In the Jewish Section of Mt. Pleasant Cemetery: 5, Irene Silverman

Irene (Goldberg) Silverman, “Nanny,” Labor Day 1909–May 2002

 

Irene (Goldberg) Silverman

Irene Goldberg was born in Rochester, NY, on September 4, 1909. Her parents Morris and Leah Goldberg were immigrants to the US. Her son Sam Silverman recalls, “Mom grew up in the Bronx, with seven siblings, and they all worked, no college and not much money.” Irene dropped out of sixth grade and went right to work. Always comfortable in a group of people, she shared exuberance and love of a funny story. When Bob (born Reuven) Silverman noticed her, he actively pursued her. A carpenter and also the child of immigrant parents, he was considered a “good catch” and a “good provider,” essential in the harsh economic times of the cascading depressions. Although she claimed she married Bob for the security he’d provide, they clearly were deeply attached to each other. A person who “could never sit still,” Irene devoted herself to homemaking and her three children.

Sam and his mother Irene

 

When Irene’s son Sam was 12 years old, his mother began to work outside the home, at “The Sweater Joint.” Sam says, “She was profoundly popular.” His father drove Irene to work each day and collected her at the end of her work day, and then the two of them would cook dinner together. Sam enjoyed being his mother’s helper, and observing the contrast between his parents: His mother shone in family get-togethers, keeping the laughter and the conversation going, while his father was quiet and work-focused, as well as bright and self-taught. As a youth, Bob had been valedictorian of his high school and was offered a full scholarship to college, but opted instead to join his own father’s business, building skills and finally establishing his own carpentry business.

Irene loved gatherings ... (center, Alice with drum)

 

In the 1970s, Bob’s heart disease inspired the couple to move to Hallandale, Florida. Here too, Irene worked, all the way to age 88. Sadly, Bob died 23 years before Irene, so she spent her golden years without him. Sam and his wife Alice welcomed Irene’s visits to their home in Amherst, Massachusetts, then to their home in St. Johnsbury, Vermont. When visiting here, Irene took part with her usual enthusiasm in social events; Sam especially remembers when she took part in a 50th anniversary celebration for local synagogue leaders Rosalie and Ben Harris, held at Lyndon State College. “She joined right in, and danced with her walker!”

 

Sam went to Florida in 2001 when Irene had a mini stroke and seemed saddened and alone, and he brought her back to Vermont. When this visit turned out to be shorter than first envisioned, Sam took her to Florida again, where she almost immediately experienced a mini stroke. Concerned for his mother’s health, Sam arranged for the two of them to go right back to Vermont, where Irene spent the last nine months of her life.

 

Irene’s last big celebration was a bnei mitvah for one of Nancy Frank and Jay Abramson’s children, and Sam noticed that she seemed slow. The next morning he woke with a sense of something wrong, and found that his mother had collapsed. Emergency transport took them to the local hospital, where Sam held Irene’s hand for two hours until she passed.

 

“She was a favorite of my friends,” Sam recalls now. “She was very active her whole life, and she always fit right in.”

 

Her burial stone in the Jewish section of Mt. Pleasant Cemetery includes her grandmothering name of “Nanny,” a reminder of how much she enjoyed Sam and Alice’s sons. Sam was able to visit the site almost daily for ten years, before he and Alice moved to Montpelier, and he felt the connection to his mother continue through those years, along with reflections on what an active and joyful person she had been. “She survived on her winning personality,” Sam noted. Irene gave this joy of life as an enduring memory to her family.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[To read more local Jewish personal stories and history, browse the whole blog: https://jewsinvermont.blogspot.com]

In the Jewish Section of Mt. Pleasant Cemetery: 4, Burton Zahler

There are only a few stones so far in the Jewish section of Mt. Pleasant Cemetery in St. Johnsbury, Vermont. It meant a lot to me to be able to choose this for my husband Dave Kanell's burial location. It seemed to me important to know more and share something about the others there. The following narrative was written with Burt Zahler's wife Sachiko Yoshida. Here is a photo of Burt with Sachiko, courtesy of the Vermont Arts Council.

