A Cobbler's Tale

by Neil Perry Gordon

  “You will work for me, Josef Horowitz.” He turned around with a smile. “I mean, Jakob Adler.”

  CHAPTER 24

  CAPTAIN CHARLES BECKER

  For two days in a row, Jakob had been forcibly shoved into a wagon, although this time it was the police disturbing his morning routine. He had been brought to the police station and escorted through large double wood doors. Once inside, he’d been told to sit and wait.

  With its door open, everyone could hear the voices coming from the office. Jakob read the nameplate on the door:

  CAPTAIN CHARLES BECKER

  He could not only hear what was going on in the smoke-filled office, but he could also see who was doing the talking, since the wooden blinds were tilted open.

  “You’ve been investigating Leo Gorpatsch for three months, and you tell me you have nothing?” asked the large, cigar-smoking man whom Jakob assumed was the captain.

  “That’s not exactly true, sir,” ventured a skinny man. “We know that Manny Plotnick works for him. He’s the guy that owns that building that burnt down, where the Triangle Shirtwaist factory was.”

  “Yeah, Kelly, I know about that, what else?” Becker asked impatiently.

  “Well I followed a few of his henchmen. They picked up some guy who works in a cobbler shop on Ludlow and brought him to Gorpatsch’s office in the Flatiron.”

  “Okay, who is this guy?” asked Becker.

  “Don’t know sir, but we brought him in,” he said, pointing at Jakob through the glass window.

  “Bring him in here,” Becker said, squinting through the glass.

  The skinny detective looked though the open doorway and addressed Jakob. “Let’s go, the captain wants to talk to you.”

  Jakob walked in to the smoky room and was greeted by the captain’s warm smile.

  “Please take a seat. Kelly, that will be all,” the captain said, dismissing the detective.

  As Kelly left Becker extended his hand. “My name is Captain Charles Becker.”

  Jakob shook his hand. “I am Jakob Adler.”

  “I understand you had a visit with Leo Gorpatsch yesterday.”

  Jakob nodded and said, “I did, but I’m surprised you know about that.”

  “I know everything that’s worth knowing in my precinct. Can you tell me what Leo wants with you?” the captain asked, lowering himself into his worn leather swivel chair.

  “Nothing really. He asked me if I wanted a job. I told him I already had one.”

  “Is that so?” said the captain with a cooler smile.

  Jakob nodded.

  “You’re new here, Jakob. I know how it is. It’s a struggle getting started in a new world. You need friends. I can be a good friend, Jakob. Would you like to be friends?” The captain blew out rings of cigar smoke.

  “Maybe.”

  “Good. That’s good,” the captain said, rising from his chair. He walked over to the dust-encrusted wooden blinds and looked out into the busy police station.

  “I’ve been chasing Gorpatsch for too long with nothing to show for it. The commissioner will be calling me into his office again asking for something tangible to show. I have nothing.”

  He turned to face Jakob.

  “Do you know anything about me, Jakob?”

  Jakob shook his head.

  “I’m famous in this city. A few years ago, I arrested a prostitute named Ruby Young, a.k.a. Alice Whitmore. She happened to be the daughter of Clarence Whitmore, a prominent financier. As expected, this caused a huge uproar. My name and photo made the front page of the papers,” he said, pointing to the framed newspaper article hanging on the wall.

  The captain sat down and continued his story.

  “Later on I made some enemies in the department when I led a special unit probing police corruption. My team uncovered bribes and payoffs at very high levels, including the police commissioner. Eventually, I realized that the man behind my investigation was Deputy Police Commissioner William McDougal. He’d used me to do his dirty work in order to clear a path for him to become the new commissioner.”

  Jakob sat quietly, listening to the story and wondering why the captain was sharing this with him.

  “On the day he was sworn in, I was summoned to the new commissioner’s office. He told me he had heard a lot of good things about me, and how he wanted me to take down Leo Gorpatsch.”

  The captain paused to take a puff on his stub of a cigar.

