Goodbye, Jerry

Architecture in Jerry's Westport World

I'm certain that psychology has a name for the concept of a child separating himself or herself from a parent. But I cannot remember the name of the concept. Whatever it's called, it has been blurring my judgement for the past few minutes. I have debated whether to write about architecture in Westport in this blog about my father or whether to write in my personal blog.

I've decided to put the information here, because every building mentioned has a direct connection with Dad. If someone knows the name of the psychological concept I've been wrestling with, please let me know in a comment.

Ahem. About architecture. Yes!

Dad had a genuine appreciation for architecture and the quality of the built environment. He appreciated architecture through the ages and reveled in pointing it out to John and me. He liked architects and their work locally in Westport. He enjoyed framing his opinion of cities around their architecture. It pleased me that he liked the contemporary and historic architecture in Indianapolis during the time I lived there, and it pleased me a lot that he so enjoyed visiting the architectural gems created by the generosity of J. Irwin Miller in Columbus, Indiana.

So, in reading Dan Woog's post about the Westport Historical Society's exhibit "Westport Modern: When Cool was Hot!" it's intriguing to me that every building mentioned by Dan or by other people in the comments is a building that Dad interacted with. There's a reference in the comments to the County Federal building, which was built by the owners of the savings bank of the same name to replace the bank building that burned in 1966, taking Dad's law office with it. There are a few references to Hillspoint Elementary School. As a member of the Westport Board of Education, Dad was a steward of that building. He may have been on the board when the decision was made to close the school.

I wrote in the comments to Dan's post about Mildred and Bernie Davidoff's house, "The Barn."

 And, of course, few buildings were more important to Dad than the Unitarian Church in Westport. More, he also drove past the Civkin-designed home of the Schines at 6 High Point Road on his way up to our house at 20 High Point Road and counted the owners of Number 6, Joel and Rena Schine, among his friends.

Needless to say, I am eager to revisit Westport and view "Westport Modern: When Cool was Hot!"

— Doug Davidoff

Jerry's Wheelchair Rides Again — And Doug Is In It

Dad isn't here any longer, but his wheelchair rode again. Moreover, last Sunday, I was in it.

Sunday, January 24th, was the Installation of Marta as the 18th senior settled minister of First Parish Unitarian Universalist Church of Arlington. I was asked to ring the bell of the church to start the service. (Which meant ringing the bell 20 times, once for each of the 18 senior settled ministers and twice more for the two settled associate ministers in the church's history.)

It was only my second time out of the house since undergoing foot surgery ten days earlier. I needed (and still need, as of this writing) to keep my feet elevated as part of the recovery. So Dad's wheelchair, which was configured to keep his injured left leg raised, fit my needs as well.

It was a spooky and uncomfortable experience. I used to push Dad in this wheelchair. Now, someone else (thank you, David Whitford!) pushed me around. It's not an experience I'd like to repeat.

I missed Dad a lot last Sunday. During the service, for the first time, I repeatedly had the instinctive thought that after the service, I'd call telephone to tell him about it.

— Doug Davidoff

 

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Goodbye to Post Office Box 710, Westport, Connecticut 06880

During all the years he practiced law in Westport, Connecticut, Dad's mailing address was Post Office Box 710 at the Westport Post Office. Now, of course, Dad has left us and it appears the U.S. Postal Service will leave its historic Westport Post Office building, too.

Dan Woog's "06880" blog about Westport alerts us to this. (And, don't you know, "06880" is Westport's ZIP code, so where better to read about the Westport Post Office?) The photo accompanying this post is from Dan's blog.

I can remember from a very early age walking into the Post Office with Dad and marveling at how letters got into the box, peering through the box to the inner workings of the Post Office behind the wall. The Westport Post Office is a not-terribly-striking example of WPA or Art Deco (or both) in civic architecture. 

But I have always liked the building. Until he moved his office to Riverside Avenue a mile or so downstream on the Saugatuck River, the Post Office was never more than a two or three block walk from Dad's office. He liked to get the mail on Saturdays, so that meant an automatic trip downtown. Baskin-Robbins 31 flavors of ice cream was next door to the east. The Westport Post Office is where I applied for my first passport, read the FBI's most wanted posters, and inevitably ran into someone that I knew or Dad knew, if I was with him.

From Dad, I knew the truth of an old piece of newspaper reporting advice: If you're stuck for a story or just landing in a new town on assignment, try the local post office as a place to run into people and find out what's going on.

For me, the Westport Post Office was an early connection to a civic life. I owe that to my father.

— Doug Davidoff

P.S. I wonder who uses Box 710 in Westport now.

