetch it. Iâ€™ll be up later. Yeah, yeah, Iâ€™m a mensche. Sure I could cook it, but your old lasy is a good cook so I share.
he two men, Myron and Pete, and a tall skinny boy
are seated. A woman is serving from a pot on the small white stove behind. So Pete, you get that night watchman job? Yeah, but just part time. Said they gotta spread the work around. Not much work these days. Well that’s something. Better than a poke in the eye. Yeah well at least I won’t get paid in chickens. It’s a good bird. Don’t make small of it. It gave its life so we could eat. So should we get a rabbi to bless it? I think it’s too late. It’s not all here any more. So he can bless all of us and that’ll take care of it. I don’t think the rabbi ever comes here. I have never seen
him here. Have you? No, come to think of it I never did. I wonder why. Do you go to temple? No, neither do you. So why should the rabbi come here? We don’t visit him. He won’t visit us. Simple is it? You got all the answers. So why aren’t you rich yet? I’m an honest man. In a pigs eye! Not me, I’m a good Jew. Just ask Mr. Kaufman. Ask my sister. Ask anyone. So how come Mrs. Klump’s radio need fixed every three months? She may not remember, but I do.
So it’s an old Zenith radio and she does not want to buy a new one. And she’s and old lady. She forgets. She usually pays in cash, yes? True, but she was between checks and well, she wanted to cook the chicken for me, but I said no I would cook it. I think she likes me and I don’t want that. My wife is enough. She is never happy. I don’t know why. I wish she would come home. I mean we fight, but I miss her and the kids. Made me feel like I was doin’ something. And you with your wife away, the good woman, so Mrs. Klump is interested in something, maybe just something to talk about, says Pete’s wife as she spoons out more chicken and dumplings. She has no shame, that woman. Oh she’s just a poor widow, Marion. Let her dream. Myron here likes the attention.
If he did I wouldnâ€™t be cooking the chicken. So there. Myron blushes. Myron leaves and he has a plate of chicken and dumplings to take home. It is mostly dumplings. He looks very satisfied with himself as he walks down the stairs. We see him next as he is working in the shop on a large console radio. We can see the snow outside the window. Another radio is playing big band music in the background, He puts the radio back together and closes it up. His desk calendar on the bench says October 1936. Myron takes the money from the small cash register and puts it in a hidden safe behind a in the back of a cupboard. He has other cash there also. It looks like a lot. He walks to his apartment and sits down at the table to write another letter.
My overcoat is very thin. It is snowing here, a blizzard. I hope the gas company does not turn off my heat. They donâ€™t take chickens. Anyway I had one paying customer today and that little bit I will send to my dear mother to feed my children. I am sure that business will pick up soon, and your investment will pay off. I do work hard at it, but people cannot pay what they do not have. If there is any way you could see yourself clear to sending a little bit more to help me I would be most grateful. If not, please have a happy holiday.
Thank you, Myron Friede November 11, 1936
yron is walking in the heavy blizzard, the wind is
gusting and he hugs his overcoat and leans into the wind. He has a small bag of groceries which he tries to keep from ripping in the wind, and he is cold. He wonders why he picked Chicago. The winters are so cold. He pushes his way through the door and very slowly climbs the stairs. He puts the groceries in the tiny fridge and turns on the radio. It’s a basketball game. Myron sits at the table with a plate of sausage and potatoes to listen to the game. Later, with the light on we see he is drinking some wine from a bottle in a brown bag. He salutes the radio as we hear the game end. “And that’s it for tonight
as Chicago loses to the Bronx 42 to 30.” Myron takes a drink.
You’re as bad as the Cubs. Never win on the weekend
when I have time to listen. Ah well we try. At least Mr. Roosevelt won. Sure glad I got that pardon. I got to vote for him. It is still snowing outside the window and it is getting dark. Myron goes back to his solitary supper. The calendar shows December 1936. The phone rings and Myron picks up, smiling and holding the sausage in one hand. Yes Mr. Kaufman. Yes I got the check sir. I thank you. I just got a little busy and a body has work when the work is there you know. You gotta make hay while the sun shines. Myron is genuinely happy to talk to Kaufman. Well, I phoned to wish you Happy Chanukah. There will be a small check extra to help you out in this time of year so you can have a proper supper for Chanukah. It is too bad you cannot spend it with your family. Oh that is so kind. And a happy Chanukah to you also.
Perhaps after the new year business will pick up a little. People are having a little more money now that times are getting better. Radios are important for families to get their news and for entertainment. Yessir, they should start selling like hotcakes. Well I have faith in you, Myron. I pray that you will become a success, and then be able to help others. That is my only wish, to be able to return the kindness I have received. I hear your mother-in-law is not too well these days. So true, my wife, she has gone to take care of her ailing Mama. I hope for her recovery very soon. So you are all alone? Yessir, seems like forever now, but my wife, she has been gone six weeks now.