  “So that is why you’re here, Jakob. You’ll be my man on the inside. You’ll help me take down Leo Gorpatsch. You’re my new best friend.”

  “It’s good to have a friend, Captain. But if you don’t mind, may I ask what Leo Gorpatsch has done?”

  The chair wobbled as the captain rose. He walked across his cluttered office and closed the door. “Let’s have some privacy,” he said softly and took a seat next to Jakob.

  “Gorpatsch runs a division of an organized crime syndicate. On a larger scale, it’s connected to the Italian mob. Locally, it’s the Jews controlling the Lower East Side. The Gorpatsch gang members are racketeers. Are you familiar with the term, Jakob?”

  “Racketeer, yes I know what that is. They offer protection for businesses for money and if they don’t pay, they get beat up,” Jakob said.

  “Yes, that’s right Jakob. But it’s much more than that. They fence goods, which means they steal them and resell them to bargain-seeking customers at tremendous profits. Then there is loan sharking, money laundering, kidnapping, bribery of police and politicians, and murder for hire.”

  Jakob asked, “Okay, what do you want from me?”

  “As you can imagine, Leo Gorpatsch is very smart. He has created layers of protection. The only way we can get to him is to have someone on the inside. We need someone who can give us a heads-up about where he is going, who he is speaking with.”

  “You want that someone to be me?” Jakob asked.

  “You’re quick, Jakob, I like that,” Becker said sarcastically.

  “Why would I do that?”

  “You’d be a paid informant, Jakob. I assume you could use some extra cash. Working in a cobbler shop can’t be very lucrative.”

  “Will you give me some time to think about it?” Jakob asked.

  “Of course, Jakob. I’m sure you want to have me as a friend.”

  “Indeed I do, Captain.”

  The fifteen-minute walk back gave Jakob some time to consider the captain’s offer. Apparently, Becker didn’t know about Manny and how he was using the shop as a cash drop. I’m already in deep. I don’t want the police snooping around and learning about these activities. But if I can work both sides, maybe this is a good way to protect myself.

  Then it occurred to him: Nita. If I can get Gorpatsch put away for a long time, I’ll have Nita to myself. This is good, he thought.

  CHAPTER 25

  BERBECKI AND MURDER

  “Here it is,” Clara said, picking up the local newspaper with resignation. It had been four days since that fateful Shabbat evening. Both Moshe and Max were under the watchful eye of every Jew in the shtetl. She knew enough not to expect any protection from Captain Berbecki or anyone else on the police force.

  The journalist had insisted on interviewing Moshe and Max separately. “It’s more reliable,” he’d assured Clara and Max’s parents.

  Clara knew that once the article appeared in the newspaper, the story would spread quickly. Probably for the best, she hoped. The more eyes on these boys, the better.

  Before heading home, they stopped by the police station for news. The desk sergeant shook his head before she could even pose her question.

  “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing new to tell you, Mrs. Potasznik,” said the sergeant.

  “Is the captain in? Can I speak with him?”

  “I’m sorry, but he asked not to be disturbed. Maybe come back tomorrow,” he suggested.

  Once back home, she sat down with her mother and Moshe at the kitchen table and placed the newspaper on i
t. “Front page,” she said.

  “Read it, Clara, what does it say?” asked her mother impatiently.

  “Yes, Mama, read it,” Moshe said.

  Clara put on her reading glasses and began.

  Murder in the Woods

  This past Shabbat evening, Moshe Potasznik and Max Goren, both age ten, witnessed a gruesome murder in the forest area northwest of the market square. The story began when the boys failed to came home for Shabbat. Moshe’s mother, Clara Potasznik (the boy’s father Pincus Potasznik is in America), along with Max’s parents, Janusz and Helena Goren, went to the police station after searching for hours without success.

  The quiet night for Police Captain Peter Berbecki ended when the frightened parents arrived at the station. After twenty minutes of describing the circumstances of their missing children to the captain and the sergeant on duty, both Moshe and Max ran into the police station looking for help.

