Chapter 4 Chapter Four
We had read about Otto's heroism in the newspapers and heard it countless times on the radio, but we still wanted him to tell us in person.I don't know what prison does to a man, except that he must come home differently, haggard and downcast.However, what awaited me was a big surprise.
Otto walked into the door happily and said cheerfully, "I'm back."
Everyone came forward and hugged him, "We want to hear what happened from you."
Otto smiled. "I'd be more than happy to tell you that again." He sat down at the dining table and began, "I was working with the cleaners in the prison yard. It was about fifty feet from us. There is a large reservoir that supplies water to the prison, surrounded by a wall about ten feet high. I looked up and saw a little boy, about three or four years old, coming out of one of the houses. The cleaners had finished their work and left, and the yard I am alone.
"When I looked up again, the little boy was climbing the steps of the reservoir wall and was about to reach the top. It was dangerous. I looked to the side, and there was no nanny, childcare worker or anyone else. When I looked back, the little boy had already climbed to the top, and then he slipped on the sole of his foot and fell into the reservoir. A guard on the watchtower also saw this scene, but I knew it was too late for him to save the child.
"I ran up and down the wall as fast as I could, then looked down and saw the boy was sinking. I jumped into the water and managed to catch him. I struggled in the water. , lest we both sink.
"Then other people arrived and they pulled us out of the water. They arranged for me to be in the hospital for a few days because I choked on a lot of water and I had a few scratches on my body when I jumped."
We listened intently and refused to let go of a word.
"Fortunately, this boy is the warden's son. The warden and his wife even came to visit me in the hospital to express their gratitude." Otto looked at everyone with a smile, "That's the way it was originally, but And then another thing happened. They found out I couldn't swim, and the whole thing went crazy. Suddenly I was a hero, in the papers, on the radio. Calls, letters and telegrams flooded in When I went to the prison, some offered me job opportunities, and some asked for amnesty. The warden met with the governor, and they thought they could use the pardon to improve the public image of the prison. Anyway, what I committed was not wrong. What a big crime." Otto spread his hands. "That's it, I'll be back."
Our family is reunited again.
Perhaps by coincidence, my scholarship application to Sons of the Covenant, a Jewish charitable organization, a year earlier was suddenly approved. It's a miracle.I'm about to be the first in my family to go to college.An old page has been turned.I thought, maybe I still have a future after all, waiting for me somewhere ahead.However, even with the scholarship, we are still very short of money. Will I be able to handle seven nights a week at the coat locker, Saturdays at the Aflemo drugstore, and a packed college class? We'll see.
Northwestern University is located in Evans, Illinois, twelve miles north of Chicago.The school is located on the shore of Lake Michigan, covering an area of 240 acres, majestic.At nine o'clock on Monday morning, I came to the school registration office. "I'm here to enroll." "Name?" "Sidney Shechter." The clerk took a stack of heavy files and flipped through them, "I found it. What course do you want to take?" "All courses." She looked up at me, "What did you say?" "I mean, take as many courses as you will allow. I want to learn as much as possible here." "What are you most interested in?" "literature." She flipped through some pamphlets, then picked up one and handed it to me. "Here's our class schedule." I glanced over and said, "Great." Then I chose the courses I wanted to take and returned the form to her. She looked at it, "The course you have chosen has reached the upper limit of class hours, are you sure?" "Yes," I frowned, "but there's no Latin class here, and I really want to learn Latin." She glared at me, "You really think you can handle this?" I smiled, "No problem." She bowed her head and filled out "Latin Lesson." Leaving the registration office, I went straight to the school cafeteria, "Do you want to do odd jobs?" "Needed all year round." So I got a new job, but it wasn't enough.I had a sense of purpose, that I had to do more to make up for lost time.That afternoon, I went to the office of the school newspaper "Northwestern University Daily". "I'm Sidney Shechter," I said to the man behind the desk marked "Editor." "I want to come and work here." "Sorry," he said, "we're full, try again next year." "Next year will be too late." I stood there, thinking quickly. "Do you have an entertainment reporting department?" "Entertainment Reporting Department?" "Yeah, there are always a lot of stars who come to Chicago to perform. Don't you have someone who interviews them?" "No, we—" "Did you know? There are people in this city right now, waiting for someone to interview. Katharine Hepburn!" "The purpose of our newspaper is not—" "And Clifton Webb." "We never—" "And Walter Pidgeon." "I could ask someone, but I'm afraid—" "With George M. Cohan." His interest came, "You know these people?" I didn't hear him ask, "No time to waste. After the show, they're leaving." "Okay. Then I'll risk it for you, Shechetel." He had no idea how excited I was to hear that, and I said, "This is going to be the smartest decision you'll ever make." "Let's see. When are you going to do it?" "I've already started. The first interview will be published in the next issue of the paper." He looked at me in disbelief. "Already started? Whom are we interviewing?" "I'll give you another surprise then." To be honest, even I myself didn't know the answer to this question at the time.
