Sometimes Distraction Leads to Real Finds

Partially because I tend to get distracted but mostly because I become genuinely interested, I find myself searching online for information that is irrelevant to my project but that are based on questions that arise in my grandfather's manuscripts.

Early in the book, I became obsessed with the need to know the value of an 1896 Polish gulden (now called a zloty) present U.S. currency to understand how much it would have cost my grandfather to travel from Warsaw back to Vishigrod had he had enough money. Somehow I learned that each 1896 gulden was worth fifteen cents in 1930, but got no farther than that.

I have a source I go to: Askville, which is owned/operated by Amazon.com. You ask a question, and people who are online and have some knowledge of the subject respond. Sometime the responses are fairly generic and not all that useful, ie, in response to the question above, one Askvillian replied, "I would suggest getting 2 or 3 estimates from experts who specialize in coins from this period and region." Well, I would do that if I know where to find such experts (but I know that it isn't really important to know -- just interesting).


The chapter I'm currently editing raises a few more questions. At one point, after escaping from a Siberian labor camp (belated spoiler alert), my grandfather had been wandering in the frozen Siberian wilderness without any idea of which direction to head toward the nearest civilization, which was supposed to be "only" a five day-walk from the camp. The horizon was so barren that there were no landmarks, so even when he looked for where the sun rose, he couldn't tell from which direction it came.

What confused me in particular was his comment, "...Although the sun rose only moments earlier, I had already lost track of which way was South." Didn't he mean East? Or did the sun rise from a different direction when one was close to the top of the world? (I would have researched that extensively but I couldn't figure out the right way to phrase my query to extract the correct information).

In the same chapter, he and the fellow inmate with whom he had escaped decided to determine which way was North by determining the side on which moss grew.

There's a paragraph break immediately after they arrived at this decision, which meant that no more was written about it; had they figured out which way was North in order to make sure they were heading West (toward Europe) or East (toward Asia and, oddly, Chicago). But still I wondered -- Does moss grow on the north side of trees when they are near the top of the earth, too? Because it turned out that they still didn't know in which direction to head.

For the answer to this question I went to Wikipedia to see if it could school me on botanical, astronomical and other differences that might be represented near the North pole (which would cause me to wonder if the exact opposite were true at the South Pole) when I noticed a little icon for "Wikimedia Commons," and that is really the point of this post.

The issue of what is in the Public Domain had concerned me when I wanted to use the image of a rarely seen Matisse painting known as the "Red Room" (because it's in a museum in Russia and hasn't traveled outside the country) for an article I wrote about The Hermitage in St. Petersburg, which houses possibly the largest collection of contemporary art in the world. But the status of the photo of the painting wasn't clear so I didn't use it.

However, photos maintained in an area of Wikimedia Commons are all public domain items, and there are even some photos from the Russo-Japanese War (I won't use the picture of a spy being beheaded, even though that would be relevant, though I hope to find other illustrations to make this blog less visually dense.

And How He Was Reprieved

This time there was no Captain Mikhailoff to come to my grandfather’s rescue as the Captain was in Harbin, China.

“…My…attorney… wouldn't even consider [letting me] simply tell the truth — that a human being can go only so long without sleep. Of course, he probably knew his customers and what they would believe and what they wouldn't. He seemed to feel my only possible defense was to claim that, owing to food poisoning or drinking polluted water, I now suffered from a strange sickness which, without warning, could send me into a coma.

“Frankly, I was desperate enough to try anything. But where on this green earth would I find a Russian army doctor who would favor me with such an improbable diagnosis?

"...The court, after hearing my attorney's preposterous story, surprised me. They agreed to postpone my case until I'd had a thorough medical examination…”

After being dismissed by the doctor to which a guard had brought him because the visit interrupted a dinner party, my grandfather felt despondent. But once again a higher power intervened.

When the hearing resumed, “… My attorney…[ran] quickly over to the clinic, burst in on my doctor, and dragged him away from a roomful of patients. When they returned, I was relieved to see that my convert outranked the other four [court-appointed] doctors.

“He…examined me right then and there [by] separat[ing] my lids and shin[ing] a match in front of my eyes.… His eyes stabbed into mine like a surgeon's knife. The devil only knows what he expected to find there.… I flinched as the [doctor] suddenly turned to his colleagues and shouted, ‘How can you say this man is well. Have you examined his brain?’

“Flustered, the other doctors shook their heads. I could see they were skeptical but, thank Heaven, in Fonya's*  army, you didn't argue with a superior officer.

“‘You never noticed there is a spot on his brain?’

“‘And what is the significance of that?’” demanded the presiding judge, who outranked even my doctor friend.

“‘That spot is a symptom of a kind of sleeping sickness.’” He said it so convincingly that for a moment I wondered how long I could live with such a disease. ‘A man with those symptoms may sink into a coma at any moment. He should never have been allowed to serve in the army. But now that he's here, the only place for him is the hospital.’

“…The other doctors … look[ed] into my eyes…dutifully lighting match[es], agreed with his diagnosis, and apologized to the court for having overbooked my brain.…

“The presiding officer, with a disgusted look, ordered me straight to the hospital for observation and treatment. I was not convinced that he believed a word of all this, but form had been satisfied, and probably if I could produce such influential supporters, it was best not to shoot me.”