An old poem

The following is posted by a new author of this blog, Jasper Davidoff.

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I was looking around my email and I found an old poem that Grandpa Jerry sent me. Maybe because I live in Illinois or just cause it was special to him.  He told me that it was the first poem he memorized. These are his exact words:

What follows is, except for nursery rhymes, the first poem I memorized. I think I was about eleven years old.

 

You will enjoy the poem more if you look up two words:

portentous

and

dreadnaught.

 

I remember, way back in 1941, reciting the poem at Lincoln's house when I went to Springfield with my mother, my father and my brother. 

And here is the poem:

Abraham Lincoln Walks at Midnight
(In Springfield, Illinois)
 
IT is portentous, and a thing of state
That here at midnight, in our little town
A mourning figure walks, and will not rest,
Near the old court-house pacing up and down,
 
Or by his homestead, or in shadowed yards         
He lingers where his children used to play,
Or through the market, on the well-worn stones
He stalks until the dawn-stars burn away.
 
A bronzed, lank man! His suit of ancient black,
A famous high top-hat and plain worn shawl  
Make him the quaint great figure that men love,
The prairie-lawyer, master of us all.
 
He cannot sleep upon his hillside now.
He is among us:—as in times before!
And we who toss and lie awake for long,  
Breathe deep, and start, to see him pass the door.
 
His head is bowed. He thinks of men and kings.
Yea, when the sick world cries, how can he sleep?
Too many peasants fight, they know not why;
Too many homesteads in black terror weep.  
 
The sins of all the war-lords burn his heart.
He sees the dreadnaughts scouring every main.

He carries on his shawl-wrapped shoulders now
The bitterness, the folly and the pain.
 
He cannot rest until a spirit-dawn  
Shall come;—the shining hope of Europe free:
A league of sober folk, the Workers' Earth,
Bringing long peace to Cornland, Alp and Sea.
 
It breaks his heart that men must murder still,
That all his hours of travail here for men  
Seem yet in vain. And who will bring white peace
That he may sleep upon his hill again?

--Jasper D.

Jerry's grandson

John's Eulogy for Jerry

A while back, I published a link to a PDF download of my eulogy for Dad.

Since then, my brother, John Davidoff, published his eulogy on the blog for his business, Davidoff Communications in Chicago.

This is a link to John's eulogy. It's accompanied by a great photo of Dad and John, shown below.

Some of what John wrote:

Hi Dad. It’s John. “Big John!” as you bellowed out my whole life...

I have been taking stock of my own life, in relationship to yours, and reflecting on where I go from here … in carrying out the part of your legacy that is mine now to move forward.

Dad, I thank you. You were a warrior of the heart and an amazing romantic and dreamer. I will never forget when, just ten years old, you led our family all the way to Paris, to the Louvre, to stand below one of the most celebrated sculptures in the world -- the Winged Victory –- that all powerful feminine tribute to a sea battle…where you, Dad, told Doug and me of your wish that we would see “her … the Victoire” every morning on our way to school such that we would grow up to be strong and confident men. What an impression that has made on my life … still, here and now, almost forty years later.

It was a good eulogy, John.

— Doug Davidoff

Another Photo: Jerry at Mid-Life, With Family, in England

I haven't posted too many photos yet of Jerry at midlife. This photo, which became our 1977 holiday card, was taken somewhere in southern England in August 1977 when the family joined me after my summer at New College, Oxford University. I had just met Amy, who traveled with us and took this photo. Dad was 51 in this photo — one year younger than I am now.

I'm standing in the sunroof of our rented Ford Grenada (the European version, not the American version). Note Dad's bent left leg. I'm glad he enjoyed sitting on top of the car like that!

— Doug Davidoff

 

The Cross-Country Trip, 70 Years Later

This coming summer will mark the 70th anniversary of the famous cross-country driving trip taken by Jerry and his brother, Paul, and their parents, Bernard "Bernie" and Mildred Davidoff. It was the summer before Pearl Harbor. The trip began on the hot and humid midsummer afternoon of Thursday, July 31, 1941. Jerry had turned 15 years old at the beginning of the month. Paul had turned 12 on Valentine's Day. They stopped to say goodbye to Uncle Milton Davidoff on their way across Manhattan to New Jersey.

My cousin Carla Davidoff of New Paltz, New York, the second of Paul's four children, found in her family papers a diary of the trip apparently kept mostly by Jerry (his handwriting is quite distinctive, even at that age) but occasionally by the other members of the family.

