Something to Do with Wings: A Memoir 2010, 2017

By Joe Novak

This memoir chronicles the life of an artist who began his professional career as a Harvard trained lawyer before discovering the artist within.

Novak, now 86, looks back on a life of unpredictable twists and turns that have led to a sense of fulfillment, happiness and celebration. The key ingredients: a positive attitude, a sense of commitment to a purpose, being open, a passion for one's work, believing in oneself, and coming from love in dealing with others. He also acknowledges the importance of the support received from friends, family and significant others.

Novak's art, an exploration of color and light, has garnered substantial art world recognition, including a paintings retrospective at the Hood Museum of Art at Dartmouth College initiated by Timothy Rub, its former director and currently director of the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

This book suggests to the reader, by way of example, that opportunities for new pathways in life abound, awaiting discovery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Feb 24, 2010
• ISBN: 9781440197796

Joe Novak

Joe Novak’s life has been one of accomplishment, hard work, sensitivity and an unshakeable belief in himself. A graduate of Dartmouth College and Harvard Law School, he became a leading tax expert in San Juan, Puerto Rico during the sixties and early seventies. He was a partner in a major San Juan law firm, and served as consultant to the Governor of Puerto Rico on tax reform. In the early eighties, in New York City, at the age of 50, he became a serious painter, his present great passion and the source of new achievements. Throughout both careers, he has been sustained by loving relationships and supportive friendships. This memoir, written entirely by the author himself, travels with him on his 79 year journey, acknowledging his mentors and significant others and recording his experiences with the famous and not so famous. If there is a message here, it is—if we are open to life, anything is possible. Joe Novak lives and works in Rancho Mirage, California. His website is www.joenovak.com.

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Copyright © 2010, 2017 Joe Novak

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ISBN: 978-1-4401-9778-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4401-9777-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4401-9779-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2009914204

iUniverse rev. date: 04/11/2017

Contents

New Preface

Preface

1 The Farm

2 Eleanor Roosevelt

3 Chachka

4 Cleo Vachon

5 Travels

6 Springfield

7 Dartmouth and Harvard

8 Newport

9 Fire Island

10 Puerto Rico

11 New York City

12 East Hampton

13 Santa Fe

14 Miami

15 California

For Willie, Hassan and Chuck

This above all, to thine own self be true.

                                William Shakespeare

Miracles happen to those who believe in them.

                                Bernard Berenson

New Preface

Over seven years have passed since I wrote this memoir. Now, at 86, I have some new observations to add.

This edition is the same as the first edition published by iUniverse in 2010. It now has an index and this new preface.

What I originally considered to be a memoir of my own life I now see differently – more of a message to the readers of this book about the possibilities that exist in their own lives.

I see the trajectory of my life as a reflection of my attitude. Whatever my trials and tribulations, my attitude has been at the core. Having the right attitude makes all things possible. Honoring oneself, no matter what that might entail and despite the judgments of others, is the key to a happy life. Happiness doesn’t come from money or material possessions, but rather from our relationships with family and friends and a passion for our work.

One of the guideposts that has served me in navigating life is a book titled The Four Agreements by Don Manuel Ruiz. The four agreements are: 1) Be impeccable with your word; 2) Don’t make assumptions; 3) Don’t take it personally; and 4) Always do your best. This is a book that bears rereading many times and applying these agreements daily to make the words become one’s reality.

Once one sees oneself differently, the world around us takes on a new appearance. When we are young we are innocent and gullible, and believe all that we’re taught to be the truth. As we grow with age, we begin to question what we’ve learned. Good parenting and a solid education lay the groundwork for our future.

Many events have occurred in the world over the past seven years which have affected all human beings. 2017 and the years that follow are sure to bring more changes. The importance of accepting change, indeed welcoming it, is a major element in our growth.

Recently I became the new patient of a gastroenterologist. I was given a form to fill out replete with questions relating to employment and demographics. Under the latter category were questions as to race, ethnic origin, and religious preference. I dutifully filled out the form in the usual manner, and then paused. I had just identified myself as being different from so many other human beings. Impulsively I added an asterisk at the end and wrote in large letters ALL. Perhaps this small incident best describes my feelings towards all human beings.