Burton Ross Zahler, 1931–2016

 

Burt Zahler’s stone in the Jewish section of Mt. Pleasant Cemetery in St. Johnsbury, Vermont, includes the name of his wife Sachiko Yoshida, who lives in St. Johnsbury. She kindly allowed me to ask her about her husband and her decision to have his burial location be in this lovely place.

 

Ms. Yoshida grew up in a small city in northwestern Japan, and worked as an art teacher there in junior high school and special education. In 1994 she served as a volunteer in the Japanese Peace Corps, called the Japanese Overseas Cooperation Volunteers (青年海外協力隊, seinen kaigai kyōryokutai), or JOCV. In her thirties at the time, working with the team in Honduras, she was impressed by meeting psychotherapist Burt Zahler, then 62 years old and survivor of two wives, who had tragically died in their youth. Not only was he joyful and giving, but he had the energy and commitment to once again fall in love. Two years later the pair married and settled in Japan, where Ms. Yoshida had a sister.

 

However, Burt missed his children and America, and Ms. Yoshida agreed to move to the United States with him, to Vermont, where he had lived with his second wife. Here are some of the details of Burt’s earlier life:

 

Burt was born on December 12, 1931, the younger of two sons of the late Irving and Clara Zahler in New York City. Shortly after his birth, the family moved to the Lower East Side (Avenue A and 4th Street) where he learned about the hard scrabble life of the streets. Due to Irving's ill health, they moved to St. Petersburg, Florida, where, during high school, he became involved in trying to integrate the football team, earning him (and his friends) praise from Eleanor Roosevelt. At the University of Chicago, where he studied linguistics, he met Suzanne Dana Troy. After college, Burt and Suzanne married and moved to Houston, TX where their two children, Erika Robin and Adam Troy, were born. In 1959, Burt was accepted at Boston University for graduate studies in psychology and the family moved to Brookline, MA. Tragically, soon after arriving, Suzanne passed away, leaving Burt a single parent. Two years later, he met and married Michal Frank, another grad student. During his graduate school years Burt worked on a study of the psychotherapeutic uses of psychotropic drugs, including LSD. The study was led by Richard Alpert (known later in the 60's as Baba Ram Das) and Timothy Leary, who gained fame for his LSD advocacy. In 1963, the family moved to Vergennes, Vermont, where Burt took a position at the Weeks School, the state reform facility for juvenile offenders. There, Gideon Jacob, Burt and Michal's first child was born.

Burt conceived of an intensive therapeutic treatment center for young offenders aged 16-20. In 1966, Burt's second daughter, Rachel, was born and Lakeside Center was established in Burlington, Vermont. In 1968, Burt's youngest, Reuben Chaim, was born and one year later the family settled in Charlotte, Vermont. In 1970, Burt and Michal set up a private practice as the first non-psychiatric psychotherapists in private practice in the state. They established a clinic, The Center for Change, in South Burlington. Sadly, in 1981, Michal, too, passed away. Thirteen years later with his children grown and on their own, he sold most of his possessions and moved to Honduras where he met Sachiko Yoshida.

 

Burt opened a psychotherapy practice on Eastern Avenue in St. Johnsbury, and his wife reports that he also “had a lifelong passion for playing poker, playing at casinos and in tournaments until very recently, and in reading books of all kinds.” He did not affiliate with the local synagogue.

 

Although he had been raised in a culturally Jewish home, Burt was not at all religious. However, he told his wife he’d like his burial place to be the Jewish section of the cemetery in St. Johnsbury. His death took place on October 5, 2016, and Ms. Yoshida worked with Nelson Baker of Beth El Synagogue to set up the burial, along with a graveside farewell.

 

Ms. Yoshida treasures her Japanese culture and heritage, and is an artist working in both paint and sculpture. She honors her own Buddhist religion through meditation in her thoughtfully tended gardens. The burial stone also reserves a place for her with her husband, in the Green Mountains that she has adopted as her home.

 

 [To read more local Jewish personal stories and history, browse the whole blog: https://jewsinvermont.blogspot.com]

In the Jewish Section of Mt. Pleasant Cemetery: 3, Bill Hovey

William Lee Hovey (1932-2008): A Reflection

 

by Beth Kanell

 

Each of the five stones in the Jewish section of Mt. Pleasant Cemetery has an intriguing story behind it. But the one for William L. (Lee) Hovey may have left us with the most questions—or at least, it’s left me wondering.

