Just Call Me Joe

by Frieda Wishinsky

  Just Call Me Joe

  Just Call Me Joe

  Frieda Wishinsky

  Copyright © 2003 Frieda Wishinsky

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Wishinsky, Frieda

  Just call me Joe / Frieda Wishinsky.

  “Orca young readers.”

  ISBN 1-55143-249-8

  I. Title.

  PS8595.I834J87 2003 jC813’.54 C2003-910400-1

  PZ7.W78032J87 2003

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2003107504

  Summary: Life in New York City in the early twentieth century is tougher than Joseph ever dreamed it would be.

  Teachers’ guide available at www.orcabook.com Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support of its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Department of Canadian Heritage, the Canada Council for the Arts, and the British Columbia Arts Council.

  Cover design by Christine Toller

  Cover illustration by Don Kilby

  Interior illustrations by Stephen McCallum

  Printed and bound in Canada

  IN CANADA

  Orca Book Publishers

  1030 North Park Street

  Victoria, BC Canada

  V8T 1C6

  IN THE UNITED STATES

  Orca Book Publishers

  PO Box 468

  Custer, WA USA

  98240-0468

  05 04 03 • 5 4 3 2 1

  For my friends Kathy Kacer and Penny Fransblow and withthanks to Esther Sarah Evans.

  Chapter One

  Sometimes They Send You Back

  “We’re here! We’re in America!” shouted Joseph, waving his cap in the air.

  All around him people shouted and waved, as the ship passed the gleaming Lady with the Torch, the Statue of Liberty. It was as if all the misery of the last three weeks, the smells and sickness of too many people packed too tightly together, had disappeared into the early morning fog.

  “Joseph! Your cap . . .” said his seventeen year old sister, Anna. But before she could finish her sentence, Joseph’s brown cap flew out of his hand.

  Oh no! thought Joseph as he watched his cap ride the waves like a toy boat and then sink into the Atlantic.

  “Oh Joseph,” said Anna. “Papa made it for you.”

  Joseph sighed. It was true. Papa had made it for him, but he couldn’t let losing a cap spoil this wonderful day.

  “It was already old and torn, Anna,” said Joseph. “In America, I will buy a new cap. In America, I will buy an American cap.”

  Anna said nothing, but Joseph knew what she was thinking. He was thinking it too.

  Mama. Papa.

  At that moment, he would have given all the gold in America to have Mama and Papa there beside them.

  Joseph closed his eyes and imagined his parents as they looked the last time he saw them. Papa, tall and stooped from days hunched over his sewing machine, tears flowing down his cheeks as he kissed his children goodbye. And Mama, her curly hair tinged with gray, whispering over and over, “Take care of each other.”

  But Joseph didn’t want to think about his parents now. It hurt too much. It was better to remember how good it would be never to be frightened again by murderous Russian soldiers sneaking up on you in the woods or bursting into your house at night. Three months ago a drunken soldier had found him gathering mushrooms in the woods and pointed a gun at his head. “Next time you won’t be so lucky, Jew,” he’d warned. And a week later, two of Joseph’s fourteen-year-old cousins had not been so lucky. They were murdered in the neighboring shtetl, a small town much like Joseph’s own.

  Night after night, for a week after their deaths, Papa and Mama stayed up late talking. Then early Sunday morning, they told Anna and Joseph they had made a decision.

  “You must go to America,” said Papa. “We have just enough money for your passage. Anna, you are old enough to find work and look after Joseph. My sister Sophie in New York will help you. She is on her own since her husband died two years ago and she has no children. We will come as soon as we can.”

  Papa had placed his warm hand on Joseph’s shoulder. “And you will help Anna, Joseph. You are strong and smart.”

  Papa was right.

  So what if he was only ten? So what if he was short for his age and skinny as a stick? Didn’t he outwit that bully Mendel? Mendel was taller and stronger than Joseph, but that didn’t matter. Joseph had tied Mendel’s laces to the table at heder, their school, last week, and Mendel had crashed to the floor before he could snatch Joseph’s bread.