There seem to be two major forces that determine human behavior…love and fear. Love allows us to celebrate life together without judgments and be motivated by a spirit of giving and sharing. We cherish having friends who are different from us, which expands our awareness that underneath the superficialities, we’re all basically the same.

Fear leads us into wars where we kill one another for being different. Ignorance and poverty and a dissatisfaction with life are fear’s breeding grounds. Despite our high level of intelligence as a species, when fear trumps love our intelligence seems to evaporate.

Humans tend to carry hierarchal tendencies to extremes…

Our governments attract as leaders many whose real interest is in holding power, too often for self- serving purposes. Politics has become a subject of disdain in many circles, as it represents to many a form of mendacity and selfishness that denigrates who we are as human beings. How many politicians say what they really believe before checking with the polls to see what their constituencies want them to say?

The press and media use power to sensationalize, often callous to the harm such reporting might do in sensitive situations.

The corporate world of business follows patterns that favor financially those at the top to an extent that is shameful when compared with the remuneration received by most other employees, without whom our economies couldn’t function. CEOs have become a new form of royalty.

On a personal note…

The past seven years have been ones of challenges, changes and new experiences.

Many new friends have entered my orbit. Among them, I single out Adele Norton and Randy Schoonover. Adele is a widow of my vintage, whose positive attitude, despite physical infirmities, has resulted in her having a full and interesting life. I call her the happy camper. Randy is a young man who teaches English to employees of large U.S. companies with branches abroad. He has lived and worked in South Korea, Turkey and Saudi Arabia. We are kindred spirits in many ways and have maintained an active correspondence for the past six years, enabling me to travel the world again through his eyes. When Randy visits this country, we often get to spend some quality time together.

Career- wise I continue to purse my art with vigor. During 2016, I curated an exhibition titled Visually Speaking: Color & Light at Rebecca Fine Art Gallery located in Cathedral City, CA. I continue to be represented by that gallery in addition to other galleries elsewhere.

Many friends have passed during this period, among them Hassan Khatab, my close Egyptian friend, who died much too soon. As a way of honoring his memory, I made a donation to the Central Park Conservancy’s bench program. Through one of those miracles that keep happening. I was able to buy a bench in front of Cleopatra’s Needle in Central Park behind the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Hassan is now the only Egyptian in the world whose name is memorialized in close proximity to one of the four great obelisks from ancient Egypt (the others being in London on the Victoria Embankment, in Paris at the Place de la Concorde, and in Luxor, Egypt at the Temple of Luxor).

As a patron of the Central Park Conservancy, I became friendly with Doug Blonsky, the President of the Conservancy. On a recent trip to New York City, I called Doug to come over and see the spectacular view of Central Park from my room on the 44th floor of the Park Lane Hotel. He brought with him Sarah Cedar Miller, the official Central Park photographer, who took some shots of the park through an open window.

The subject came up that the owner of the hotel building had indicated a desire to tear down the structure in order to build a taller hotel and condominium building. Such an action, if ever approved by the Landmarks Commission, would destroy the iconic skyline of Central Park South, result in hundreds of hotel workers losing their jobs, and create a construction site that would detract from the public’s enjoyment of that area of the park for years. This is a patent example of the greed that pervades our society. Many wealthy people feel that their wealth entitles them to special privileges, and look down on those who Andy Warhol referred to in his diary as the nobodies.

What I have learned in 86 years of living is that making a difference in other people’s lives is noble in purpose and the road to a happy life. People who give to others, smile. Those who take from others, frown. We all have a choice as to how we live our lives. No need to wait for New Year’s Eve to make new resolutions. Today is all we have.

My acknowledgement to others for their love and support includes everyone who has had a direct impact on my life. I feel compelled to mention the name of a new friend who has stood by me in realizing one of my life’s dreams. His name is Juan Castellanos, known as Beto, a Mexican contractor, who has made possible my very special studio retreat in the Cove area of Cathedral City, CA. This beautiful spot high up in the mountains is a place where I can engage in my creative pursuits, commune with nature, and celebrate the joy of living. Named Los Arboles, it is my Shangri-La.