 

I met Bill Hovey in the last years of his life. I began attending services at Beth El Synagogue with my (future) husband Dave in 2002. Bill used to come for Rosh Hashanah, when seating in the synagogue would overflow all the way into the hallway. It was a season of return, and we treasured it.

 

But I didn’t know what to think about Bill. Mostly I was scared of his appearance: His face and ears were heavily pierced with what looked like stainless steel studs, and his shaven head was heavily tattooed in dark navy blue or black in swirls that reminded me of Polynesian tattoos, especially because they were inked onto his face as well. His expression was solemn, and his clothing formal, like many of the other men attending services. I took my cue from Dave, who greeted Bill with some warmth and much respect, but I wondered what I was supposed to understand from his fierce appearance.

 

I never had the chutzpah to ask, and Dave preferred not to inquire, although he’d known Bill for years. Clearly Bill was intentionally present as a Jew. But what else was in his story?

 

The next time I learned a bit more about Bill was in autumn 2008, when he knew he was dying of COPD, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. He called Dave—many people in Congregation Beth El phoned Dave when they needed something “Jewish”—and said that the Dartmouth Medical Center doctors had told him he had very little time left. “I want you to come get my books,” he said.

 

So Dave and I, by then married, drove to Bill’s home in the Colonial Apartments in St. Johnsbury a few days later. It was good that we arrived pretty early in the day, because the walls of the apartment were lined with bookshelves to the ceiling, jammed full, and Bill wanted us to take them all. Using “banana boxes” that we’d brought in our van, we began to take the books off the shelves and pack them. They ranged from very beautiful leather-bound volumes to ordinary paperback versions of Jewish fiction. And they were all filmed with ash from Bill’s years of cigarette smoking; his habit was so ingrained that even as we packed, and he sucked at a tank of supplemental oxygen, he still kept smoking.

 

We made multiple trips that day, filling the van several times. The boxed books occupied a large part of our garage by the time we finished. To my sorrow, Bill insisted that we also take with us two tallit and several kippot. He kept one for his final days. Even without the books, the apartment spoke of Jewish culture and history, with beautiful art and artifacts. Bill said he had plenty of support to help him manage, and we left him on his own there. We were sad, but determined to do our best to find good homes for the wonderful library he’d donated.

 

I don’t know when Bill became a Jew. I only know a few details about his life, the public details: His parents lived in Waterford, Vermont, when he was born. His father Leland Clovis Hovey was a Waterford-born surveyor, and his mother Dorothy T. (Russ) Hovey, born in Groveton NH, had worked at an art school. Leland was a descendant of Abiel Richardson, one of Waterford's significant early settlers.

 

Bill was probably born at the St. Johnsbury hospital, on September 13, 1932. In April 1955, when he was not yet 23 years old, he enlisted in the Navy and served a 3-year term there. He then served another 13 years in the Navy, although I can’t find any record of what he did  there. After that, he worked at the Library of Congress for a career as a linguistics specialist, with a master’s degree, and lived in and near Washington, DC. At his retirement from the Library of Congress, his position was “Romance language translator and cataloguer.” Clearly, he was a highly educated man.

 

Bill never married, and I have wondered whether in part his tattoos represented a declaration of who and how he had loved in his life. Even though the overall effect of the tattoos and piercings frightened me, he didn’t seem like an angry person, and on the few occasions when I saw him in downtown St. Johnsbury he was courteous, although he said little.

 

The local paper, the Caledonian-Record, said that Bill was survived by “a few cousins” and that the family observed a brief committal service at the Mt. Pleasant Cemetery. Dave and I weren’t aware of it at the time, so I doubt that there was any Jewish leadership present. On the other hand, the Washington Post also noted Bill’s passing, saying the service was “attended by many relatives from Hawaii, Vermont, New Hampshire, and Rhode Island.” That makes me think he may have been better known and understood by people from his long-time home area of Washington, DC.

 

Perhaps you know a little more about Bill or can share a photo of him. I’d like to know there are others thinking of him. Whatever the mysteries were in his life, it’s certain that he concluded with deeply Jewish connections, and his burial in the Jewish section of Mt. Pleasant Cemetery reflects that aspect of his life. The stone is a military one, provided in his honor by the US government.