Ah, it’s a long time to be alone. Yes, it is. I miss my dear wife sorely and that’s the truth. I am really happy you called. I was feeling a little lonesome to tell the truth. I don’t know many people any more after being gone away so long. I have been back now a few years, but I just don’t meet people unless they come into the shop. What about temple? Don’t you meet anyone there? Oh I seldom go, sir. I know I should, but I don’t want people knowing about my past you know. I know it was my fault going to prison, just weakness, but people may not understand and it would hurt my dear wife if everyone knew. I understand. Well it is your decision. I think people might understand more than you think if you give them a second chance.
Oh I donâ€™t know, they are a pretty tight lot here. Not everyong is as kind and understanding as you, sir. You know best, Myron. Well I must go. Weâ€™ll talk again. Call any time, sir.
yron stands at the window and imagines he sees
faces in the whirling snow, lit by the neon lights of the bars and dance halls. The faces are as torturous as the howling wind that seems to blow right through his soul. He looks a bit frightened, and takes a drink, toasting the
Yeah, Happy fading faces.
Yeah, Happy Chanukah, fellas.
The faces begin to swirl, spin and scream. He sees all
the people he treated badly in his life. He sees his sisterâ€™s face stretched and twisted in agony. He sees Kaufman spinning in rage. Some of the men he played poker with in their last days on earth come swimming through the maelstrom. Myron watches in horror, and almost cringes. His wife comes flying in screaming like a banshee. His
children dance and bounce like evil imps and show sharp teeth. Then he takes another drink, and then
another. He pours out the last of his port, and it begins to fill him with courage. He raises the sash and leans out of the window to shout.
Happy Chanuka Happy Chanukah!
At the many attacking faces. Suddenly there is a loud
crash and below a Daimler careens into a power pole. The pole leans and then falls toward the incredulous Myron Friede, leaning out of his window into the blizzard and as he looks up the pole neatly knocks him toward the ground. The wires coil around his neck and he dangles from the pole, between it and the building, kicking and pulling at the coiled wire around his neck.
yron wakes still sitting at the table. Someone is
knocking at the door. Myron has a very bad hangover. He calls just a minute and splashes water on his face before he opens it. A woman is standing there, a bit plump and wearing a babushka. Letter for you Myron, from Colorado. You have a lady friend there? No, Ruth, just a friend. So where is Myrtle these days? She went to her motherâ€™s to help out. The old woman is very sick. So you are all alone here. Just wait until Mrs. Klump hears that! Donâ€™t bother to tell her, Ruth. She was here yesterday. Oh, so soon. She is quick that one.
Yes, like a weasel. Come to think of it she looks like one. I will tell her you like her fine furry hair and pointy nose. You wouldn’t. I would. I’ll tell Heime you go dancing on girls’ night out. You wouldn’t. How did you know? I watch out the window. I see you go out and you stuff your big coat in the milk box. I won’t speak to good Mrs. Klump. Of course you won’t She leaves. Myron sits down to his old desk to open and read the letter.
e see the same two men from the beginning are
talking in the office. The haze washing the corners of the window marked the sunrise. So how long do you think it will take? For Myron Friede? Maybe forever. So he keeps doing the same things over and over? He does, and he never realizes why he feels so alone. Everything else in there with him is illusion, but he is comfortable with his little checks paid for slick lies. He is a sad man, always making people feel sorry for him. Itâ€™s habit. If he ever tells the truth I will bring him in here. How sad. Not for Myron. He just counts his money, sells and fixes radios and does not have to accommodate anyone. He might have done ok sooner, but he never really tried.
He got so used to getting the free money he just keeps on with it. He billed Kaufman for advertising he never actually purchased. His business is actually doing very well, but he never thinks of bringing his children home or making things up with his wife. His sister truly loves him and heâ€™s never even wrote to her to thank her. Heâ€™s not good with people closer than arms length. Heâ€™s not a bad man, just not a good man.
All documents Courtesy of: JCRS Collection, Beck Archives Special Collections, Penrose Library and Center for Judaic Studies, University of Denver, 2008 Patient Name: Myron Friede Folder Number: 9461 Photography: Ivan Ivanov, 2010
Typefaces ITC Franklin Gothic Minion Pro Paper Dust Jacket: Tuxedo After Midnigh 120lb Cover: Black Cotton Blend Interior: Mohawk Superfine Eggshell Ultrawhite 148 GSM
Ivan A Ivanov
IVANOV PUBLICATIONS DENVER
Published on Apr 22, 2012
Published on Apr 22, 2012
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