On a final note, I once again acknowledge my partner of over 20 years, Willie Lebron. A quiet, loving, sensitive, highly intelligent man, he has been present for me unconditionally. There is no one in my life I owe more to than Willie.

Preface

In early 2009 I started writing a few short episodes about my life, and before I knew it, I was knee deep into doing a full fledged memoir. Perhaps it was time for this at the age of 79. Writing a memoir has allowed me to exercise the far reaches of my mind and to push my memory into places it has not visited for a long while. Through a mental focus on one aspect or period of my past at a time, I have found that those moments have come alive again. I am amazed at some of the details that have been in hiding for so long.

I recently came across a snippet I wrote forty years ago about looking back. It suggests to me that this memoir is not the result of a spur of the moment decision, but rather something that has been brewing for a while. This piece, titled Midway or Thereabouts, is dated April 7, 1969 and reads:

It is late in the journey,

Or later than it was before,

And there is much ground to cover yet.

One must look ahead they say—not back.

I disagree.

For in sweet memories of moments not so sweet

Lie tomorrow’s markings.

If only we might learn to read.

This exercise in revisiting my past has been a joy and a challenge. It has brought into sharper focus not only aspects of myself which I already knew in a general way, but also the manner in which a life unfolds, with each part leading into the next. At the time we are living an experience, it is difficult if not impossible to have a sense of what import that small piece of life will have on the whole. Looking back brings a certain clarity. I can truly say that I would not want to change any part of my life. I have no regrets. Every experience that at the time seemed to be negative had a flip side that was positive. It’s amazing how life works that way if we are open to experiencing it so. Having a positive attitude, which is sometimes elusive under trying circumstances, is the sine qua non of a happy life.

I have lived in various places for substantial periods of time and have had several major relationships—often for approximately fifteen years, for that seems to be my cycle. I can see now how each of those chapters was a building block that by necessity had to precede what was to follow. I didn’t consciously plan it that way. But I didn’t have to. There is a higher power, which I call the Universe and which others call God, which takes care of such things.

What I have found in the process of this writing is that the details of my past have made clearer to me various aspects of my personality, my character, and my nature. In other words, this has been a voyage of self discovery—of how I was and how I am—the parts of me that seem to be a constant and the parts that have changed and developed over the years. Moreover, this project has also been the strongest kind of reminder to me of the importance of all of the myriad relationships in my life. They have totally sustained me and made my existence rich, both as a receiver and as a giver.

One theme that has recurred throughout this memoir is the affirmation of my being a person of high intention who works hard and pursues a goal vigorously until it is reached. Perhaps this is an aspect of my bringing up, of being a good student in my younger days, and receiving praise from my parents and others. I think, however, that there is something in my basic nature that leads me to take on new challenges and see them through to success. In a way being an achiever is a burden to carry, while at the same time it is a driving force that leads to a sense of immense fulfillment in life. Life is lived to the fullest when there is passion in the equation.

In most cases the major events of my life seemed to have just happened. I do know that being open is a pathway to miracles. I don’t believe in accidents. My life as a painter began through a serendipitous experience, and ended up becoming my great passion. My experiences practicing law and attaining financial independence in Puerto Rico began as the result of a financial setback which turned into a chapter in my life that was full and rewarding. The people in my life with whom I’ve had major relationships showed up at the right time. I believe that the manner in which my life has unfolded is not unique. It is my observation that with intention our lives move forward not just haphazardly but with purpose even though we may not always be aware of it.

As an artist, I view this writing as a journey which has unfolded as all of my work as a painter has done. As I started to write each day, I felt I was embarking on a new adventure, as I never knew in advance exactly where I would be traveling, although as with most creative pursuits, there was always an underlying through line. I see my life as a continuum of separate chapters, time wise as well as subject wise, and often geographically; and so I have written about it in that format. In some cases there are minor overlaps of material in the chapters to maintain the integrity of each one.

I have shown portions of this memoir to a close friend who is a good writer. Her principal suggestion was that I needed to discuss in more detail my crises and difficulties, my struggles and sufferings, my disappointments and self questionings in order to give veracity to my story. My response is that all of that in fact resides in the lines and sometimes between the lines of my tome but without Sturm und Drang. The focus has purposely been on the positive.