[To read more local Jewish personal stories and history, browse the whole blog: https://jewsinvermont.blogspot.com]

In the Jewish Section of Mt. Pleasant Cemetery: 2, Marc Schein

Craig (left) and Marc Schein, brothers.

There are only a few stones so far in the Jewish section of Mt. Pleasant Cemetery in St. Johnsbury, Vermont. It meant a lot to me to be able to choose this for my husband Dave Kanell's burial location. It seemed to me important to know more and share something about the others there. The following narrative was written with Marc Schein's brother Craig, who provided this photo.

Marc David Schein, 1958-2017

 

Marc Schein was born in Brooklyn, New York, on August 13, 1958, and grew up on Long Island. His parents David Schein and Geraldine Lou Braunstein Schein had also grown up in New York. He attended Hauppage High School and was very athletic, enjoying in what was then a rural area many opportunities for riding motorcycles and dirt bikes. His brother Craig recalled, “He would be doing jumps and spins, he just loved that!” In 1975, while Marc and Craig were teens, the family (which also had a daughter) moved to Florida.

 

A cheerful “jack of all trades,” Marc found a niche in the time-share real estate market. Although he was not religious, he carried his Jewish cultural heritage and thoroughly enjoyed bagels and lox.

 

Marc never visited Vermont, but his brother Craig, a doctor who lives in Peacham, Vermont, visited Marc once a year. On March 2, 2017, Craig took Marc out to lunch. Tragically, the next day, Marc suffered a fatal heart attack.

 

Faced with an immediate decision to make, Craig chose the Jewish segment of Mt. Pleasant Cemetery for his brother’s burial. It is a meaningful location for the Schein family here, active members of Congregation Beth El for many years, with three daughters called to the Torah at the local shul.

 

[To read more local Jewish personal stories and history, browse the whole blog: https://jewsinvermont.blogspot.com]

In the Jewish Section of Mt. Pleasant Cemetery: 1, Betsy Shulman

There are only a few stones so far in the Jewish section of Mt. Pleasant Cemetery in St. Johnsbury, Vermont. It meant a lot to me to be able to choose this for my husband Dave Kanell's burial location. It seemed to me important to know more and share something about the others there. The following narrative was written with Betsy Shulman's daughter Naomi, who provided this photo.

Betsy Shulman, 1934-2015

 

Elizabeth “Betsy” Emmet Leroy von Stackelberg was born in Munich, Germany, in 1934. Her parents were Curt Ernst Ferdinand Friedrich von Stackelberg (whose family came from the Baltic region) and Ellen Biddle, an American born and raised in New York City. Ellen and Curt divorced in 1941, and Ellen brought Betsy and her three brothers to the United States in 1946. 

 

Betsy attended Barnard College and married David Rothenberg, then Gail Chandler, with those marriages ending in divorce. Meanwhile, her mother Ellen had moved to Albany, Vermont, in 1960. As a young mother with twins to raise (Christopher and Julie Chandler), Betsy also moved to Vermont in the 1960s. 

 

Here Betsy met and married Alvin Shulman of Lyndonville. The two were both musicians: Alvin played violin and taught music at Lyndon State College, and Betsy played and taught piano, along with elementary school music. The couple’s two children, Naomi Shulman and Matthew Shulman, grew up in a strongly Jewish home. Betsy embraced Judaism actively at Beth El Synagogue, with her children. In 1980, Betsy added a formal conversion to her Jewish life, with her two young children accompanying her in the mikveh in Burlington. 

 

Betsy contributed greatly to the thriving community life of Congregation Beth El. When she joined, the group still held services in an upstairs room in downtown St. Johnsbury, over a department store, and then transitioned briefly to space at the local Catholic school. Her daughter Naomi recalls the exciting move of the congregation to its own structure on Hospital Drive, a building that Betsy's family helped bring to reality. In photos at the synagogue, several of them hold spades for the groundbreaking. Betsy also provided artwork made with liquid embroidery for the synagogue; the piece hung for decades at the top of the stairs in the shul.

 

Betsy and Alvin divorced in the mid 1980s. Years later, Betsy moved to western Massachusetts. She regularly attended services at Congregation B'nai Israel in Northampton and enjoyed her role as grandmother. When she died on November 9, 2015, her children agreed that the Northeast Kingdom would be the best location for burial, where her extended family still living in Vermont could visit the marker stone, and the Jewish community where she contributed so much could continue to enfold her.

