The Extraordinary Times of Ordinary People

By Mark Carp

Alvin Carpman goes through life with a foreboding sense of the world. A German-Jewish emigre who is fortunate to leave Germany after Kristallnacht in 1938, he settles in Baltimore, and begins a nurses uniform manufacturing business following World War II.

He survives some bruising brushes with a clothing union, an extra-marital affair, and the realization that an intellectually gifted son probably will leave the country to avoid the military draft during the Vietnam War.

Yet these episodes pale in comparison to the murder of his best friend and his youngest sons involvement in the sordid aftermath.

In the end, is Alvin Carpman a congenital pessimist who should count himself among the lucky?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 14, 2007
• ISBN: 9781452069944

Mark Carp

Mark Carp is the author of “Mr. Show Business”, his seventh book and sixth novel. He lives in Baltimore, Maryland, and holds a BS degree from the University of Maryland and an MS degree from The Johns Hopkins University. His other novels are “Segalvitz,” “Abraham, The Last Jew,” “The Extraordinary Times of Ordinary People,” The End of Hell,” and “Naomi’s ‘American’ Family.”

Book preview

Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter I

In the Beginning

Chapter II

Helen Kostiki

Chapter III

Two Worlds: One I Made, One I Live In

Chapter IV

The Father, Son and Holy Ghost

Chapter V

Change and Conflict Are Everywhere

Chapter VI

A Cold Draft

Chapter VII

Our Lives and the Lives of Our Children

Chapter VIII

Helen:

The Skeleton That Came Out of the Closet

Chapter IX

Forgive but Not Forget

Chapter X

Between Hope and Reality

Chapter XI

Taking Stock of Things

Chapter XII

Wedding Bells and More

Chapter XIII

Phone Calls and a Knock on the Door

Chapter XIV

Not-So-Strange Bedfellows

Chapter XV

An Old Foe Meets a New Face

Chapter XVI

Ira’s Time and Etta’s Request

Chapter XVII

Florida Gets Closer, Finally

Chapter XVIII

No!

Chapter XIX

Florida, Finally

Chapter XX

Nineteen Eighty Four

Chapter XXI

The Trial

Chapter XXII

Retirement, I Guess

Chapter XXIII

A Bittersweet Reunion

About the Author

The Yiddish proverb, You make plans and God laughs, got it exactly right.

Mark Carp

Dedication

To my wife, Nancy, who understands me,

and to my son, Matthew, who tolerates me.

Acknowledgments

I’d like to thank Janet Kozlay for typing the manuscript and for offering editing and grammatical suggestions, and Nancy Carp and Barbara Harr for reviewing the manuscript.

Additionally, I’d like to thank Arleen Grollman for her services.

Finally, I’d like to thank Jay L. Liner, Esquire, for reviewing the chapters relating to legal matters.

Chapter I

In the Beginning

Life is so ironic, at times so tragic, and so full of detours, a realization one comes to when you’re like me, an old man.

Today I remember one of those detours because it’s his yahrzeit. I always came to shul to say Kaddish on the day his death is remembered.

It was near the end of the service when the rabbi asked those who wanted to recite Kaddish to stand. I stood and said the prayer in unison with some of the other congregants.

As I sat down, I thought about the day he had died and my family’s involvement in the aftermath. It’s still hard to believe.

Why can reality be so evil?

He always said America was different. And it was.

He had been my best friend, an anchor in my new country, but now he had been gone for many years.

Yes, he was right, America was different—but in ways not even he could have imagined.

The years had passed quickly, maybe faster than I had understood.

In the 1930s, I was living in Berlin, Germany, with my young wife, Etta. The Nazis had come to power. Then came Kristallnacht, the night the Nazis looted Jewish properties and burned synagogues. At that point we knew we had to leave. Thankfully, we were able to do so.

