Painted Pathways

By Milton Pashcow

During the checkered reign of a weak and infamous Czar Nicholas II of Russia comes a tale of one mans travail to successfully breach the impossible restraints imposed upon his persecuted people. Not only did he overcome them by his forthright honesty of purpose and humanitarianism, but he set an example for all who followed his pathways.

He was not a statesman, warrior, or scientist. He was an orphan, adopted into a Jewish family at the age of two years, and lived his life as a proud Jew. He never made a speech, led a parade, or made the headlines.

He was my father.

His hardworking adaptive family, especially the mother, was the key stone supporting the bridge from the simplicity of the present to lifes greater potential on the other side of the world. His fertile brain blossomed with enthusiasm for the education she sought for and provided to both sons. Her influence was his guiding spirit, punctuated by the many painted pathways that often split from the manmade boundaries throughout the world at that time.

Leons dangerous escape from an anti-Semitic Russia and adventurous life following his immigration to a welcoming America as a proud and thankful citizen constitute the first and major portion of this book.

The several unassociated short stories were insufficient in number to warrant separate publication and are offered hopefully and solely for an interlude of your enjoyment. They spring from personal experience, for the most part.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9781514417980

Milton Pashcow

Milton Pashcow was lucky not through previous qualifications as an accountant but by military necessity, a basic dogma. He attended Franklin Technical Institute in Boston, which took credit for his conversion to a draftsman. After a short basic training, he was shipped directly overseas to Casablanca. He was born in Brooklyn in November 1918. He attended Erasmus Hall high school, Brooklyn College, and St. Johns University with a degree in business accounting. A two-year deferment from military service in WWII was due to his employment in a critical war production factory. A hardworking father, fugitive from Czarist Russia in 1903, a successful home builder, and a strong moral teacher of his four sons. We basically followed in his footsteps.

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Copyright © 2015 by Milton Pashcow.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 10/23/2015

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CONTENTS

Preface

Acknowledgements

Chapter I The court of Nicholas I

Chapter II Demise of the Romanov’s

Chapter III The Rise of the Pskov’s and Revolution

Chapter IV Tragedy at the Saloon

Chapter V Passing of Esther

Chapter VI Leon Ventures from the farm / Refl ections

Chapter VII Music calms the soul

Chapter VIII Insolence and plans and depravity

Chapter IX Green horns, martyrdom, escape, Danzig, Judy

Chapter X The Goldsmiths family, Sadie meets Leon

Chapter XI Leon and Ben Priestly, Judy

Chapter XII Judy meets Sadie

Chapter XIII Extortion, Sol succumbs

Chapter XIV The Trial and Conviction

Chapter XV Life on church Avenue

Chapter XVI Victor Admires Bernard

Chapter XVII Victor’s Biography, meets Angelina

Chapter XVIII Angelina meets Victor’s parents

Chapter XIX Linda Visits Italy

Chapter XX Showbiz

Chapter XXI Ingenuity

Chapter XXII Visit to European relatives, meet Welvel

Chapter XXIII Final Dinner, Uncle Joe’s expert journalism

Chapter XXIV Uncle Joe nominated for Nobel Prize

Chapter XXV Finish

CONTENTS

Short Stories

Branighans Shinanighans & More

Flyboy

Kansas City Kitty

Like Father Like Sons

RX For The Doctor

Somethings Never Change

The Indomitable Salesman

The Latent Virtuoso The Devils Turncoat

Why We Write

You Be The Judge

PREFACE

This is my first endeavor combining a novel with various timely unrelated short stories. The novel portion began as one of the short stories, but later developed into the triumph of one man’s daring escape from Czarist Russia, at the start of the 20th century. It expanded into a family theme of all his later adventures in America. My publicist Geoff Robson and other readers of the first few pages suggested that it become a serious theme to be expanded separately for its greater theme potential.

I humbly submit these pages in answer to their suggestions.

The spread of unrelated short stories concern only certain singular private individuals gathered from characters and their singular confrontations with their lives, brushed with humor, tragedy and love, and whose entrails weave an exciting tapestry into our living scene.