[To read more local Jewish personal stories and history, browse the whole blog: https://jewsinvermont.blogspot.com]

The Generous Life of June Solnit Sale

Aaron Solnit, MD, in his role at the Ammonoosuc Community Health Center

Aaron Solnit, a member and leader of Congregation Beth El in St. Johnsbury, Vermont, shared this reminiscence from his aunt June (née Solnit) Sale:

The present crisis [Covid-19 pandemic] and the need for medical personnel reminds me of another crisis that occurred in the 1940s. 

 

It was a time of another kind of war and many doctors and nurses were inducted into the medical corps of the army, navy and air corps, leaving hospitals in the U.S. without adequate, needed personnel. The Red Cross was given the challenge of recruiting and training citizens to provide help and back-up where it is was appropriate.

 

At that time, after the 4th election of FDR (in which I was heavily involved ) I decided to volunteer. Sam was still stationed at Minter Field, near Bakersfield, and although the sight of blood was something I tried to avoid, I decided that volunteering to be a Red Cross Nurse's Aide. It was a duty I could not turn down.

 

I was accepted for the training, along with nine other women, which was held at Kern County General Hospital. Our Trainer was a large, articulate nurse from Texas, who was clear with her instructions and her prejudices. I found myself uncomfortable with much of what she said, but happy to learn the do's and don'ts of providing much-needed services: how to bath a patient; how to assist the doctor; how to help with bed-pans, etc.

 

My moment of decision came when she told us that we didn't have to worry about bathing, or attending to patients of color (she did not use those terms). I spoke up saying things like “Doesn't every person deserve to be treated with dignity?” "What is this war being fought for?" etc. She would nod her head, roll her eyes, smile at me, as if I was some sort of nut, and continue her lecture. I talked to the recruiter about the Trainer's racism and got a smile and pat on the back.

 

I decided that I would proceed with the class and when I was finally given a schedule for work, I would ignore her racially repugnant directions. For a few months, that worked out: I treated all patients the same. Then our instructor came to review our work and she noted that I seemed to be more diligent with people of color than others. My reward was that she placed me on the prison ward where the injuries and illness were so difficult for me to face that I became ill.

 

Sam wanted me to quit. He was so kind and understanding, but me frequently throwing up ....well, you know...it wasn't pleasant. 

 

After a week or two, I was back to what was normal, and I decided to give semi-nursing another try. 

 

I talked to my recruiter and asked if I couldn't be placed at Mercy Hospital. She was not thrilled with the request, but since Mercy did need a few volunteers, she made arrangements for me to meet the nuns who were in charge of that part of the hospital. Our meeting was a wonderful relief for me. The nun in charge was sweet and kind...she welcomed me with open arms (we did not have to keep our distance then).

 

I stayed at Mercy until Sam went overseas (to Honolulu). When I came back to Los Angeles, I again volunteered and was placed at LA County Hospital in Boyle Heights. Unfortunately, I was placed in the Burn Ward......another time I would get home in time to throw up.

 

Finally (you are getting to the end of this confession), I asked if I could be placed at Children's Hospital since they were asking for volunteers. Ode to joy. I had found my place in the "war effort". I loved my work. I loved those sweet children. I loved the people I worked with. However, despite a happy ending of my "contribution" to the war effort, I now will do just about anything to stay away from hospitals...especially if they involve my health and welfare.

June was married to Sam Sale (the couple is pictured above, from some time in the 1990s), and they lived in Los Angeles. Here is Sam's obituary:

Samuel Sale II

March 23, 1921 - April 25, 2014 

 