*A diminutive for Ivan; used generically to refer to any Russian

The Second Death Sentence

The next time my grandfather was sentenced to death was much less dramatic, though no less serious.

“After weeks on the run, with virtually no food or sleep, we were worn down to the point where we'd not only ceased to resemble an army, but barely still invited comparison with human beings. This didn't mean we were left free to recuperate. Although we moved about like shadows, there were still enough officers around to see that outward appearances were maintained. One of these was guard duty.

“A call went out for all noncoms to report to the commandant. I made believe I hadn't heard. …I was ready to lie down and not get up for a month. But before I had a chance…, one of the lieutenants tracked me down. I was told to take ten soldiers and mount guard. I told him I hadn't slept all week, to let me rest at least one night.

“He was not unsympathetic, but explained there was a shortage of noncoms; I must do my duty and help fill the gap.

“It was a beautiful clear night with no more than a mild breeze. Having deployed my ten men and sternly warned them not to close an eye, I was tempted to sit down for a moment. But that, of course, was strictly forbidden, and I knew I would not remember to get up again.

"Nevertheless, my lids kept drooping. To hold them open, I pinched myself, I kicked one foot against the other, and generally struggled like a man about to drown.

“Near midnight, I was awakened roughly by a strange officer and two armed men. The officer demanded to know where my gun was. My heart stopped. I was without a rifle. There was no sign of it anywhere. We were miles from any Japanese. One of our own men must have stolen it.

“Fifteen minutes later, the new commander who, only two days earlier, had lauded my coolness under fire, told me what I didn't need to be told. The penalty for sleeping on guard was the same as that for, losing one's rifle: death. About my only comfort was they couldn't kill me twice.”

His reprieve frightening and humorous at the same time: To be continued

But I Digress

It occurred to me that one usually becomes aware of 'famous' people once they've made it but there's little observation about how the process develops from its early stages, which is why I thought it would be worth documenting even though it has nothing to do with this blog.

I'm not talking about myself here but rather about my son who, last week, was recognized on the street for the first time. Reportedly, he was walking around in San Francisco when someone called out, "Hey!" He turned, and the person asked, "Are you from San Diego?" "Yeah," my son confirmed. "Are you in Witt?" "Yeah." "Are you Jesse Kranzler?" Indeed.

(A few weeks earlier, my husband was on business in Germany and as part of making small talk, a lawyer asked him about his kids. He mentioned that one son is a sports writer (I'll have opportunity to boast about him, too) and the other is a musician. The lawyer probed further. "What type of music?" My husband replied, "I doubt you'd be familiar with it; it's called 'Math Rock.'" "I love math rock. What's the name of the band?" It was highly unlikely that a lawyer in Europe would know about a fledgling San Diego band, but my husband responded, "Witt." "Oh,my god. You're Jesse Kranzler's father?") It turns out that Math Rock is more popular in Europe than in the U.S., and Witt's first CD has sold well there. In fact, they're planning a European tour this summer.

For a number of years I was known around Jesse's Middle School and High School as 'Jesse's Mom,' which was delightful, but I found it interesting that at his high school graduation, parents of fellow students and teachers, alike, wanted to have their pictures taken with him so that they could, some day, say that they knew Jesse 'back when.' All of this embarrassed Jesse, who is by nature shy, to no end but he graciously accommodated these requests and then made a hasty retreat from the scene. While we'd watched (when we permitted to observe) him develop into a musician (the fact that he also composed many of the band, Witt's, music had completely eluded us) and become the band's manager, we hadn't thought about him potentially becoming 'famous.' He was clear in his intention to focus on the music Business, specifically to become the Artistic Director for a band, like a Producer, though he began performing increasingly often, both with Witt and with other bands both in San Diego and New York. He has also recorded with quite a few bands (I have no idea which ones but apparently he's on about 30 different recordings at the moment) and seems to spend almost every night during the school year in a recording studio.

His music has been played on various radio stations, though we'd always learned of this after the fact, but last night he sent a text message, "Turn on 94.9." We rushed out to the car and went to the channel,and while the music sounded familiar, there were lyrics, which isn't consistent with his band's style of play, "Math Rock." (It turned out that the guy who'd recorded it for them applied or superimposed or whatever-the-appropriate-verb-is, some other band's lyrics over a portion of their music, which happened to work.) When the music continued sans lyrics we knew it was definitely Witt's. Jesse was surprised only that the station played the entire 6-minute song.

Between getting radio play; being named one of the top eight math rock bands in Europe; being named in a Wikipedia entry about 'math rock'; beginning to sell out their shows; and being recognized abroad and on the street, he seems to be on his way (albeit reluctantly) to what other people might call 'fame.' My husband and I are grateful that he remains focused on his school work -- he's a freshman in NYU's Clive Davis Department of Recorded Music within Tisch School of the Arts (Lady Gaga is a dropout from this program), and is so serious about his music that he's not likely (we pray) to get involved with the stereotypical problems that afflict musician, such as drugs and other reckless behaviors. We think that Jesse has enough sense of himself that he doesn't have a need to 'fit in' by doing something stupid, and so far all of the friends and acquaintances that we've met who are also musicians seem similarly focused.

I guess this is how it all starts.

Thanks for indulging me in bragging about my son. (Go to their website to hear their music and see scheduled shows)