  The boys told the captain, sergeant, and the relieved parents about their adventures of that night. Their corroborated story is as follows:

  After Torah studies, Moshe and Max ran into the woods just northwest of the village market, an area where the boys often played. Just before they heard voices, Moshe felt ill and needed to lie down.

  As they hid behind a large log, they peeked and saw three men walking in their direction. The boys say that one of the men had his hands tied and a gag in his mouth. He looked tired and beaten. Now only a few feet away, they could hear one man tell the other to tie him to a tree. According to both Moshe and Max, interviewed separately, one man said, “Let’s slit his throat.” That was done.

  Max Goren, upon hearing that, jumped out to yell for them to stop. His plea came too late, as both boys witnessed one of the two men holding a bloody knife. The boys ran in fear for their lives deep into the woods.

  With good knowledge of the area, they knew where to hide. A series of caves, known to many of the residents of Krzywcza who enjoy exploring our forests, became the boys’ salvation.

  The two men chased the boys into the caves, but they were well hidden. Wisely, the boys remained in the caves for hours before venturing back out into the village and finally to the police station.

  According to Captain Berbecki, the police found the murder victim the next morning. He has been identified as the well-known Jewish journalist, Yitzhak Cohen. Mr. Cohen gained notoriety with his controversial essays about the government’s anti-Semitic policies.

  As of the writing of this article, the two suspects are still at large.

  “Yitzhak Cohen,” Clara repeated placing down the newspaper.

  “You know the name?” asked her mother.

  “Yes, I’ve read his articles and pamphlets. He writes about Jewish oppression and government policies. He has apparently made a few enemies.”

  “Mama, they said my name in the newspaper. Are Max and I famous?” Moshe wanted to know. He was smiling.

  “Yes, you’re famous, but not in a good way, Moshe. These men will come looking for you and Max. We need to find a way to keep you hidden until they find these men,” Clara said.

  “Captain Berbecki will protect us,” Moshe said.

  “Moshe, we can’t rely on the captain. He’s not Jewish, so he’s not on our side. Do you understand?” Clara asked.

  “Yes, Mama,” said Moshe.

  Turning to Sadie, she said, “These boys need to find a place to hide.”

  “We can hide in the caves. They’ll never find us there,” Moshe suggested.

  “You’re not going to live in a cave like an animal,” said Clara firmly. “I’ll go talk to the rabbi. Your father said before he left that if I needed help I should ask the rabbi. Moshe, you stay here. If anyone comes while I’m gone, hide in the cellar. I’ll be back soon,” said Clara putting on her coat.

  Clara walked briskly to Rabbi Shapira’s house. Just like Clara’s home village, the shul provided the rabbi and his family a house to live in. She thought about the daily requirements of the rabbi. He had such a burden as the community’s spiritual leader.

  Will he speak to me without my husband? she wondered. Most likely the rabbi’s wife, the rebbetzin, would be present for proper protocol.

  With the front door in sight, she heard a voice shout, “Clara, wait.”

  She turned to see Shmuel running toward her.

  “Where are you coming from?”

  “I just read the paper. I stopped by your house to talk with you, and your mother told me you were heading over to speak with the rabbi.”

  “Why don’t you come with me,” said Clara.

  “Yes, of course.”

  Moments later they stood at the front door of the rabbi’s home. Shmuel knocked gently on the wooden door. There was no answer. Clara looked at Shmuel, sighed, and took a turn knocking so hard with her knuckles that she rattled the door in its frame.

  “I’m coming,” a voice said from inside. Clara rocked back and forth impatiently until the door opened.

  “Good evening Clara, good evening Shmuel,” said Sara, the rebbetzin. “The rabbi and I were just reading the newspaper. I am so sorry about what happened. Please come in.”

  Sara escorted them into the rabbi’s study.

  The rabbi rose from his desk. “Clara, come, my dear. Please sit down.”