Sam was born in St. Louis in 1921 and was the pride and joy of Julia and Frank Sale. He was the grandson of Samuel Sale, the first reform rabbi in St. Louis. He lived in many different places: Chicago, McAllen (Texas), Boston and Los Angeles, and in each of those places he made lasting friends. Sam went to Soldan High School in St. Louis and then to Wooster Academy for two years (because he graduated from high school at 15). After that it was on to his beloved UCLA, where he majored in business administration and became the sports editor of The Daily Bruin. It was there he met June and went on to become her constant support and lover until he died. In the forties, Sam volunteered for the Army Air Corps and was sent to Bakersfield's Minter Field where he became a navigation instructor. He then volunteered to go overseas and was sent to Honolulu to conduct classes for Air Force personnel on "Why We Fight". He returned to Los Angeles where he became the campaign manager for Gordon Williams for state assembly. After a disappointing loss, Sam joined his father-in-law, Ben Solnit, in the wholesale shoe business. They truly loved, admired and respected each other and Ben's death was a big blow to Sam. After many successful years in the shoe business, at 65 Sam decided that was not what he wanted to do with the rest of this life, so he concentrated on volunteering, sailing, handball, racketball at the "Y" and senior classes. He especially enjoyed going to the Pasadena Senior Center with his college classmate and dear friend, Lester Buhai. There, again, he made new and lasting friendships. Sam was a mensch who would get to know the stories of everyone he met. He was outgoing and full of fun, yet serious and concerned about those who were unable to fully participate in this rich world. He worried about the future for his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Climate change, discrimination and the many wars in which we have been engulfed were a constant worry. He has left a rich legacy for the world: June, his loving wife of more than 70 years, Laurie Sale and Norman Josephs, Nancy Sale and Bleu, and Josh Sale and Peggy Curran, Jorge Flores and Jill Teitelbaum, Aaron Flores and Jordanna Flores and great grand-children Luca, Maddox, Shira and Reuben Flores. He is also survived by his sister, Betsy Singer. The family wants to especially thank Jeffrey Medina, who has been his other son and caregiver for over three years, as well as Edgar Toletino and Alex Gueverra, who were with Sam to the very end. Services will be held at Hollywood Forever Cemetery at 6000 Santa Monica Boulevard at 1:00 p.m. on Sunday, April 27, with a reception to follow. In lieu of flowers donations may be made to Southern Poverty Law Center (splcenter.org), LA's BEST (labest.org), Stone Soup (stonesoupchildcare.org) or Court Appointed Special Advocates (casaforchildren.org). GO BRUINS!

[Published in the Los Angeles Times from Apr. 26 to Apr. 27, 2014.]

 

Aaron also provided a second set of June's recollections, in this article originally published in the Jewish Journal:

 

In November 1943, June Sale, a UCLA student, was part of a demonstration at Los Angeles Polytechnic High School against Gerald L.K. Smith, the most prominent anti-Semite of the time.

Listening to the speeches inside the auditorium, she recalled recently, “I became nauseated and teary. I decided to leave.  As I got to the foyer of the auditorium, a police officer arrested me, told me I was disturbing the meeting and walked me to the police paddy wagon.”

I learned of her long-ago bust in one of the emails she sends to friends, often writing of her anger over where President Donald Trump is taking the country. I was intrigued by the story of her arrest, and by the picture she included of herself talking to her lawyer before going on trial, which appeared in the now-defunct Los Angeles Daily News (the one that folded in 1954, not the current Woodland Hills-based newspaper). I wanted to know more. So my wife, Nancy, and I talked with her early in April over lunch at her home above Sunset Boulevard. We have been friends since we met June and her late husband, Sam, on Barbara Isenberg’s London theater tour several years ago.

As she told the story of her life, I saw that it reflected an almost forgotten era of Jewish Los Angeles, when anti-Semitism was rampant and a beleaguered Jewish community pondered how to fight it. “It was just something that happened to me over and over again,” she recalled of the anti-Semitism of her high school days in Pasadena.

June was born at White Memorial Hospital in Boyle Heights in 1924. Boyle Heights was then home to immigrants of many ethnicities and a hotbed of Jewish progressive politics.  Her parents, Ben and Bertha Solnit, were immigrants from a town on the Russian-Polish border. Ben learned the shoe business from the bottom up and grew prosperous. When their son was ill with bronchitis, his pediatrician advised them to move to a hotter, drier place. They chose Sierra Madre, near Pasadena, a center for right-wing politics and one of several communities riddled with anti Semitism.

Although Jews were among the founders of Los Angeles in the 19th century, Midwesterners who made the growing city a white Protestant conservative place soon outnumbered them. Restrictive covenants kept Jews — and African-Americans, Asians and Latinos — from some neighborhoods. Clubs would not admit Jews nor would fancy downtown law firms hire them.

