The Boy on the Wooden Box (16 page)
And he always had time to answer questions and hear comments afterward. He ran over more than once, but few seemed to notice.
He was generous with his birthday. Because of cultural traditions and his rather traumatic childhood, he was not sure of his exact birth date. He had a general idea and chose September 15. The fact that his second grandson was born on that same day in 1994 confirmed to him that he’d picked the right date. My dad always made an effort to be with Tyler Jacob on their shared birthday, often flying across the country.
He was generous with his enthusiasm. He delighted in all the accomplishments of his children, grandchildren, and
his children-in-law, no matter how insignificant or ordinary they might have seemed. Whenever we spoke on the phone, one question he never failed to ask was “How is my bagel buddy?” He and his third grandson, Brian, shared a love of bagels.
He loved to hear that a grandchild had learned to sit up or had a new tooth. He loved a musical performance from my sons, even when they were just learning their instruments and, to the rest of us, were not so good. He could make you feel good about something as simple as answering a crossword puzzle clue correctly or teaching your kid to tie his shoe. He was the resident dishwasher at home and also when he came to visit my family. One of my favorite pictures captured him with his hands in a sink full of dishes, smiling like it was the most fun a person could have.
He was generous with his knowledge. He was never too busy to answer a question and explain it until it was understood—even as recently as this past December. My dad had quite a collection of less common measuring devices.
My oldest son, Nick, was very curious about a specific one. At this time, my dad was spending most of his time asleep and in his room, trying to find some relief from the almost constant and excruciating pain. Usually, a few times a day, he would feel up to visitors for a short while. One evening, all of us gathered around his bed to take advantage of one of those times, and Nick asked about this mysterious implement. With obvious enjoyment, my dad proceeded to explain the mechanics and uses of the item in a way we could all understand. It seemed to take him away from his reality for a few moments. He told us how to assemble it. He gave examples of how and when to use it. He answered questions. Nick says, “He always had time to answer my questions and seemed to know something about everything.” Now, if you ever need to know how to use a dial gauge, you know whom to ask.
My dad was generous with his time. He taught me to actually tell time and was so proud when once, I asked what time it was and then said, “Never mind, I can look for myself.”
Third grade was when we learned multiplication tables. He and I spent a lot of time around the kitchen table together, drilling and drilling. I had some mental block with seven times eight, and we went over it and over it until it finally sunk in. I relived that experience when each of my children learned their tables, and none of us forget the answer is fifty-six.
He also could linger over a hot cup of coffee and made a habit of “taking a little walk” to the nearby Starbucks. My husband shares that borderline unnatural love of Starbucks, and whenever they were in the same town, they would go together, sharing coffee and quality time.
He was especially generous with his laughter. He loved a good joke—and even a bad one. He seemed to have one ready to tell for any occasion. For example, if buttered toast (or something similar) fell with the buttered side down, he loved to say, “I must’ve buttered the wrong side.” He had a beautiful smile, an easy, generous laugh.
He once said, “The truth is, I did not live my life in the shadow of the Holocaust.” My dad’s experiences during
his youth in Europe were extraordinary, but they did not make him the person he was. Not that the experiences didn’t have a huge impact; of course they did. But the unenviable events of his young life did not define him: He defined the events. Those childhood experiences only brushed away the youthful luxury of self-centeredness to reveal the character of the man he was always destined to be.
—Stacy Leyson Wilfong
From Daniel:
When my dad died I got very possessive of him. When the rabbis eulogized him at his funeral, I thought, only half jokingly,
Wait a minute—he’s mine.
He was more than a witness to Jewish history. He was my dad. He took me fishing; to Indian Guides; and to soccer, baseball, and basketball practice. He was at all my water polo games. He was a happy guy, and we had a happy life. We laughed a lot.