In the spare time I had, I interviewed some starlets.My first interview was with Guy Kibbee, who was a little-known character actor at the time.The famous big-name stars are not interviewed by a school newspaper. I worked in coat lockers and drugstores, took classes up to the school's class limit, plus Latin, worked in the school cafeteria, and worked for the Northwestern University Journal.But I don't think that's enough, it's like being spurred by some kind of force.I started thinking about what else I could do.Northwestern University's football team is very good and invincible, why can't I join it.I'm sure the Wildcats will take me. The next morning, I came to the field where the team practiced.Pug Lannturner was the star of the varsity team and went on to have a stellar career in rugby league.I walked up to the coach who was on the sidelines, "Can I have a minute of your time?" "What's your business?" "I want to try out for the team." He looked me up and down, "Trying out? You're in great shape. Where have you been?" I didn't say anything. "Middle school? University?" "None, sir." "primary school?" "No, sir." He stared at me, "You never played football?" "Yes, but I react quickly—" "Does that alone make you want to be on this team? Get over it, lad." His attention was back on the court. That was the end of my football dreams.
The professors at Northwestern University are excellent, and the classes are very exciting.I am eager to learn everything I can.A week into my enrollment, I saw a notice in the hallway: "Northwestern University Debate Team Trials tonight." I stopped and stared at the notice.I know it's crazy, but I feel like I have to try it. There is an adage that says that death is the second most feared thing, and the most feared is public speaking.That statement couldn't be more apt to apply to me. For me, there is nothing scarier than public speaking.However, I have done so, and there is no turning back.I have to try everything, I have to keep turning the pages. I went into the room where the tryouts were being held and found it already full of young men and women, waiting to take the field.I found a seat and sat down, listening carefully to someone else's speech.Everyone's presentations were excellent, articulate, fluent, and all very confident. Finally it was my turn to play.I stood up and walked over to the microphone. The person in charge asked, "Name?" "Sidney Shechtel." "topic of speech?" I have already had a well-thought-out plan, "The contrast between capitalism and communism." He nodded, "Let's get started." I started talking non-stop, and I felt that I was doing pretty well.In the middle of the speech, I suddenly stopped, my whole body was cold, and I forgot what to say next.There was one long, embarrassing pause, and I mumbled my speech to the end, then quietly walked out of the room, filled with self-reproach. A classmate at the door said to me: "Aren't you in the first grade?" "That's right." "What, no one told you?" "tell what?" "Freshmen can't make the debate team. Only seniors." Oh, good, I thought, now I have an excuse for my failure. The winners were announced on the school bulletin board the next morning.Out of curiosity, I went over to take a look.One of them was named "Shelter". Someone with a name like mine was selected.There is a notice under the bulletin board, asking these selected candidates to report to the debate team guide at 3:15 in the afternoon. At four o'clock, I got a call, "Shelter, what's wrong with you?" I felt baffled, "What? I'm fine." "Then didn't you see the notice telling you to report to the debating team leader?" Shelter, so they got my name wrong. "I see, but I thought—I'm a freshman." "I know. We've decided to make an exception for you. We're going to change the rules." And just like that, I became the first ever freshman on the Northwestern University debate team. A new page has been turned.
I force myself to be on the go all day, but I still feel like something is missing.I don't know what exactly.All in all I'm not satisfied.I was very lost and felt anxious and lonely.Watching the crowds of students going from class to class makes me think that they are all alike and that when they die no one will know they ever lived in this world.An intense depression washed over me like a tidal wave.I thought to myself, I want people to know that I have been in this world, I want people to know that I have been in this world, I want to be different. The next day, the depression intensified.I felt like a heavy cloud was weighing on me and I couldn't breathe.In desperation, I had to make an appointment with the school psychologist, hoping that he could help me find out the crux of the matter. On the way to see a therapist, for some reason I started to feel elated and started singing.When I got to the entrance of the building where the therapist was, I stopped. I don't need to see him anymore, I thought, I'm so happy, he's going to think I'm crazy.