In high school, June said, “all my friends who were not Jewish joined sororities and they were told not to talk to me.”   When she was elected president of a student YWCA group in junior high school, a vice principal said she could not accept the job because the group recited Christian prayers and Jews could not join them.

The Solnits wouldn’t take it. “I’m a better citizen then you’ll ever be,” Bertha Solnit told another school vice principal when he refused to permit June to use transfer credits to graduate and lectured Bertha on what he considered the citizenship obligations of immigrants. 

Their determination to fight anti-Semitism, as well as their liberal political views, put the Solnits firmly in the ranks of pro-labor, progressive Jews — usually immigrants or children of immigrants. They were at odds with more politically conservative Jews who wanted to get along with the city’s Republican powers and didn’t approve of the liberal activists’ confrontational tactics with anti-Semites. 

June accompanied her father to meetings of the Joint Anti-Fascist Refugee Committee, which was helping anti-Franco forces in the Spanish Civil War and campaigning to rescue Jews and other victims of Hitler. President Harry S. Truman’s Justice Department later blacklisted the committee, an action overturned by the Supreme Court.

“The grown-ups were passionate, worried and concerned,” June wrote of the meetings. “The discussions were often difficult for me to comprehend, but I do remember the point of the gatherings was to find ways to bring refugees from Spain and Europe to safety. [President Franklin] Roosevelt had turned away Jews trying to escape the Holocaust and refugees from Spain were not welcome here.”

Liberal outrage was intense when Gerald L.K. Smith spoke at Poly High in 1943. Sam and June had married and he was overseas with the Army Air Corps. June, still at UCLA, had been on a union picket line during a strike against the studios. Impressed with her demeanor, one of the strike captains, a man named Irving, asked her to join a labor-sponsored demonstration against Smith.

After her arrest, she said, “I was greeted in the paddy wagon by other ‘disturbers’ and we were whisked off to jail. The women were placed in cells with prostitutes who had been arrested. Irving had observed my arrest and soon came to my rescue. He was able to pay my bail and I was released early in the morning. Believing I would be the first person out of the dungeon, I took everyone’s phone number on a piece of toilet paper (the guard loaned us a pencil) so I could call a contact and tell what had happened.”

All of the charges were dismissed. “The police were required to identify us and they couldn’t,” she wrote in an email. “Strangely enough, we all looked quite different from the time we were arrested.”

She concluded her email about her arrest by saying, “You may ask why I bring this moment in my history up at this time. Well, I think we are headed for rough and difficult times as we face the Trump years. America First was a theme of the thirties, anti-Semitism is on the rise, the rich are getting richer, the middle class is disappearing and the poor are getting poorer. We must organize against this growing threat of ‘America First.’ ”

June graduated from UCLA. She and Sam raised a family and generously supported progressive causes, no matter how unpopular. She became a preschool teacher, started Los Angeles’ first Head Start program and was in charge of child care services at UCLA for 10 years. Then for 18 years, she was a court-appointed special advocate, going from court to court, home to home, looking after the welfare of some of the 35,000 children in the Los Angeles County foster care program.

“When you get old, gray and sleepless, you may find, as I do, that your memories of days gone by keep you company,” she wrote.

Her memories keep us company, too. The issues have changed. The immigrants are no longer Jewish refugees, but Latinos and those fleeing war-torn Muslim-majority nations. Episodes of anti-Semitism are increasing. But the challenges remain the same as they were when June Sale joined the picket line at Poly High.

---

BILL BOYARSKY is a columnist for the Jewish Journal, Truthdig and L.A. Observed, and the author of “Inventing L.A.: The Chandlers and Their Times” (Angel City Press).

It's intriguing that none of the preceding material mentions that June Solnit Sale was also an author. She was the lead author for The Working Parent's Handbook (1996), pictured here; contributed to Child Care and the Family (1984); and wrote Child Care Services: A Guide for Colleges and Universities (1993). With her daughter Laurie, she also wrote blog items on grandparenting.

 

Zabarsky Family Burial Records at Sharon Memorial Park, Sharon, Massachusetts

Here's a brief "bookmark" for future writing about the Zabarsky family of St.Johnsbury (Vermont) Trucking fame.