There was a stop in England, then New York, and finally in Baltimore, Maryland, where we rented a house in the Pimlico area. I was employed by a shirt manufacturer on Lombard Street. Here I began to learn the business of clothing manufacturing: the buying, cutting, sewing and financial side.

Following the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, December 7, 1941, and Germany’s soon-to-follow declaration of war on the United States, the country was in World War II. Some months later, the manufacturer for whom I worked was awarded contracts to make military uniforms. The plant, from 1942 to 1945, operated at close to capacity, and the owners of the business, the Rosenblatt family, enriched themselves as a result of wartime government contracts.

Near the end of the war I began thinking of starting my own business, manufacturing nurses’ uniforms. Baltimore had an extensive hospital system, with Johns Hopkins and Sinai, a Jewish hospital, among them. I had discussed the idea with Etta, who worried about the financial risks and capital required to begin a business. I explained to her the capital required wouldn’t be that great, and I could find labor to do the work cheaply, if necessary in our rented house. At the close of the war, while still working for my current employer, I had a designer draw several uniforms for me and had a brochure made. I mailed the brochure to all area hospitals and doctors. I used my home address as my place of business. To my amazement, we received a number of calls and I wrote several orders.

At first we used our basement, living, and dining rooms as our manufacturing area. I hired some workers from my current employer to work nights and weekends. My wife and I oversaw the manufacturing process. We paid our workers by the piece. We ran a hand-to-mouth operation, but were making a profit and controlled our overhead by making war against anything but the cheapest price for all goods and services. With the war over, I could see the potential. The country was switching from a wartime to a peacetime economy. People seemed optimistic. Housing subdivisions sprouted. In 1946 I went into business full time, renting space on Guilford Avenue in a downtown loft building. My wife worked with me every day and kept the books. I supervised production and we hired a full-time salesman, Stanley Rubin.

In April 1947 Etta became pregnant. We moved from our rented house in Pimlico and purchased a semi-detached home in a northwestern suburb of Baltimore City, on Clarks Lane. The payments were easily affordable. Life was good.

Etta and I, along with our expected child, had much to look forward to. The country was at peace, my mishpocheh was soon to expand, and business was good, a far cry from the decade before when we left Germany.

But something inside gnawed at me: Was life too good to be true for Alvin Carpman?

Chapter II

Helen Kostiki

I was glancing at my morning newspaper when a salesman came to see me. As he was a bit early for his appointment, I asked if I could finish the story I was reading.

Certainly, he said.

I finished the article quickly.

Anything interesting? he asked.

No, just something about President Kennedy going to Dallas.

With all that’s going on, he doesn’t have enough to do in Washington, he chided.

I shrugged.

* * *

With the Kennedy assassination, so much seemed to change. It was as if the earth were shifting beneath my feet without my being aware.

Anyway, a new woman was starting in the office today. Her name was Helen Kostiki and she came with good references. Helen was employed to assist me with office duties, secretarial and administrative, and at times to be my liaison to matters on the production floor.

She was reasonably attractive, 5’5" with dark blond hair and exceptionally well built. Helen was neat and personable but at times she could be flirtatious. Initially I should have taken her on the side to tell her to end any flirtation, but I didn’t. And when the attention was directed at me, I was kind of flattered. Oh, well, it was innocent enough, so I let it go.

As soon as I hired Helen, Etta noticed a difference in me.

You seem to be happier. Did something positive happen at the place? she asked.

I hired a new woman to work in the office. She’s efficient and personable.

I hope she works out.

I do too.

In our earlier years of marriage, Etta would have been inquisitive about a new female employee’s looks and manner. Now she was unconcerned.

One day when Helen and I were alone in the office, she put her arm around me. I walked away without saying a word. While I wanted to keep the office professional, my dilemma was I enjoyed the attention. I didn’t encourage the attention, but liked when I received it.

Later, when I was alone in the supply room, Helen walked in.

Can I help you? I asked.

She put her arms around me and kissed me intensely on the lips. She turned and walked away. Before she could reach the door, I grabbed her and returned