My journey through life as recorded here makes it clear to me that whatever achievements I have realized have resulted from my sense of commitment to a purpose. I am a believer in the words of Goethe’s The Power of Commitment because I have experienced over and over in my life that: …the moment one definitely commits oneself, then providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred… a whole stream of events issues …which no man could have dreamed would come his way. That truth is perhaps what this memoir is about.

1

The Farm

Ellington is a small town in the northern part of Connecticut where my maternal grandfather, Max Lavitt, resettled his family from Norfolk, Virginia in 1914. Their new residence was a large white two story brick house on Maple Street, one of the two main streets in Ellington, with a sign on the front which read Dr. Allyn Hyde 1805. He and my grandmother, Rebecca, had nine children (plus two who died as babies), five girls and four boys. All of the children were born in the United States. Max and Rebecca had emigrated from eastern Russia in the latter part of the nineteenth century and later met and married in New York City. In order of descending age, the girls were Molly, Rena, Irene, Mae and Hanna, and the boys, Sam, Joe, Paul, and Louis. My mother was Mae.

My favorite photograph of the family was taken in June of 1932 in front of the Ellington house. Those in the photo are my grandparents, their nine children, five spouses, and twelve grandchildren. I am the baby on my grandmother’s lap. That group of twenty eight comprised the entire family at that time. As of this writing, seven of those grandchildren are still alive. What the photograph does for me is bring to life my childhood memories of Sundays in Ellington at The Farm. The homestead was known as the farm as my grandfather grew shade grown tobacco as well as other crops on the adjacent acreage. Paul designed an automatic chicken feeder for which he was well known in chicken breeding circles. I remember seeing the hen house, and a cow here and there. It was a real farm. When I was a young child, the entire immediate family would gather there, always on Sundays, often with assorted other relatives and friends. My young friends were always eager to go with us when invited as it was an exciting place to be. I certainly enjoyed being there with all of the goings-on, although I can distinctly remember myself asking my mother on one or two occasions, Do we have to go to the farm again this Sunday?

The dominant activity that took place on those Sundays at the farm was talking, and it was fairly loud. It went on in several different gathering places on the first floor—mostly in the living room, and in the dining room just off the kitchen. There was always such a din inside it was a relief to go out during the warmer months, perhaps to swing on the hammock that was on the porch or to visit the hen house. I remember seeing Max in his office a lot, while Rebecca was in the kitchen. She must have had some help as we all would stay for dinner in a very crowded dining room.

Rebecca was the most even tempered person imaginable, quite different in my eyes from some of her children who were more on the volatile side, perhaps more similar to their father although I have no personal recollection of his being that way. Max was a very entrepreneurial type, and had several businesses during his years in Ellington. He was an innovator and had the first automobile in the town.

The cousins I was the closest to then were the ones nearest my age, Nancy Newman and Roger Heller. We used to play together while the adults did their talking. I do have a second hand memory of a supposed altercation at the farm between Nancy and me which was told to me by others years later. As the story goes, she knocked me down, for whatever reason, and I went and told my mother, who responded by saying Go back out and knock her down (hard for me to believe she would say that). Fully charged on all batteries, I went out to meet my foe only to be knocked down again. It made for a cute story, and whether or not it happened precisely that way, there was a kernel of truth in it as Nancy’s somewhat adversarial attitude towards me in later life prevented our having a better relationship. We remained close, however, throughout our lives, and I was very saddened by her death in 2008.

The%20Lavitt%20Family%202.jpg

The Lavitt family, Ellington, Connecticut, June 1932.