This is a bad decision.If I had met him then, I would have learned something that day that I would not have discovered until many years later. My depression is back with no signs of fading. Our money is getting tighter.Otto struggled to find work, and Natalie worked as a salesperson in a department store six days a week.I went to the coat locker every evening and the Aflemo drugstore on Saturday afternoons, but even with Otto and Nathalie's income, there wasn't enough money.By February 1935, we hadn't paid rent for a long time. One night I overheard Otto and Natalie talking."I don't know what to do," Natalie said. "Everyone is calling for debt collection. It looks like I'm going to have to find an evening job." No way, I thought.Mom works a full-time job and cooks and cleans for us when she gets home.I can't ask her to do more. The next morning, I dropped out of Northwestern University. When I told Natalie, she was horrified. "You can't drop out, Sidney," she said with tears in her eyes. "We'll be fine." But I know we can't get better.I started looking for other jobs, but in 1935, the depths of the Depression, there were no jobs.I tried advertising agencies, newspapers, and radio stations, but no one wanted me. On my way to a radio interview, I passed by a big department store called Mandel Brothers.It looks very lively inside, with six salespersons serving customers.I thought I wouldn't lose anything by going and looking, so I went in and looked around, and then walked inside. It was very big.I stopped at the women's shoe department.This job should be easy. A man came over, "What do you want to see?" "I want to see the manager." "I'm the manager, just call me Mr. Yang. Is there anything I can do for you?" "I'm looking for a job, do you need someone here?" He looked at me for a moment, "Actually, we need people. Have you ever sold women's shoes before?" "Oh, sold it." I said confidently. "Where did you go to high school before?" I remembered a mall I used to buy shoes from, "Som McCain's in Denver." "Fine. Come to the office." He handed me a form. "Please fill out the form." After I'd filled it out, he took the form and looked at it, then turned his gaze back to me. "First, Mr. Shechter, 'McCain' is not spelled 'MICKA-N,' and second, it is not the address." I desperately need this job. "They should have moved." I quickly responded. "My spelling is terrible again. Look—" "I hope you're better at selling than lying." I nodded, intending to leave dejectedly, "Thank you anyway." "Wait a minute. I want you." I looked at him in surprise, "You want me? Why?" "My boss thinks that women's shoes can only be sold by those who have sales experience, but I think that everyone who can learn can quickly learn. You are an experiment." "Thank you," I said gratefully, "I won't let you down." I started my new job with pride. After fifteen minutes, I was fired. That's because I made an unforgivable mistake. My first customer was a well-dressed lady.In the women's shoe department, she came over to me. "Is there anything I can do for you?" "I want to buy a pair of black pumps, 7B's." I gave her my warmest salesman smile, "No problem." I went into the warehouse, and there were huge shelves filled with all kinds of shoes, hundreds of boxes, all marked with numbers on the outside—5B, 6W, 7A, 8N, 8, 9B, 9N.There is no 7B.I was in despair.Have a narrow pair of size 8 shoes.She couldn't tell the difference.Having made up my mind, I took out the shoes from the box and gave them to her. "Your shoes," I said. I helped her put her shoes on.She studied it for a moment. "Is this from 7B?" "Yes, ma'am." She looked at me for another moment, "Are you sure?" "yes." "Are you sure it's from 7B?" "I'm sure." "I need to see the manager." That was the end of my career in the women's shoe department. That afternoon, I was transferred to the men's clothing department.
Perhaps by coincidence, my scholarship application to Sons of the Covenant, a Jewish charitable organization, a year earlier was suddenly approved. It's a miracle.I'm about to be the first in my family to go to college.An old page has been turned.I thought, maybe I still have a future after all, waiting for me somewhere ahead.However, even with the scholarship, we are still very short of money. Will I be able to handle seven nights a week at the coat locker, Saturdays at the Aflemo drugstore, and a packed college class? We'll see.
