Page 172 - The Legacy of Abraham Rothstein - text

At the secondhand shop

I expected her at five o’clock, and waited for her at the Pacific
Electric depot at Sixth and Main streets. Hilda was with me; she was
then about four years old. We waited for hours before the car came.
It was late because it was harder to walk down than up—they were
very slow descending. When she stepped down from the car, she
took just one step and then had to hang on my arm all the way down
to Ceres Avenue, about ten blocks from the depot. I actually had to
carry her. Well, she was in bed for several days, because of the pain
from her strained leg muscles. She never cared to go again to that
mountain, even in a car. We still have a picture of her taken at the
summit, leaning against a rock.
Another interesting episode occurred at that time. I made the
acquaintance of a poor old man who used to pass by my store every
day. He looked like a poor Jew, but when I began to talk to him, I
found him to be a Frenchman. I was always interested in foreign
languages; although I never learned any properly, I liked to read some
authors in the original language. Now, here I had found a poor
Frenchman who was highly educated, not long from France, talking
to me in his language and willing to read with me in the French
grammar book I had. He was very destitute, shabby and homeless, so
he was only too glad to come into the store and be given a nickel for
coffee and a doughnut. He was sort of a mendicant: he stood before
St. Vibiana’s church on Main and Second with his head down,
clasping his hands together in supplication, and worshipers gave him
a few pennies.
Ben and I used to cook our dinners in the store, and sometimes
we gave him a bowl of soup and bread. He became attached to us
like a homeless starving dog. One evening I had to stay a little longer
in the store, so I told the crazy Frenchman to walk Hilda home down
Main Street. I gave him the address and he understood what he had
to do, because he was very careful, knew the neighborhood, and was
a very honest and honorable Frenchman. But he had peculiarities—
or simply was crazy. When he was crossing the street he would stop
in the middle of the crowded traffic and stretch his legs, first one and
then the other, just like cats stretch out their hind legs when they get
up from their naps. That became the show of Main Street. Everybody
turned around and watched these antics. Sometimes the traffic
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