Requiem for Max

Last night, in a glittering snowstorm, Sgt. Pepper and I went out to Avery Fisher Hall to hear the Mozart Requiem. Sitting in the worn gold velour seats, Row M center, made me think as I knew it would of my grandparents Eva and Max. They took me quite often to the Met as a child and adolescent, to hear opera and oratorio. I always loved being there with them. Grandma would snooze in the dim light, despite the cacaphony. But Grandpa Max would always stay awake.

He was an extraordinary, charismatic, and eccentric person,



a photographer who made a living taking pictures of all manner of mishaps, injuries, and mayhem around New York City for use in civil lawsuits. But he also liked to design unusual mechanical solutions to various household dilemmas. And he loved to tie knots. He paid me a quarter for every knot I learned to tie properly.

Grandpa Max's father, my great-grandpa Benny, was a tailor:



I can hardly sew a stitch, though I'm handy in other ways.