Northwestern University is located in Evans, Illinois, twelve miles north of Chicago.The school is located on the shore of Lake Michigan, covering an area of 240 acres, majestic.At nine o'clock on Monday morning, I came to the school registration office. "I'm here to enroll." "Name?" "Sidney Shechter." The clerk took a stack of heavy files and flipped through them, "I found it. What course do you want to take?" "All courses." She looked up at me, "What did you say?" "I mean, take as many courses as you will allow. I want to learn as much as possible here." "What are you most interested in?" "literature." She flipped through some pamphlets, then picked up one and handed it to me. "Here's our class schedule." I glanced over and said, "Great." Then I chose the courses I wanted to take and returned the form to her. She looked at it, "The course you have chosen has reached the upper limit of class hours, are you sure?" "Yes," I frowned, "but there's no Latin class here, and I really want to learn Latin." She glared at me, "You really think you can handle this?" I smiled, "No problem." She bowed her head and filled out "Latin Lesson." Leaving the registration office, I went straight to the school cafeteria, "Do you want to do odd jobs?" "Needed all year round." So I got a new job, but it wasn't enough.I had a sense of purpose, that I had to do more to make up for lost time.That afternoon, I went to the office of the school newspaper "Northwestern University Daily". "I'm Sidney Shechter," I said to the man behind the desk marked "Editor." "I want to come and work here." "Sorry," he said, "we're full, try again next year." "Next year will be too late." I stood there, thinking quickly. "Do you have an entertainment reporting department?" "Entertainment Reporting Department?" "Yeah, there are always a lot of stars who come to Chicago to perform. Don't you have someone who interviews them?" "No, we—" "Did you know? There are people in this city right now, waiting for someone to interview. Katharine Hepburn!" "The purpose of our newspaper is not—" "And Clifton Webb." "We never—" "And Walter Pidgeon." "I could ask someone, but I'm afraid—" "With George M. Cohan." His interest came, "You know these people?" I didn't hear him ask, "No time to waste. After the show, they're leaving." "Okay. Then I'll risk it for you, Shechetel." He had no idea how excited I was to hear that, and I said, "This is going to be the smartest decision you'll ever make." "Let's see. When are you going to do it?" "I've already started. The first interview will be published in the next issue of the paper." He looked at me in disbelief. "Already started? Whom are we interviewing?" "I'll give you another surprise then." To be honest, even I myself didn't know the answer to this question at the time.
In the spare time I had, I interviewed some starlets.My first interview was with Guy Kibbee, who was a little-known character actor at the time.The famous big-name stars are not interviewed by a school newspaper. I worked in coat lockers and drugstores, took classes up to the school's class limit, plus Latin, worked in the school cafeteria, and worked for the Northwestern University Journal.But I don't think that's enough, it's like being spurred by some kind of force.I started thinking about what else I could do.Northwestern University's football team is very good and invincible, why can't I join it.I'm sure the Wildcats will take me. The next morning, I came to the field where the team practiced.Pug Lannturner was the star of the varsity team and went on to have a stellar career in rugby league.I walked up to the coach who was on the sidelines, "Can I have a minute of your time?" "What's your business?" "I want to try out for the team." He looked me up and down, "Trying out? You're in great shape. Where have you been?" I didn't say anything. "Middle school? University?" "None, sir." "primary school?" "No, sir." He stared at me, "You never played football?" "Yes, but I react quickly—" "Does that alone make you want to be on this team? Get over it, lad." His attention was back on the court. That was the end of my football dreams.
The professors at Northwestern University are excellent, and the classes are very exciting.I am eager to learn everything I can.A week into my enrollment, I saw a notice in the hallway: "Northwestern University Debate Team Trials tonight." I stopped and stared at the notice.I know it's crazy, but I feel like I have to try it. There is an adage that says that death is the second most feared thing, and the most feared is public speaking.That statement couldn't be more apt to apply to me. For me, there is nothing scarier than public speaking.However, I have done so, and there is no turning back.I have to try everything, I have to keep turning the pages. I went into the room where the tryouts were being held and found it already full of young men and women, waiting to take the field.I found a seat and sat down, listening carefully to someone else's speech.Everyone's presentations were excellent, articulate, fluent, and all very confident. Finally it was my turn to play.I stood up and walked over to the microphone. The person in charge asked, "Name?" "Sidney Shechtel." "topic of speech?" I have already had a well-thought-out plan, "The contrast between capitalism and communism." He nodded, "Let's get started." I started talking non-stop, and I felt that I was doing pretty well.In the middle of the speech, I suddenly stopped, my whole body was cold, and I forgot what to say next.There was one long, embarrassing pause, and I mumbled my speech to the end, then quietly walked out of the room, filled with self-reproach. A classmate at the door said to me: "Aren't you in the first grade?" "That's right." "What, no one told you?" "tell what?" "Freshmen can't make the debate team. Only seniors." Oh, good, I thought, now I have an excuse for my failure. The winners were announced on the school bulletin board the next morning.Out of curiosity, I went over to take a look.One of them was named "Shelter". Someone with a name like mine was selected.There is a notice under the bulletin board, asking these selected candidates to report to the debate team guide at 3:15 in the afternoon. At four o'clock, I got a call, "Shelter, what's wrong with you?" I felt baffled, "What? I'm fine." "Then didn't you see the notice telling you to report to the debating team leader?" Shelter, so they got my name wrong. "I see, but I thought—I'm a freshman." "I know. We've decided to make an exception for you. We're going to change the rules." And just like that, I became the first ever freshman on the Northwestern University debate team. A new page has been turned.