The book is a combination of my third venture into the literary field, a novel and a group of several short stories together. The close proximity to my 98th birthday precludes unlimited time to properly separate both time consuming endeavors, independently.

I realize that advanced age gives no privilege to a favorable critique, and I seek none. I only mention it to remind myself and my reader of my father’s early admonition, and my determination to always finish what I start.

With the advent of this third venture, my love affair with creative writing, I find that same togetherness of purpose of the same kind as my first two ventures; selfless and inventive, people full of catalytic reserve; the memory of my late wife Angelina, and later my son Allan and daughter in law Louise and grandchildren Briana and Shannon were always ready with a variety of constructive critiques.

My computer savvy nurse Brian Bergado and my book publicist Geoff Robson, each in his own way smooth out many of the bumps along the pathways and they will always remain in my highest regard. To my primary launching editor Marjorie Gilette Jones I owe her constant literary and personal upgrades along our aging pathways.

To the nameless compilers of vast amounts of computer research material, my constant thanks and complements at their detailed amazing information.

To all of you, please continue the wonderful work you do for those who will always be dependent on you, for their next ‘Best Seller’.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

With the advent of this third venture, my love affair with creative writing, I find that same togetherness of purpose of the same kind as my first two ventures; selfless and inventive, people full of catalytic reserve; the memory of my late wife Angelina, and later my son Allan and daughter in law Louise and grandchildren Briana and Shannon were always ready with a variety of constructive critiques.

My computer savvy nurse Brian Bergado and my book publicist Geoff Robson, each in his own way smooth out many of the bumps along the pathways and they will always remain in my highest regard. To my primary launching editor Marjorie Gilette Jones I owe her constant literary and personal upgrades along our aging pathways.

To the nameless compilers of vast amounts of computer research material, my constant thanks and complements at their detailed amazing information.

To all of you, please continue the wonderful work you do for those who will always be dependent on you, for their next ‘Best Seller’.

CHAPTER I

The broad expanse of flat farm land from the easterly German border of 1900 where it met Czarist Russia, to the distant foothills of the snowcapped Urals to the east and stretching as far as the eye could see, lay scattered tiny jeweled picturesque flat fertile islets each sprouting stately tall silver birch and deeply painted emerald pines. Speckled sunlight danced its way through their shimmering needles and branches. Sunlight reflected a rusty patina of gold from the dried fading thatched straw roofs of the farmer’s cabins.

The last weekend day of spring held none of the untimely chill that had pervaded over the country side until then. Farmers flung open their doors to allow in the mild breeze that chased the stale winter air from their musty interiors. Birds tended their nests, piglets suckled at their sow’s breast. Tranquility reigned everywhere, or so it seemed. It was a time of sophisticated narcissism for the elite; a time when the unattended cauldron of royal abuse was steaming toward an over-boil while leaders abroad waited nervously. The Romanov’s saw no reason to lower the flame.

The potential rich productivity of this giant food basket basin had been sadly neglected by the government’s carousing, drinking land developmental police. Except where art was concerned, this early twentieth century Czar’s interest in efficiency was noticeably lacking. The clear mineral rich waters of the Volga nourished the fertile lands and flowed south from the higher Urals in the north, curving slightly westward many miles before irrigating the flatlands, and before reaching the Black Sea to the south. Nature’s modest bounty was none of the Czar’s creation, in spite of his sincere belief that he was God’s messenger in all things. There was no question in his mind about the divine inspiration that descended through his long religious lineage. In that belief, both he and his family were unshakable. His close circle of advisors though, they may have had some doubts thought it better for their own well-being, to believe it also.

This unmatched spread of empire anywhere displayed many weather phenomena from the forbidding icy wastes of Siberia to the warmer resorts in the south. The facial features of its people varied from the Oriental to the European, with variations from the Mogul in between. So did their varied cultures, inherited through adventuresome ancestors; who had settled in vastly scattered remote regions, some of their dress and music still gaily and proudly displayed on festive occasions. During the nineteenth century Russia expanded, exchanged territories, fought many wars with equally gregarious neighbors to grow to its present gigantic size.