I propose to use Google Maps, Wikipedia, photos, and other tools to help us imagine that famous trip. I consider the diary of this trip to be one of the most important artifacts we have of Dad's life (and Paul's, for that matter) as the cross-country trip must surely have been formative in developing a sense of the American idea for both boys, and eventually for their children and grandchildren.

While no one alive today was on the trip, I think the trip is important to us all because it could not have helped but break the family out of the New York enclave in which they lived. Of all the many, many trips Mildred and Bernie took throughout the world in their lifetime, I think none was more important than this motoring trip across America with their sons.

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DAY ONE: THURSDAY, JULY 31ST, 1941

View Larger Map


Map Key: A=Long Beach, B=Midtown Tunnel, C=Holland Tunnel, D=Plainfield, N.J., E=Easton, Pa., F=Bethlehem, Pa.

4:00 p.m. (E.D.T.)
Long Beach, L.I.

Left Long Beach, weather cloudy and overcast. Back and Front seats crowded to the filling point with baggage and Davidoffs. Hit Midtown Tunnel at 5:00. Out at 5:02. Made Holland Tunnel at 5:44 after taking pictures down town and meeting Milton. Out of tunnel at 5:47. Now we're out of N.Y.C..

Sky still overcast, but it is hotter and more humid than at the beach. Had dinner at Howard Johnson's, Plainfield, N.J., at 6:25.

Hit into thunderstorm at 8:20 — Stopped to keep out of rain at 8:40, started at 8:50 —

Passed through Easton [Pennsylvania] at 9:00

This is a boom town or anyway at present it is booming.

It was almost ten when we hit Bethlehem and stayed at the Hotel Bethlehem. Did 110 miles today.

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I love how Bernie and Mildred drove through the evening to make sure they were out of Metropolitan New York before hitting the hay for the night. Maybe they had a reservation in Bethlehem and were determined to get there before stopping for the night.

Does anyone know why this trip would have started in Long Beach, Long Island, rather than from Sunnyside Gardens in Queens? If Mildred and Bernie and the boys stopped to see Milton in Manhattan, might they have seen other relatives in Long Beach? Who lived there? Perhaps they swam on the south shore beach before heading into the city and across New Jersey to Pennsylvania's Lehigh Valley for the night. Please provide answers in the comments.

There is still a Howard Johnson's on U.S. 22 in Plainfield, New Jersey. Cannot tell, but it looks like a mid-century lodging entrance in the photo. The town is also the home of the First Unitarian Society of Plainfield, where my partner, Rev. Marta Morris Flanagan, served as an intern minister. She was ordained by the congregation there 22 years ago. 

And a surprise history relic, right off the bat: The Hotel Bethlehem lives! It's been restored and even has an eight-minute introductory video for you to watch.

The video contains a shot of the plaque on the hotel (shown below) relating the founding of Bethlehem as a Moravian community. I wonder if Jerry remembered this plaque and history when he encountered the Moravian traditions again in North Carolina, especially in Winston-Salem?

Here's the plaque, Count Nicolaus Ludwig Zinzendorf, Christmas Eve love feast of 1741, and all:

 — Doug Davidoff

Interfaith Alliance Honors Jerry By Sending Students to LEADD Using Funds in New Scholarship Named For Him

I have been completely remiss in reporting here that the Interfaith Alliance honored Dad with a scholarship fund in his name to help high school students attend the LEADD program Dad helped to create and teach.

The Rev. Dr. Welton Gaddy (shown at right), the Interfaith Alliance president, is the driving force behind the new scholarship. The Interfaith Alliance celebrates religious freedom by championing individual rights, promoting policies that protect both religion and democracy, and uniting diverse voices to challenge extremism. Founded in 1994, the Interfaith Alliance has 185,000 members across the country from 75 faith traditions as well as those without a faith tradition.

Welton let Mom as well as my brother, John, and me know about the scholarship on November 24, a few days before Dad's Celebration of Life. I've reproduced the certificate announcing the scholarship below. It's called, "The Jerry Davidoff LEADD Legacy Scholarship."

A moving tribute to Dad written by Jay Keller of the Interfaith Alliance staff appears on the alliance website. (You can read it by clicking on the image of the webpage at left.)

LEADD, which stands for "Leadership Education Advancing Democracy and Diversity" is an innovative program for high school students developed by members of the Interfaith Alliance and a dedicated group of volunteers who have acted as founders, curriculum planners, teachers and workshop leaders since 2005. Students who attend LEADD become immersed in the history of the First Amendment, particularly its Establishment and Free Exercise Clauses. The First Amendment is the foundation of America’s unique devotion to religious liberty and the hope in and vision for creating a truly pluralistic American society. Student learn about current policy, legislative and legal issues regarding religious freedom.