I force myself to be on the go all day, but I still feel like something is missing.I don't know what exactly.All in all I'm not satisfied.I was very lost and felt anxious and lonely.Watching the crowds of students going from class to class makes me think that they are all alike and that when they die no one will know they ever lived in this world.An intense depression washed over me like a tidal wave.I thought to myself, I want people to know that I have been in this world, I want people to know that I have been in this world, I want to be different. The next day, the depression intensified.I felt like a heavy cloud was weighing on me and I couldn't breathe.In desperation, I had to make an appointment with the school psychologist, hoping that he could help me find out the crux of the matter. On the way to see a therapist, for some reason I started to feel elated and started singing.When I got to the entrance of the building where the therapist was, I stopped. I don't need to see him anymore, I thought, I'm so happy, he's going to think I'm crazy.
This is a bad decision.If I had met him then, I would have learned something that day that I would not have discovered until many years later. My depression is back with no signs of fading. Our money is getting tighter.Otto struggled to find work, and Natalie worked as a salesperson in a department store six days a week.I went to the coat locker every evening and the Aflemo drugstore on Saturday afternoons, but even with Otto and Nathalie's income, there wasn't enough money.By February 1935, we hadn't paid rent for a long time. One night I overheard Otto and Natalie talking."I don't know what to do," Natalie said. "Everyone is calling for debt collection. It looks like I'm going to have to find an evening job." No way, I thought.Mom works a full-time job and cooks and cleans for us when she gets home.I can't ask her to do more. The next morning, I dropped out of Northwestern University. When I told Natalie, she was horrified. "You can't drop out, Sidney," she said with tears in her eyes. "We'll be fine." But I know we can't get better.I started looking for other jobs, but in 1935, the depths of the Depression, there were no jobs.I tried advertising agencies, newspapers, and radio stations, but no one wanted me. On my way to a radio interview, I passed by a big department store called Mandel Brothers.It looks very lively inside, with six salespersons serving customers.I thought I wouldn't lose anything by going and looking, so I went in and looked around, and then walked inside. It was very big.I stopped at the women's shoe department.This job should be easy. A man came over, "What do you want to see?" "I want to see the manager." "I'm the manager, just call me Mr. Yang. Is there anything I can do for you?" "I'm looking for a job, do you need someone here?" He looked at me for a moment, "Actually, we need people. Have you ever sold women's shoes before?" "Oh, sold it." I said confidently. "Where did you go to high school before?" I remembered a mall I used to buy shoes from, "Som McCain's in Denver." "Fine. Come to the office." He handed me a form. "Please fill out the form." After I'd filled it out, he took the form and looked at it, then turned his gaze back to me. "First, Mr. Shechter, 'McCain' is not spelled 'MICKA-N,' and second, it is not the address." I desperately need this job. "They should have moved." I quickly responded. "My spelling is terrible again. Look—" "I hope you're better at selling than lying." I nodded, intending to leave dejectedly, "Thank you anyway." "Wait a minute. I want you." I looked at him in surprise, "You want me? Why?" "My boss thinks that women's shoes can only be sold by those who have sales experience, but I think that everyone who can learn can quickly learn. You are an experiment." "Thank you," I said gratefully, "I won't let you down." I started my new job with pride. After fifteen minutes, I was fired. That's because I made an unforgivable mistake. My first customer was a well-dressed lady.In the women's shoe department, she came over to me. "Is there anything I can do for you?" "I want to buy a pair of black pumps, 7B's." I gave her my warmest salesman smile, "No problem." I went into the warehouse, and there were huge shelves filled with all kinds of shoes, hundreds of boxes, all marked with numbers on the outside—5B, 6W, 7A, 8N, 8, 9B, 9N.There is no 7B.I was in despair.Have a narrow pair of size 8 shoes.She couldn't tell the difference.Having made up my mind, I took out the shoes from the box and gave them to her. "Your shoes," I said. I helped her put her shoes on.She studied it for a moment. "Is this from 7B?" "Yes, ma'am." She looked at me for another moment, "Are you sure?" "yes." "Are you sure it's from 7B?" "I'm sure." "I need to see the manager." That was the end of my career in the women's shoe department. That afternoon, I was transferred to the men's clothing department.