  “I’ll get you for this,” Mendel sneered.

  “Me?” said Joseph, in an innocent voice. “I’m not good at knots.”

  A tug at his sleeve woke Joseph from his thoughts. “Look Joseph,” said Anna. “Look at New York City. It’s so big.”

  Joseph’s eyes widened as he looked up at the skyline. Buildings like castles towered side by side. It was all so tall, so new, so unknown. So different from the shtetl with its low wooden buildings all jumbled together. He knew every house, every farm, every tree in the shtetl. He knew every wagon and stand in the bustling marketplace where the peasants sold their fish, grain and vegetables and where he helped mama sell the pants and shirts Papa sewed.

  In America he knew nothing. Nothing now, but soon he’d be walking down a real New York street. Soon he’d learn everything about America and be a real American.

  And there coming closer and closer was Ellis Island with its big, sprawling building. In that building, their fate would be sealed. They’d be allowed to enter America or ordered back to Europe.

  Two nights ago he’d overheard Anna and her friend, Rose Finkel, whispering in the darkness of the airless steerage cabin.

  “Sometimes they send you back,” said Rose. “Especially if you’re sick. Especially if you have the eye sickness.”

  “We’re not sick,” said Anna.

  “Some sicknesses you don’t even know you have,” said Rose. “It comes out in the inspection.”

  The way she whispered “inspection” made Joseph’s heart skip a beat. It sounded like torture.

  As if she’d read his mind, Rose continued, “The inspection is terrible.”

  No. No, Joseph thought. I can’t go back to Russia. Joseph shuddered remembering his encounter with the Russian soldier in the woods. He never wanted to feel that scared again. But no matter how hard he’d tried to convince himself that Rose was only spreading rumors, he could still hear her whispered warning as the ship drew near Ellis Island.

  “Sometimes they send you back.”

  Chapter Two

  The Chosen

  “Next. Next. Next.”

  The words echoed through Joseph’s head as he stood in line beside Anna. When would the lines end? When would they stop being crammed together like herrings in a jar?

  The ferry to Ellis Island was bad enough. It had no toilets or air. Just people pressing so close, he could barely breathe.

  And then in this huge building on Ellis Island, there were more people. Old people with faces wrinkled like leather, mamas and papas hushing crying babies, and young people waiting to meet relatives they didn’t even know.

  Joseph could smell the fear in the building, a sour, stifling smell like spoiled milk. But no matter how much he hated the smell or the feeling of being herded like cattle or tagged like baggage, returning to Russia would be worse.

  Joseph gl
anced at Anna. She’d lost so much weight from seasickness, her brown dress hung loosely on her shoulders. Anna hadn’t said a word since they stepped off the ferry. She just stood beside Joseph biting her nails. He knew she was scared. She always bit her nails when she was scared. Why did Rose Finkel have to frighten them with all her talk of being sent back? Even he couldn’t shake the nervous rumbling in his stomach.

  Only Rose didn’t seem worried. As the line crawled, she jabbered on and on about her father and his job in a shirtwaist factory.

  “Maybe he can help you find work too, Anna,” Rose offered. “He knows people in New York and he speaks English. He’s been in New York since 1904, five years already,” she told them for the third time.

  “Next,” barked the inspector, as they inched closer.

  It was a young woman’s turn.

  “Name and who are you traveling with?” the inspector asked the woman in Yiddish.

  “Manya Karetsky and I am alone,” she answered.

  “Who is meeting you?”

  “My uncle Sol Karetsky,” she answered.

  A doctor quickly listened to Manya’s heart and without a word, marked her with blue chalk and stuck a letter H around her neck.

  “What is this?” Manya stammered.

  “You may have a heart problem,” said the doctor. “We will have to examine you more. We can not admit you now.”

  “It must be a mistake,” cried Manya. “My uncle is waiting. I cannot stay here. Oh please. Let me go to my uncle. I am not sick.”