So here are a few things about him that will help you know my father:
He had a great ear for music and for languages. He learned languages easily and spoke them with a perfect accent, like English (and Yiddish, Polish, Hebrew, German, Russian well enough that some Soviet soldiers during the Soviet occupation of Kraków arrested him as a Russian deserter, Hungarian well enough that Hungarian acquaintances in the DP camp thought he was Hungarian, some Czech, some Japanese, and some Spanish).
He tolerated most of my musical phases. He liked most of the bands I liked, and we would talk about the meaning of song lyrics. We always agreed that we liked songs in minor keys. I think minor keys reminded him of the old country.
He was a black belt in judo, a pretty good tennis player, and an excellent bowler, with a mean left-handed hook.
He told me the first sip of beer was the best. “If they could just bottle the first sip,” he said. Later, I thought,
They do bottle the first sip, don’t they?
He told me he didn’t know anything until he was fifty. From my perspective, he seemed to know how everything
worked and could fix anything. He also had the right advice for every situation. He pretty much taught me everything I know about anything worthwhile, like how to approach seemingly insurmountable tasks. “Just keep your head down and go to work,” he told me. Now that he’s gone, I wish I had listened more, because he had a lot of knowledge of all kinds, and it came from his unique life experiences.
He liked coffee. Black. A lot.
His favorite piece of advice to me was: “Don’t be dumb.” Good advice. I did a lot of dumb things growing up. Still do. Case in point:
A few months ago my dad came over when I was working around the house. My daughter’s closet door was rubbing on the carpet, so I decided I would trim the bottom of it with an electric saw he had just given me. I was feeling pretty good about myself as I carried the door out to the garage. “Make a notch in it,” he told me.
I thought, I know which end of the door is the top; I don’t need a notch.
Of course, I cut the wrong end of the door off, so now there is
a huge gap at the top of the door. And the cut isn’t straight either. He gave me a hard time about that until the end. But his last comment to me about it before he died was, quietly, “It’s okay. You know how many times I’ve done that?”
I suppose it’s normal for young adults to want to be different from their parents. There was a time when I was like that. But I am no longer a young adult, and as I watched him in his hospice bed, I just kept thinking to myself,
I want to be as much like him as I possibly can
. He was such a special guy, he can’t just disappear. The best I can hope for at this point is to live a life that would make him proud. I’ll try to do that.
—Daniel Leyson
Acknowledgments
Not once, not in 1994 when he spoke to an audience for the first time nor in his numerous presentations over the next eighteen years—sometimes averaging one per week—did Leon use notes. He relied on the question sessions following his speeches, the informal conversations with the many who lingered to hug or have their photos taken with him, the videos made at a number of venues, and the hundreds of letters from students to help him revise and clarify the essence of his story. He wanted to make sure the same question wasn’t repeated at another event. Over the years, a definite core of content emerged that became the foundation for this book. But there was little on paper.
Leon spoke throughout the United States and Canada. In every instance, there was immense interest in his experiences. We are grateful to each of you who attended his talks. Your
sensitivity and kindness gave Leon the courage and stamina to continue telling his story, even as his health was deteriorating.
The Fullerton community where Leon lived for over forty years was especially supportive; your positive response confirmed for him the value of his story. California Assembly-member and former Fullerton mayor Sharon Quirk-Silva recognized Leon for his contributions to the community and local schools and honored his memory at the state assembly’s Holocaust Remembrance Day in Sacramento on April 8, 2013.
Leon’s many friends helped him immeasurably as he first began to deal with the painful memories of his childhood. Many of you attended numerous presentations and invited him to speak at your community organization or place of worship. Your empathy encouraged Leon to continue, even though each time he told his story, he relived the anguish of those years of peril and grief.
Several educators in southern California invited Leon to speak at their school or university every year for nearly fifteen years. These opportunities played an essential role in the development of this book. Special thanks go to Irene Strauss of Parks
Junior High School; Bob Jensen, Doreen Villasenor, and Vince White of Fullerton College; Dr. Sy Scheinberg of California State University of Fullerton; and Dr. James Brown of Chapman University. Your confidence in Leon strengthened his.
