God, whose law it is that he who learns must suffer. And even in our sleep pain that cannot forget, falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God.

1. -Aeschylus
   

2. -
   

1942 - 1945

New York City, a Base of Operations

Vacations, of course, were spent at home, which was now the Big Apple. We boys had no friends in the City, so that our social life was limited to Mother’s friends when they came to visit, and to family affairs. When at home, I would take long hikes along the shoreline of the Hudson River in Riverside Park, counting the number of condoms floating by, or I’d walk for hours in the City, fascinated by the passing parade and the panoply of goodies in shop windows. And then it was time to go back to school.

Summer Vacations

There is a YMCA conference center situated on the western shore of beautiful Lake George in upper New York State. The family took a cottage on the grounds of Silver Bay, as it was called, to escape the heat and humidity of New York City. There were all kinds of wonderful activities to keep us amused: swimming, canoeing, sailing, concerts, square dancing, to say nothing of just hanging out with the family and friends. During the second summer there I was employed at the conference center-cum-hotel in their kitchen at the munificent salary of 30 cents per day plus tips. But that included all meals, lodging and our own ‘Emps’ boat/swimming dock/recreation center. The work was not onerous, so that we had plenty of time for play and making new friends. I developed an especially close relationship with Fred Greene, who later became Professor of Organic Chemistry at MIT. We were almost inseparable during that halcyon summer.

The following summer our family anticipated more guests and needed a bigger house. Mother found a truly lovely estate across the lake from Silver Bay, on the eastern shore, called Bluff Head. The house stood in splendid isolation, with a huge porch overlooking the rocks and water below. The pen-and-ink drawing here was done by cousin Janet Sewall. One day, Fred Greene, his sister and one or two others of us decided to climb Black Mountain a couple of miles to the south of Bluff Head. They came the three miles across the lake from Silver Bay in two canoes, picked me up, and we paddled to the foot of the mountain where there was a path. We spent the day hiking to the summit - a tough climb - and picnicking there until it was time to take the long haul back. On the way down we lost the trail, but we knew we would easily find the lake by just heading down hill. Once on the shore, we had to scramble over wet rocks for what seemed like miles to finally reach the canoes. During this time it started to rain; it was well after dark; I was dog-tired and soaking wet when we arrived at Bluff Head. The family had invited guests that evening. My father’s only reaction was to show his displeasure at my lateness and my not being properly dressed for dinner. No mention was made of our adventures and conquest of Black Mountain. I decided that if I ever had children, I’d try to be more understanding.

Mother was on a nation-wide speaking tour; so my sister Edith who was living with her husband Albert Troychak on West 122nd street in New York City, was kind enough to take me in during the summer and fall of 1944. ‘Troy’ was away much of the time as a pilot for the Navy. This turned out to be a difficult sojourn for me. I loved Edith dearly and she loved me, but I could never live up to her standards, and was under incessant criticism for almost everything I did. It was the same for Troy, poor fellow, and this may have had something to do with Edith’s ultimately having had three husbands. Troy was just the first!

They had two children, Steven who was just a baby, and Tanya who was two. Her nicknames were Tanyasha, Tatsiana, or usually just Tatsy. I adored Tatsy and took her on walks and bus rides whenever I had time. She had so much personality and joie de vivre that she always brightened our lives.

Horace Mann School for Boys was in Riverdale just a short walk from the northern terminus of the IRT subway line (now the No. 1 train), and a long ride from Edith’s apartment. What a difference from Northwood! Teachers and students were urbanites, and during class breaks it was like changing trains in the subway rush hour. In the classroom, however, things were quiet, civil, serious and productive. I took chemistry, physics, English, history, choral music, a couple of other electives and football (big mistake!). The teachers were competent, vivacious and interesting. I developed a special relationship with Dr. Harry Williams, the chemistry teacher who soon saw that I knew enough chemistry that he excused me from taking the first semester course. The school had an excellent teaching laboratory and amazingly, he gave me free rein to undertake research after hours. I had developed an interest in the rare earth elements, also called the Lanthanides, and wanted to extract the pure compounds from monazite ore and explore their chemistry. It turned out that the chemistry was a bit beyond our capabilities, but I learned a lot from reading, nevertheless. At one point Dr. Williams actually asked me to give the lecture about the Lanthanides to his chemistry class. He also took me to his lab at Teachers College at Columbia University where he was doing some independent research. It was all very fulfilling and exciting.

Horace Mann had a ski club, and during the winter there was enough snow locally to go skiing in Van Cortland Park, which was adjacent to the school. I was the big expert because of my experience at Northwood, so that I made some very good acquaintances, one, George Eisenman, became a life-long friend. George was an excellent student, graduating third in our class, and also interested in science, so that we had lots in common. He went on to Harvard, and I, to Dartmouth. We visited each other several times during our college days. George continued at Harvard Medical School to earn a research M.D. degree, and thence to the newly established Pennsylvania Psychiatric Research Institute in Philadelphia. There he was engaged in the physical chemistry of glass membranes, which served as models for selective ion transport through biological cell membranes. So it was in Philly that the Forza del Destino brought us back together! And we are still friends to this day.

