Page 157 - The Legacy of Abraham Rothstein - text

Early days in Los Angeles

It was not a lucrative job, as we think nowadays of government
jobs. Not a swivel chair job, just breaking rocks in those rugged hills
and building those winding roads there. In those days of Teddy
Roosevelt, a dollar and twenty-five cents a day was considered
enough for nine hours work. Wood was cheap, and so was rent, yet it
would take a few years until one could save enough for a cheap
shoddy suit and a pair of shoes. My brother Benjamin, when hard up,
appealed to the Jewish charities and the doctor got him on the payroll
of the Griffith Park job. He was young and strong, and glad to keep
alive. But when he met us at the train, his shoes were the most
dilapidated a man ever wore. It was a most discouraging sight to me
and my wife. It was a bad omen and a reflection of what might
happen to me.
I could not help him with much money, as what I had with me
was all that was left of my assets, two hundred dollars, and we needed
it to rent a house and buy some furniture. We stayed in a cheap hotel
a couple of nights, and soon found a house to rent for twelve dollars
a month. We bought some used furniture for forty dollars and settled
in for good. The only question was how to make the rent and food. I
had no friend or relative here with experience in starting a small
business, only my brother, who was not the person to get advice
from. But I was blind myself and a stranger, and the blind usually
lead the blind. He associated with boys like himself who peddled
either junk or fruit, so that was his best advice.
There were several thousand Jews in Los Angeles at that time, and
as a rule, Jews are mostly in business, whether on a large or small
scale. The big businessmen were storekeepers, and the poorer class
were peddlers, all Eastern Europeans. Like today, there was a line of
demarcation: the eastern Jews lived on the east side, around Temple
and First Street and Central Avenue. Thus far, in my life at home and
in this country, I was either hugging a book or a sewing machine.
There were no clothing factories in Los Angeles, and I had no other
trade to fall back on, so there was nothing left for me but business.
My brother was desperate, and urged me to get in the junk
business—so-called business! It was the easiest escape when a man
did not have money. If one had five dollars, the price of a day’s junk
transactions, he could hire a horse and wagon from a Jewish man in
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