Over this vast empire, there ruled since the seventeen hundreds, the royal Romanov family, presently under Nicholas II. Five capricious siblings, ages thirteen to twenty two; the only male, young Alexei, was the proud prince to carry on the Romanov name. A serious case of hemophilia was the only obstacle to Alexei’s ever replacing his father when the time would come. Nicholas spent all his energy and much time keeping his son alive. The two were irrevocably bonded together. Nicholas’s spent every free moment, sometimes neglecting official protocol to be together; at times Alexei remaining on his father’s lap during cabinet meetings raised some eyebrows.

Pathetic Nicholas’s last desperate hope to see his family name continue on, rested on the health of his loving son. Nicholas’s entire emotional stamina was wrapped up in Alexei, to the detriment of his growing political concerns over the detested communistic upstarts like Vladimir, Lenin. Lenin was an effective rabble rouser, not to be easily shoved aside. Further to Nicholas’s headache was another raucous commoner and mysterious sooth stayer named Rasputin. He was given great liberties in the court, due to his hypnotic powers over a tormented czarina and his occult abilities to mix effective potions for the boy to effectively reduce the dangerous bleeding, associated with that malady. The Czarina hoped that her husband judged wisely to disregard standard medical advice in favor of Rasputin’s helpful private potions.

Rasputin was an insidiously self-centered individual, often pompously obnoxious, and showed none of the courts desired protocol from one in such a favored place. He often infuriated medical expert’s direct instructions for the boy’s welfare by substituting his own.

Rasputin’s wife, Maria, a distant relation to the czarina, was probably the worst reason for Rasputin’s acceptance anywhere, at the royal court. He was a peasant with mystical faith healing powers, who quickly influenced the bewildered Czar in 1915 when the latter took command of his faltering army at the Russian western front of WWI.

Rasputin worked his way from peasant to great influence in the Russian court. He was a bizarre wild specter to behold. His piercing hypnotic eyes and religious fervor and transformed him into a revolting Svengali. He combined mysticism and sexuality to surround himself with a harem of women to feed those sexual and hypnotic powers.

Nicholas fervently hoped the Czarina was an exception to his magic, for the sake of her own dainty neck.

Eventually, Rasputin’s influence rose to the top, which bothered Peter Stolypin, the prime minister who unsuccessfully attempted to have Rasputin banished from the court.

One evening Nicholas happen to intercept Rasputin exiting the Czarina’s bedroom.

What are you doing in the Czarina’s bedroom? demanded Nicholas angrily.

The Czarina called me in to treat Alexie, who was having a seizure, and sought his mother’s company, was Rasputin’s quick response.

Nicholas brushed by Rasputin to enter his wife’s bedroom. She happened to be awake.

Was Alexie with you just now? He demanded suspiciously.

Yes, the poor boy needed help.

Why didn’t you call me? You know what that boy means to me

Alexie, looking for help ran to my room. You couldn’t be found. I had my maid Darya run for the quickest nearest medical help; that was Rasputin. His potions do wondrous things for poor Alexie.

You needn’t concern yourself about me and Rasputin. If it were not for Alexie, I wouldn’t have the rude and wild uncouth slob anywhere near me."

‘Strange’, thought Nicholas to himself. It seems those are the very characteristics that appealed to his many sexual conquests.

He hoped for her sake that she was telling the truth. Other Czars of the past had the power, and did make a short reign of their wife’s infidelities.

The serious nature of Nicholas revolted at the very idea of his wife in that misfit’s embrace.

The incident went no further. Nicholas remained puzzled, however.

Rasputin, demanded Nicholas. Why do you ignore the medicines prescribed by our best doctors, for your own? Tell me!

The wily Rasputin was quick to answer,

Those doctors, he said, never had the experience I have had with this sickness. I am not a doctor, but there are sources of knowledge, not from books but from the Devil’s disciples that would astound you and the medical profession; knowledge gained from the millennia of the occult intuition beyond the beginning of time."

Rasputin counseled the czarina in personal matters, that idea being offensive to Nicholas. But he feared to criticize Rasputin, because of the latter’s benefits brought to Alexei.

Nicholas considered him a spy and prepared to have him executed. The czarina was mortified over the plan, and belittled the king in the strongest language possible, mindful of her minor status under her husband, Why do you risk your son’s life by eliminating the only source of help in spite of our doctors? she cried. His highness gave no answer.