Life in the South

As the summer of 1943 approached I told my mother that I’d like a job in a chemical laboratory. She wrote to a friend who was the CEO of International Minerals & Chemicals Corporation, who in due course found me a lab tech job in their chemical fertilizer plant in East Point, Georgia – a suburb of Atlanta. So I took a Greyhound bus from New York City to Atlanta, crossing the Mason-Dixon line somewhere along the way. I had never been to the American South before, and it came as a real shock when the bus made a routine stop to find segregated rest rooms and drinking fountains. I can still clearly remember the ‘gut punch’ reaction that I had.

My Georgian hosts had arranged accommodations in a rooming house with a nice family, the father of which I came to know, and with whom I, a damnyankee, differed in certain discussions we would have. For example he thought that negroes could probably be civilized in another few generations. The U.S. was at war with Japan at the time, and he said that if he could push a button to annihilate all Japanese, he would do it. I protested that their gardens and art and cuisine were some of the best in the world, and that my family knew a number of fine Japanese people and had dined with them; he dismissed that as essentially irrelevant. They – the ‘gooks’ - were all evil.

Incidentally, at another time I had started to hitchhike south from New York down the coast to Florida. I had of course heard of ‘southern hospitality’ and so expected that it would be easier to catch rides the further I went. But that turned out to be a big mistake. By the time I got to South Carolina no one would pick me up, so that I finally had to take the bus. This was in stark contrast to my experience in hitching rides going north from New York to New Hampshire, where I often made better time than I would have on the train.

My new summer job entailed the chemical analysis of synthetic fertilizers. My boss and mentor was a kindly fellow who taught me all the procedures. Once they were learned – in just a few days – it was a rather dull routine thereafter. Among the several analyses was the Kjeldahl method for nitrogen that involved hot, boiling, smoking, concentrated sulfuric acid in glass flasks. Nevertheless it was routine, with strict safety precautions taken at every step.

Individuals of the technical staff would alternate bringing in watermelons, which they tossed into a wooden barrel filled with ice water just outside the laboratory door. At the end of a hot workday, we’d sit around eating watermelon, which was the best tasting of any I’ve ever had – fresh off their garden vines! Georgia is known for its peaches, but watermelon is their big secret.

Soon, during these summer months, I was getting cards and letters from my family, especially my brother Kemp, who were vacationing at our summer home on Lake George. Kemp was telling me how much fun they were all having swimming, canoeing, and sunning themselves, while I was sweating away in a smelly lab with no air conditioning. I finally gave in, and quit the job, and took the bus home. Interestingly, at one point as the bus picked up people, all working blacks standing at certain places along the highway, I got a tap on the shoulder from a black woman behind me: “Excuse me, sir, but this is now the black section. Would you please move forward?” This was a pre-Rosa Parks phenomenon that I had never imagined.

I greatly valued that opportunity to see some of our South. I was clueless going there, but learned a lot. I had a hard time realizing that in some ways they were still licking the wounds of the Civil War. Their former genteel way of life some three generations earlier had been blown away – gone with the wind – by the armies of the North, and the legislation that followed. They had to drink the bitter cup of acceptance. I was always treated with kindness and hospitality, but I was yet lumped in with all the other Damn Yankees.

Looking Forward to College

During the year our classmates at Horace Mann were all applying to Colleges. I sent in applications to just two: Wooster College and Dartmouth, the former, because so many of my family had attended, and the latter, because of its academic standing and the skiing. One hot summer evening in Edith’s apartment I was dressed only in a pair of undershorts to keep cool, when there came a knock at the door. I opened the door, and there stood three officers of Wooster College in coats and ties, including the President, who happened to be a friend of Edith’s. They were in the area and had come to see me! I was so embarrassed for my lack of attire, but they were cool and seemed to understand. They mainly wanted to encourage me to attend Wooster, stating that I had been accepted. It was a strange experience. In due course a group of Dartmouth alumni interviewed me at the Dartmouth Club downtown, along with a dozen others of my class. To my utter amazement I was the only one accepted from Horace Mann. It must have been more because of my oriental background than my academic achievements. At any rate, I basked in the glow of genuine jealousy among my classmates!

In the Spring of 1945 we all graduated. Mother came to the ceremony. We were both surprised and pleased to learn that I had earned a Horace Mann medal for excellence in Science, which meant that I had to have done well in both chemistry and physics.

There was a war on, and Dartmouth, like many colleges, had an accelerated program that essentially did away with summer vacations, so that we young men could qualify for cannon fodder in three years instead of the usual four. So I went directly to Hanover, NH to matriculate, hardly catching a breath to relax.

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