  But despite her tears and protests, the sobbing girl was led away.

  Anna’s face turned white as new snow, as Manya disappeared from sight.

  “Next,” barked the inspector.

  It was Rose’s turn.

  “Name and who are you with?” the inspector asked.

  Rose answered without hesitation.

  Her health inspection proceeded easily till the sharp button hook pin was pushed under hereyelid.

  “Ay. Ay,” Rose winced in pain.

  But when the inspector barked, “Next,” her face burst into a relieved smile.

  “Don’t worry Anna,” she whispered, squeezing Anna’s hand warmly. “It will be fine for you too.”

  But Anna didn’t seem to hear. She looked dazed, as if someone had hit her with a brick.

  “Anna, move,” Joseph nudged her.

  As if hypnotized, Anna took a step forward.

  “Name and who are you traveling with?” barked the inspector.

  Anna said nothing.

  “Name. Name,” the inspector boomed impatiently.

  But Anna was still silent.

  Talk Anna, Joseph wanted to shout. Talk, or they’ll send us back.

  Suddenly the inspector lifted his hand to mark Anna with chalk. but before he could do anything, Joseph stepped hard on Anna’s foot.

  “Ouch,” she cried. “What are you doing, Joseph?”

  “So, you can talk,” said the inspector. “For a minute, I thought you were slow or stupid. I almost marked you as having mental problems.”

  “I’m fine,” said Anna, shaking her curly brown hair as if waking from sleep. “My name is Anna Wisotsky and I am traveling with my ten year old brother, Joseph.”

  It was finally Joseph’s turn, but Joseph didn’t wait for the inspector to speak. “My name is Joseph Wisotsky and I want to be an American,” he announced.

  “Well, Joseph Wisotsky,” said the inspector, with a small smile, “welcome, but be careful where you step in America. It can be tough for a young boy like you.”

  “I will be careful,” said Joseph, returning the smile, but he didn’t really believe the inspector. This was the hard part, not America. America was exciting and full of adventure. “Ach,” he groaned as the sharp buttonhook jabbed his eye. But then it was over.

  Joseph turned to Anna and smiled. The golden doors to America were about to open and beckon them in.

  Chapter Three

  Aunt Sophie

  “Joseph! Anna!”

  They stood at the Kissing Post, the room where relatives were reunited. Amidst the shouts and tears of joy, the warm embraces and awkward first meetings, Joseph saw a short, round-faced woman wildly waving a photo in their direction.

  “I am your Aunt Sophie!” she exclaimed, grabbing them both to her chest in a tight squeeze.

  Could this really be Aunt Sophie? thought Joseph. She was much older than he’d imagined. He was sure she’d look like her picture, slender with masses of dark brown hair piled on her head like a crown. Not this plump woman with a mound of gray hair perched on her head like a noodle kugel.

  “Thank God. Thank God,” Aunt Sophie repeated over and over, wiping tears from hereyes . “My dear brother’s children are finally here. Oh, how pale and thin you both are. And look at your clothes, so crumpled and worn. You must have slept in them. Are these three satchels all you have?”

  Aunt Sophie talked so fast, she barely waited for an answer.

  “How is my brother and your dear Mama?” she continued. “It has been fifteen years since I saw them last. Fifteen years since my husband, Her schel, and I came to America. How happy Herschel would have been to meet you both. If only he had lived to see this day.” Aunt Sophie dabbed hereyes again with a handkerchief as she hustled them into another ferry.

  This time, to Joseph’s relief, there was no more checking or inspections. This time, when they arrived on land, they were free to walk down the streets of New York.

  “Come. We have a long walk home,” said Aunt Sophie. “I am a little low on money this month. My boarders, the Blumbergs, owe me. So we must walk.”