  “Hello, Rabbi, thank you for seeing us,” said Shmuel.

  “Shmuel, it is good you are here,” said the rabbi, returning to his chair on the other side of his desk.

  “Rabbi, what am I going to do? The killers are out there. My Moshe and Max are in danger.”

  The rabbi leaned forward, his elbows on the desk.

  “Clara, yes, the boys are in grave danger,” the rabbi agreed.

  Clara felt suddenly faint. She slumped in her chair, her chin resting on her chest. Then, just as quickly, she inhaled and shot back up with an erect spine. “We need to hide the boys until the police capture the killers,” she stated.

  “Clara,” began the rabbi. “We will find a good place to hide the boys. They will be safe, but only for a while.”

  “The police will eventually find the murderers, Rabbi. Then the boys can come home,” she said.

  “You need to understand something. Captain Berbecki already knows who the killers are.”

  “They already know? What do you mean, Rabbi?”

  “The murder victim, Yitzhak Cohen, was very controversial. He wrote about government abuse toward Jews and its anti-Semitic policies. They wanted him silenced.”

  “So does that mean because he wrote about controversial topics, the police will do nothing?” asked Clara.

  “That’s exactly what it means. Captain Berbecki will not be investigating the murder. He may go through the motions for our benefit, but don’t expect any arrests to be made.”

  “So what about Moshe and Max? They won’t be safe. The killers know what they look like. They’ll come after them,” Clara said in a near panic. “I need to speak with the captain. The police are here for our protection.”

  “No, the police will do nothing to capture these men,” the rabbi insisted.

  Clara started to weep uncontrollably. Sara moved around the desk and placed an arm around her.

  “Clara, the police may do nothing, but that doesn’t mean nothing can be done,” said the rabbi with a small smile.

  CHAPTER 26

  A LETTER FROM CLARA

  In the evenings, Pincus often stayed behind after Jakob closed the front end of the shop. With the door locked and the CLOSED side of the sign hanging in the window, he had some time to clean up and organize for the next day. Business had been good, very good.

  He liked working with Jakob, and apparently so did the customers. From the time they opened the shop until closing time, people came. Sometimes Pincus saw the same pair of shoes he had repaired or shined just a week earlier. When he asked Jakob why, he replied, “People in America like their shoes looking their best.”

  Pincus really didn’t care as long as they pai
d, and they did. He had enough money to eat in restaurants when he wanted and still plenty to send home to Clara once a month.

  Today Jakob told him there was a letter from Clara in the mail. He found it on the front counter and took off his spectacles to polish the lenses, as was his habit before sitting down to read.

  My dearest Pincus,

  All is well here at home. The children are growing every day. You won’t recognize them as they change so fast at their young ages. Anna is now three years old and is a beautiful sensitive child. Jennie has become a big help at home taking over the chores of bringing lunch to Moshe at his Torah studies. Hymie is a good boy, still at home, always getting in my way as I do the household chores. Mother is fine too. She sends her regards and hopes you’re doing well.

  Thank you for your last letter which, while brief, does give me comfort in knowing you are well. The money you are sending is more than I expected. You should know that Shmuel does an excellent job running the cobbler shop. So between you and Shmuel, your family is well taken care of.

  But please tell me when you’re coming for us. I realize I ask you this in every letter, but it’s been three years now. I know you’re busy with the shop and the Landsman Society, but Pincus, don’t forget us. We belong there with you.

  All my love,

  Clara

  Pincus folded the letter, placed it back in its envelope, and added it to the stack of her previous letters. All of them pretty much said the same thing: all is well, and when are you coming to get us?

  Pincus rubbed his hands together, pondering the letter. He was mindful of his promise to return in a year. But things were going well. If he left now, he’d be gone for a month. This would be very bad for business, and things were picking up steam with the Landsman Society. He had to admit that observing families arriving together made him long for Clara and the children. It would have been a wonderful moment sharing the experience of arriving together. But he knew that the joy of many of these people was short lived.