Page 265 - The Legacy of Abraham Rothstein - text

Reminiscences

had made some race cars there, and a hot-rod, so I used to go fix
things in the garage. So I would stop and talk to him. He liked talking
to me, because I didn’t want anything from him, and he didn’t want
anything from me; he just wanted someone to talk with. He didn’t
talk too much about his family.
Abe would give pieces of his sculpture to people he liked, and
there were damned few people he liked! Most of the pieces I have he
first gave to my mother; I think he had some feeling of fondness for
her. But he never talked about the women in his family, nor would he
ever talk to a strange woman. In fact, I never heard him talk about his
wife. The three brothers were all fairly antisocial; like at a wedding,
they’d be the last ones in and the first ones out, and the whole time
stay in the corner. Abe wasn’t very friendly with the neighbors on
Orange Street; there was no one he talked to but my dad.
He had an old car that he would take downtown to buy day-old
bread or off-grade vegetables for a few pennies cheaper. I used to
marvel at it and I would tease him, asking him why he would spend
the money on gasoline to go down to Central Market to save a few
cents. He said he just liked to do it. He was tight with his money, but
not like other people. Like Joe and my dad, it was more a
psychological situation of "them" against "us," finding a way to fight
the system. It was the Rothstein brothers showing the world that they
were tough and bright—they had to fight to win, all the time. It was
probably something they picked up from their parents in Poland.
My mother was concerned about him. She was a good cook, and
always had something to offer people who came over. So if I was in
the garage she would call me in to eat, say for some homemade
corned beef and cabbage, and she would always ask him, too. But he
would just shake his head. He didn’t know how to say no; he had no
social graces at all. I just had the feeling that he would have liked to
come in and sit at the table and talk, but the Rothstein brothers were
all men with damaged egos, and couldn’t integrate themselves into
social situations.
I was working at Douglas Aircraft at the time, and I think I helped
him with some tools, making or fixing or sharpening them for him—
I don’t remember specifically. He appreciated that. He certainly
didn’t ask for help. I just told him that I was going to do it. He had
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