Some Sundays the visit to the farm included a visit to Rockville, a nearby larger town where other family members lived. The Albert Hellers lived there for a number of years as did the Joe Lavitts. I remember their homes quite vividly. And often when we went to Rockville, we would stop off to visit Uncle Jake and Aunt Tillie Cohen, who lived in a house towards the top of a very steep hill. Tillie’s sister Frayde, who also lived with them, was small and stooped, and to the best of my recollection, never uttered a word. Jake and Tillie and their children, Simon, David and Pearl, were considered family, and I believe the connection was that Max Lavitt’s sister was the second wife of Uncle Jake’s father. David Cohen lived in Springfield, married to Ann Mazer, and was a close friend and also our family dentist. Simon and his wife Marion lived in Rockville for several years. I remember my amazement when visiting them there during the war and seeing a freezer for the first time that could keep vegetables like corn almost fresh. Pearl, the youngest, worked in Filene’s basement in Boston, and in later years married Mandell Gutfarb and moved to Springfield. Pearl was literally a gem of a person and passed away much too soon.

The Albert Hellers lived near the top of a steep hill, at the very bottom of which was Elsie Miller’s general store, where we would sometimes go for ice cream cones or penny candy. I don’t know Elsie’s age, but she looked old to me at my then tender age, and she reminded me of a spider as she was short and on the plump side. I also remember her as being somewhat cranky. My mother told me of a mishap of a cousin who was once riding a bicycle down that hill and couldn’t stop in time at the bottom, running right into the glass front of Elsie’s store and breaking her nose.

The Hellers had a summer place at Crystal Lake, which was near Rockville, and every summer we would go there for family reunions. The lakebed was rather mucky next to their property, which facilitated my learning to swim. I remember being served chocolate milk there for the first time, and thereafter as a child I would only drink chocolate milk, even at summer camp.

One of my favorite places in Ellington was its cemetery, where Max Lavitt had purchased an extra large plot for his family with a large Lavitt headstone. It was part of the rural countryside, and a very peaceful place. At one time I thought of being buried there when the time came, but my present circumstances have changed that. I remember two funerals at the family plot, my grandmother’s in February of 1951 and Hanna Newburger’s in 1989. My parents are buried together in West Springfield, Massachusetts.

Apart from my own experiences there, Ellington conjures up memories of stories told to me by my mother. When she was a young girl, she liked to go dancing at a place called Cedar Heights. She participated in a dancing marathon with David Cohen, either there or perhaps in Rockville, and they won first prize. My mother loved to dance, and danced her way through life in every sense of the word.

There was the story about Louie who as a young boy was quite mischievous. He found some dynamite caps in my grandfather’s barn and thought they were fireworks. As a prank, he tried to set one off under Hanna’s little rocking chair where Hanna was sitting. It didn’t go off so he took it to the sidewalk and tried to set it off again. This time there was an explosion that tore up the sidewalk and blew off several of his fingers. My mother remembers being at the Aborns, who were neighbors, and hearing the blast from there. Louie had to be in a dark room for several months recovering from his body wounds. He went on to live a full life and adjusted to the loss of those fingers.

Another story related to Molly’s wedding which went on for days. The house was overflowing with guests and there was much excitement. Two of the bridesmaids got into a tiff over whose hat was whose, and one of them in anger said to the other, who happened to have a large nose—Here, take both of them. Wear one on your head and the other on your nose. At that same wedding, one of Molly’s uncles, with a long white beard, got up at night to go to the bathroom, took a wrong turn on the way back, and ended up in bed with Molly’s grandparents. Her grandmother suddenly became sandwiched in between two long white bearded men.

As long as the children of Max Lavitt were alive, there were annual summer family reunions, sometimes at Edwin or Seymour Lavitt’s house in Rockville, and once at Howard Heller’s house at Peak’s Island, Maine, near Portland. These were always happy occasions, with much Lavitt talking. I really enjoyed these outings although I often felt frustrated as there was never enough time to spend with particular individuals.

After the 1932 photograph was taken, more grandchildren were born, and as the years went by the family expanded exponentially. Today there are many great and great great grandchildren of Max and Rebecca and probably some great great greats too. I have always felt enriched by being a member of this family, and continue to stay in touch with Lavitt cousins.

A number of years ago my mother and I visited the family homestead in Ellington, which had been expanded into multiple apartments, and we happened to meet the people who were living in the original part of the house where the Lavitt family once lived. We were invited in to look around, and of course what we saw bore no resemblance whatsoever to what was there during the Lavitts’ occupancy. After we left the house, I tried to recall what we had just seen and literally wasn’t able to. All I could see in my mind was the way it used to be. Such is the strength of my memories of the farm, memories that form the basis of my feeling of connectedness to the Lavitt family.