After each presentation, the most repeated comment was that Leon should write a book. He replied, “I’m working on it,” but there was not much progress until Emily Scott, a Holocaust history minor at Chapman University, interviewed Leon and compiled her notes as her senior project. Emily’s commitment and enthusiasm touched Leon deeply.
Following a presentation at the Great Vest Side Club in Chicago, Louis Weber, publisher of
The Holocaust Chronicle
and CEO of Publications International, urged Leon to write of his experience in the Holocaust. Mr. Weber provided the names and résumés of several professional writers who might help Leon organize the content. Leon hired Sophie Sartain, with whom he worked for over a year. Sophie recorded conversations with Leon and produced an outstanding record of Leon’s history. Her skillful questioning enabled Leon to add significant details to the topics he
could only touch on in his ninety-minute presentations.
Additional thanks go to the administration of Chapman University, particularly President James L. Doti and Chancellor Daniele Struppa for championing Holocaust education as a vital component of the university’s curriculum. Jessica MyLymuk, Ashley Bloomfield, and Joyce Greenspan of the Rodgers Center for Holocaust Education at Chapman University, and research associate Jeff Koerber, gave crucial support to this project. Thanks go to the many Chapman colleagues, friends, and members of the Rodgers Center Board of Visitors for their unfailing encouragement.
Our gratitude goes to David M. Crowe, author of
Oskar Schindler: The Untold Account of His Life, Wartime Activities, and the True Story Behind “The List,”
who generously shared his knowledge with Marilyn. We want to thank Dr. Jan Osborn and Tom Zoellner of the English department at Chapman University. Dr. Osborn provided astute recommendations for an early draft of the manuscript. Tom, an accomplished author, offered expert advice and mentored Marilyn in preparing the formal proposal.
During the period when Leon’s health grew more and more fragile, Tom sent the proposal to Peter Steinberg of the Peter Steinberg Agency. Peter immediately recognized the value of the story and contacted Caitlyn Dlouhy, vice president and editorial director at Atheneum Books at Simon & Schuster Publishers, and in Peter’s words, “the best editor of young adult books in the country.” Thank you, Peter, for your enthusiasm and your expertise.
Within two days of receiving the manuscript, Atheneum made an offer to publish the book, giving us the priceless opportunity to work with Caitlyn. Peter was right. She
is
the best in the business. Caitlyn’s thoroughness, diplomacy, perceptiveness, and patience have guided us through the revision process. No one could ask for a more dedicated guide. Thank you, Caitlyn. Your belief in the value of Leon’s story is (almost) as strong as ours.
We also want to thank Dan Potash, who designed the jacket and the layout of the book. The artwork complements the context with just the right combination of reality and suggestion. Thanks also to Jeannie Ng. She excelled as
a managing editor, a job that requires intense attention to detail and a gentle handling of the writer.
Leon’s extended family in California, Virginia, Oregon, New Mexico, and Israel were valuable resources for information and for accuracy. You reached out to Leon as he struggled with the sadness of his childhood and youth, and did everything possible to make sure Leon’s “real” life was brimming with love and happiness. Thank you for showing your affection for Leon in so many ways. Special thanks go to Beaty Kaufman and Anne Ambers, and to Camille Hahn Leyson for her assistance on several drafts.
I [Lis] thank Su Grossman, my sister. Su provided comfort, guidance, enthusiasm, and sustenance to Leon and me during the years Leon and I were working on this book. Her generosity has no limits.
To Stacy and Dan and their spouses, Dave and Camille, and to Nick, Tyler, Brian, Mia, Benjamin, and Silas: Just being you was the most significant, ever present, guiding light for Leon. In each of you, his spirit lives on.
—Marilyn J. Harran and Elisabeth B. Leyson
Resources
To learn more about the Holocaust, you can visit these sites:
The Rodgers Center for Holocaust Education, Chapman University
chapman.edu/holocausteducation
United States Holocaust Memorial Museum