I hope Welton will forgive me for reproducing here a portion of the email message he sent to Mom, John, and me on November 24. He wrote:

I am pleased to share the announcement of this initiative first with the three of you — The Jerry Davidoff LEADD Legacy Scholarship.

As you can see in the description of this initiative printed below, Interfaith Alliance will fund the first scholarship in 2010. And, Denny, in appreciation for our friendship and partnership with you and Jerry, Judy and I are giving $500 toward the second scholarship.

I hope the three of you know that this action conveys our appreciation for each of you as well as our desire to honor our memory of Jerry and dedication to continue the work of this particular part of his vision.

Mom was quite overwhelmed at the news of this scholarship. And John, much more prompt in his acknowledgement of this honor than I have been, wrote to Welton, "Thank you for this beautiful honoring of Dad. Of all his activities in the last years of his life, certainly it was spending time with the high school students in the LEADD program that brought the greatest personal satisfaction. It brought together his love of teaching, history, faith, civil liberties, social justice and more. We are moved by this honoring of Dad."

 But the initiative of the Interfaith Alliance and the gift from Welton and Judy Gaddy wasn't the end. Their actions were followed immediately by Rabbi David Gelfand of Temple Israel of the City of New York, the chair of the Interfaith Alliance board, who said that he and his wife, Kathy, would join Welton and Judy Gaddy in funding the second scholarship. (Rabbi Gelfand is shown at right.)

"Kathy and I are glad to join you in this second scholarship in Jerry's memory," Rabbie Gelfand wrote. "May the memories of his good years be recalled for long years to come by all who knew him best and loved him most. In tribute to Jerry and in honor of his profound legacy — David." 

Mom wrote back to Rabbi Gelfand, "Thank you for this generous gift to LEADD. I am touched by your generosity and grateful for the support. And some deserving kid is going to have an important educational experience thanks to your and Kathy's gift!"

And now that I have written all of this, I am filled with love for Dad's work, a spirit of rededication and renewal, and more admiration for the friends he made in the Gaddys and Gelfands as well as his life dedicated to American democracy, pluralism, and the formation of young adults who will keep our nation's system of self-government strong.

Please read the certificate below. Or click on it — or click here — to read it in larger type.

— Doug Davidoff

 

A Davidoff Uber-Image: Paul, Teddy, Donald, and Jerry

 

I am glad to finally post the image above. Mom gave the original to me about three months ago. It shows Paul Davidoff (Jerry's brother), with Paul and Jerry's uncle Teddy Dawidoff, and with Teddy's baby son, Donald Dawidoff. Jerry is on the right. I wonder if my grandfather, Bernie Davidoff, took the photo.

I think this image is a great find. The original is a yellowing snapshot, and it's small -- about two inches on a side. I played with the image in iPhoto before posting it here.

Obviously, Donald is all of two or three months old in this photo, so it ought to be easy to date the photo. When was Donald born? Where was this photo taken? And what's going on with young Paul's suit? If you have the answers, please say so in the comments below.

-- Doug Davidoff

On the Resurrection of a Father Within a Son

Ellen Leigh, like me, is a new member of First Parish Unitarian Universalist Church of Arlington, Massachusetts. She is one of the dozens of people in the First Parish congregation who have sent cards and notes of condolence after Dad died.

Ellen enclosed a poem that I repeat here. It's "Resurrection," by Thomas Yeomans. Not a poem about Jerry Davidoff, but perhaps a poem he would have liked about a man he would have liked.

— Doug Davidoff

RESURRECTION

I know for sure I sat
with two beloved sons
beside my father's coffin.
Swear I touched his waxy brow
and furled my grieving fingers round his cello hand.
Certain I am we tailed the hearse to Providence,
singing the songs he loved,
and I helped heft him into the final fire.
He's dead and gone, dear man,
and yet this very afternoon I felt my body
slouch upon a chair as only he would do —
legs straight out, the elbows crooked,
fingers twined, thumbs resting just above the eyes.
Or last week, standing, hands on hips, to scan the sky,
head back, there, by God, he loomed within me,
large as life, tasting the salty, seaside air.
He sights a sail offshore,
or hears a snatch of Brahms,
and I'm weeping, finding him so close
I thought so far.

The man's not dead; he's only changed his skin,
and rises in me now, his host and nearest kin.
We dwell together, two in one,
savor each passing joy and grieving,
while my sons, alive in far off lands,
prepare to mourn my leaving.