2

Eleanor Roosevelt

During my second year at Harvard Law School in the fall of 1953, I rented an apartment at 1572 Mass. Ave., just across from the law school campus. I shared that apartment with my former Dartmouth classmates, David Neiditz and Sid Schneck. The building was owned by a Mrs. Harrington, a somewhat imperious woman who lived on the first floor in a lovely spacious apartment with large crystal chandeliers and beautiful antique furniture. Her rental office was run by a Mrs. O’Clair, whom we would refer to as lady–in–waiting O’Clair, and we called our building Harrington Heights. Mrs. Harrington and I were casual friends, and I visited her a few times in her apartment. I remember her telling me about a trip around the world that her daughter, Lauris, was taking with Pat Kennedy (JFK’s sister). According to her story, Pat left Lauris in the middle of the trip, without advance notice, and flew back to be with her future husband, Peter Lawford. There was much upset over that in the Harrington household. I wondered if perhaps there might have been another side to the story.

A short while after we moved in, we noticed that three attractive girls had rented an apartment down the hall, and it wasn’t long before we connected with them. Two of them, Muriel Sandifer and Mimi Clark, were there to participate in a program at Radcliffe, and the third, Nancy Webb, was a first year student at Harvard Law School. We all became close chums, and would see one another often.

Muriel mentioned to us on one occasion that her father, Durward Sandifer, was a career diplomat with the U.S. State Department, who was currently serving as Eleanor Roosevelt’s advisor in her role as U.S. delegate to the United Nations. The Sandifer family and Mrs. Roosevelt had become quite close, and on a number of occasions, Muriel and her family were invited to stay with Mrs. Roosevelt at Val-Kill, her residence in Hyde Park. My ears picked up when I heard this, as Eleanor Roosevelt was someone I admired tremendously, as I had her late husband when he was president.

Just the mention of Eleanor Roosevelt brought back to me so clearly a day in April of 1945 when I was told by neighbors as I was walking home from school that President Roosevelt had died. When I told my mother, her immediate response was that they must be talking about Teddy Roosevelt. It was almost unthinkable to her, as to so many others, that FDR was gone. He had been so much a part of our lives during his almost thirteen years in office, first dealing with the Great Depression and later serving as our commander in chief in two simultaneous wars of gigantic proportions. FDR passed away on April 12, 1945 from a cerebral hemorrhage in Warm Springs, Georgia. Eleanor was not with him at the time. I remember, almost verbatim, the short message she sent to her sons: Your father slept away this afternoon in Warm Springs, Georgia. He did his job to the end as he would want you to do. When asked by Harry Truman, who became the next president, what he could do for her, her response was: What can I do for you, for you are the one in trouble now. I remember all of this as a young teenager. Eleanor, who in her own right had done so much for our country as First Lady, was one of my great heroes.

Not long after Muriel had mentioned her connection to Eleanor Roosevelt, she told us that Eleanor would be coming to Boston for some event and that she would try to arrange for us to meet her. Unfortunately, for a reason I can’t remember, she never made it to Boston. A couple of years later, soon after my graduation from Harvard Law School, Muriel invited me to accompany her family to Hyde Park to spend a night at Eleanor Roosevelt’s home. Unfortunately I had the flu at the time and so had to decline the invitation. It seemed at that point that I was destined to never meet this great lady.

After law school (during a period when there was a draft in effect), I served on active duty for three years in the U.S. Naval Reserve in Newport, Rhode Island. After leaving the Navy in November of 1958, I moved to New York City and became a tax lawyer at Shearman & Sterling & Wright, then the largest law firm in the world.

Shortly after moving to New York, in December of 1958, I decided on a whim to send a note to Eleanor Roosevelt, who was then living at the Park Central Hotel. In the note I introduced myself and mentioned that I was a close friend of Muriel Sandifer and felt somewhat cheated for having missed the opportunity to meet her through Muriel on several occasions when I was at school in Cambridge. To my delight and surprise, a note from Eleanor came by return mail asking if I could come to tea at her apartment in the Park Central at a specified time about a week later. I responded with