He worked for a dress manufacturer, and one summer evening he announced that the boss was giving him a chance to become a dress designer, something he had long hoped for. Night after night he drew until midnight or later. When at last the sketches were finished, he took them off to work. Nothing more was said about them. Finally I asked him, "Pop, what happened to the drawings?"
"Oh," he said, "they weren't any good."Seeing my dismay, he said, "David, a man can't do everything in this world, but he can do one job well. I found out I'm not a good designer, but I am a good tailor." He never pretended to be something he wasn't. Free from pride or unreasonable ambition, he was able to enjoy each day as it came.
The core of Pop's happiness was showing off his wife, with a shy sort of worship. He thought no one in the world could match her. He once said of her, "Where she walks there is light."There were serious days, of course — as when Pop became a US citizen. He burst into the house. "Everyone! Come here."
We all came running to find him holding a large and very official-looking certificate. "What does it say, Pop?" I cried."It says that Jacob Horowitz is a citizen of the USA!" We all thought it was wonderful. Thereafter he voted in every election, putting on his best suit for the occasion.
Pop enjoyed all men, but he reserved his friendship for a few — especially five old friends who had come to America together with him at the time of World War I. Once a month they gathered in our kitchen for an evening of talk. All these men had achieved business success. Yet in many matters it was to Jacob Horowitz they turned for advice, knowing that he saw life clearly and his opinions could not be twisted by envy.They came to our rather poor neighborhood in big automobiles, wearing expensive suits, and smoking 25-cent cigars. I once asked my mother, "Why do they come here instead of meeting in their own big houses?"
She said, "I think maybe they left the best part of themselves here. They need to come back to it every now and then."When I was 13 my mother died. Through my own sorrow I was aware of the great loss this was to Pop. But he made only one reference to his own misery. He said, "To be happy every day is to be not happy at all." He was saying to his sons that happiness is not a state you achieve and keep, but something that must be won over and over, no matter what the defeats and losses.
His patience with me when I was a teenager was infinite. Every time Pop's friends gathered in our kitchen they would ask, "Has David got a job yet?" Pop said, "Not yet. My son is searching for something he can devote his life to. I can't tell him what it is. He'll never be happy unless he finds it for himself. It may take him longer than others, but he'll find it. I do not worry about him."Later that year I got a job as an entertainer in small clubs, and suddenly I knew this was the career I had been searching for. The world of the theater was far removed from the world of my father, yet I found myself returning to him time and again, for the same reason his friends did.
When I was 20 I got what every actor dreams of — a permanent job! At that time, at the depth of the Depression, actors were out of work by the hundreds, yet I wanted to quit that job because I needed new experiences and challenges.Pop heard me out, then said, "There are some people who always have to test themselves, to stretch their wings and try new winds. If you think you can find more happiness and usefulness this way, then you should do it." This advice came from a man who never left a secure job in his life, who had the European tradition of family responsibility, but who knew I was different. He understood what I needed to do and he helped me do it.
For the next few years I worked in clubs, and then I got my big break, appearing in a major movie. After that I went to Hollywood, and from then on Pop lived with me and my family there. We had a big party one evening. That night I thought Pop might enjoy hearing some of the old folk songs we used to sing at home. When I began to sing, the music and the memories were too much for him to resist, and he came over to join me. I faded away, and he was in the middle of the room singing alone — in a clear, true voice. He sang for 15 minutes before some of the world's highest-paid stars. When he finished there was overwhelming applause.This simple, kindly old man singing of our European roots had touched something deep in these sophisticated people. I remembered what my mother had said about Pop's rich friends: "I think maybe they left the best part of themselves here. They need to come back to it every now and then.''
I knew the applause that night was not just for a performance; it was for a man.(Words: 1,010)