  Everywhere Joseph looked there were people, pushcarts, horse cars, all mingling together like the potatoes and meat in mama’s Sabbath cholent stew. But not all the smells were as inviting as mama’s cholent. The stinky smells of horse manure, rotting gar bage and sweating people all mixed with the delicious smells of pickles, garlic, roasted chestnuts, steaming sweet potatoes and spicy chickpeas.

  Joseph looked up. The sun and sky seemed much farther away than in the shtetl. There were no trees or grass like at home, just brick buildings with zig-zaggedy metal sticking out from the windows.

  “What are those?” he asked Aunt Sophie, pointing to the jagged structures.

  “Fire escapes,” she answered. “They’re a way to leave a building in case of fire. And on hot nights, they’re a place to go for a little air.”

  As soon as Joseph entered Aunt Sophie’s building on Rivington Street he knew what she meant about air. A cool air blew in the street, but in the narrow halls of Aunt Sophie’s building, the air was heavy with cigar smoke and the smell of overcooked cabbage.

  “We are up on the third floor,” said Aunt Sophie, huffing and puffing like a worn-out steam engine. “I rent out three of my rooms, but you’re lucky, the small one is free this week. Next week, you will have to share. But next week is next week. Today a little cabbage soup is just what you need.”

  Oh, not cabbage soup! thought Joseph, as he they reached the third floor. His nose was full of cabbage smells. What if Aunt Sophie’s cabbage soup tasted as bad as those smells?

  “Eat. Eat. What are you waiting for?” asked Aunt Sophie, after they’d deposited their satchels in a tiny, windowless room.

  Joseph’s stomach heaved as he stared at the limp chunks of cabbage floating in the yellow-gray broth.

  “Eat. Eat,” said Aunt Sophie again. “It’s good and nourishing.”

  Joseph lifted his spoon and closed his eyes. With one gulp, he downed a spoonful of the cabbage soup.

  “Oh,” he murmured, for the soup was surprisingly good. It was almost as good as his mama’s soup.

  Suddenly hungry, Joseph ate another mouthful and then another.

  “See? I told you it was good. My poor Herschel always said my soup was the best in New York,” said Aunt Sophie beaming. “So finish up. Then we will wash and tomorrow you will register for school.”

  “School?
” said Joseph. He hadn’t thought about school. “But I can’t speak English. How can I go to school?”

  “Most immigrants can’t speak English,” explained Aunt Sophie. “They will put you in a lower grade till you learn how to speak.”

  A lower grade? With little children? Joseph didn’t like the sound of that at all.

  Chapter Four

  Sam

  “Grade one!” protested Joseph to Anna, after his first day at school. “I am not going to school with babies. There are babies in that class. They don’t even know how to wipe their own noses.”

  “But Joseph. It will not be forever. Just till you learn English. You’re a fast learner. Papa always said you have a good head, not like that foolish Mendel in the shtetl.”

  “But this isn’t the shtetl. I knew everything and everyone in the shtetl.”

  “Your teacher, Miss Williams, is nice,” said Anna.

  “Maybe she is,” said Joseph, “but what does she know? She teaches babies,” Joseph plunked down on the stoop of Aunt Sophie’s building and stared at three boys playing catch in the street.

  “I am going inside,” said Anna. “My shoes are pinching my feet.”

  “I want to stay outside for awhile,” said Joseph.

  “Remember supper is at six. Rose and her father are coming after supper. Her father has found a job for me at a shirtwaist factory.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be there,” said Joseph. “I like Aunt Sophie’s soup.”

  “Tonight she told me she’s making knishes special for us,”

  “Mmm . . .” said Joseph, smacking his lips at the thought of knishes, creamy mashed potatoes and succulent fried onions all rolled into a package of dough. “Aunt Sophie talks a lot but she sure cooks good food.”

  Anna patted Joseph on the shoulder and hobbled inside.

  Joseph stood up as soon as she left, but before he could hop off the step, a ball bounced hard into his chest. Startled, Joseph glared at the thin, tall boy with cropped black hair who had thrown the ball.

  “Gimme that ball,” the boy barked in English.