Nicholas was well aware of that risk but he could not shake the feeling that this Svengali had been adversely influencing too many of his political policies through the Czarina’s post hypnotic seductive ploys that Rasputin’s sorcery thus made her an unwitting accomplice. It rankled Nicholas’s trusting nature.

Not only did Nicholas consider him a spy but so did several others. Before Nicholas had a chance to execute him others already had the same idea.

Felix Yusupov was a relative of Nicholas and invited Rasputin to his home, but not for social pleasantries. He feared Russia’s imminent collapse through Rasputin’s destructive influence on Nicholas’s decisions through hypnotic suggestions given him through Alexandra.

Yusupov laced Rasputin’s food and drink with enough cyanide to poison several men; with hardly any visual effect. Yusupov did not stop there, and shot him victim as he tried to escape from further attacks. Still running, the conspirators shot twice more and beat him with clubs. He finally succumbed. They rolled him into a blanket and dumped his body into the nearby Neva River.

There was no doubt in the killer’s minds that Rasputin was in league with the devil or other occult vipers in order to survive the beatings and the poison for so long.

The Czarina assumed Nicholas encouraged Rasputin’s killing in spite of his protestations, to the contrary. But he exulted with the results just the same.

CHAPTER II

The Romanov family was well educated, distinctly fashionable, and true dilatants of the arts. The finest paintings were proudly displayed in the Hermitage, a unique family museum, rivaling the French Louvre in quality. There were no such personal displays to be found anywhere to equal the treasured paintings hung on deep red tapestry lined hallways, interspersed by rooms with the most sought after statuary. Small elegant water fountains were spaced under overhead rotundas, capped by large magenta coffered ceilings.

Nicholas was so captivated with his museum that he spent many hours with his family and high ranking guests in trail as he vocally described the high points of each masterpiece; so adept was he in its many loving details, and his astute knowledge of art works.

Sadly, no such care or affection was wasted on its weary subjects. Despotism was equally displayed. Freedom throughout the land, mental or physical was limited. The Czar would tolerate no criticism, or demonstrations from the peasants who were sharecroppers on huge millionaire’s estates and whose masters were dedicated to protect the Czar’s family; and to suppress minor eruptions by disgruntled peasant farmers. Fortunately the Czar’s benign liaison with his well coddled military troops guaranteed his control of all his distant provinces.

This turn of the century arrangement was necessitated by the vast terrain to be controlled. Together they feared no military confrontations over international boundary delineations. No internal political differences were ever too minor to be confronted with less than royal heartless resistance. The Romanovs were of formidable rulers with a hereditary fighting instinct. Yet, by the start of the twentieth century cracks were showing in the old order. The growth of idealistic socialism and the growing demand for recognition of human dignity forced a reluctant Czar into some minor reforms for his people, but only under the greatest duress and with meager benefits to them.

The royal family’s spendthrift lifestyle and callous inattention to its subjects eventually led to the unexpected shocking and ruthless assassination of the entire family during its comfortable house arrest in the palace at Yekaterinburg during the communist revolution in 1918. The legacy left by the royal family was a bankrupt war-torn unstable land, ready for an experiment in a radical form of government… communism. Few could ever condone the needless brutal assassination of the entire royal family. Such excesses reduced their trust in the political stability of the new revolutionary government.

On one pleasant Sunday morning in July 1918 the family was asked to assemble in an anti-room leading to the great ball room and to dress for an outdoor carriage ride to a famous botanical garden, a short distance from the center of the spacious Palace grounds that served to beautify the approach to the formal gardens fronting the palace itself.

The botanical gardens were more beautiful than their captors had described. The family was permitted for the first time in weeks, since their imprisonment to leave the palace rooms, to take their last summer romp in the beautiful world they would soon be leaving. The children carefully ran through the narrow aisles of colorful pansies and nasturtium, and well-manicured Japanese bright red tiny shrubs planted in small circles. The children tended them carefully to preserve that pleasure for other flower lovers.

The elders loved the respect that the children showed for nature’s beauty and its preservation. Nicholas seemed to put aside the gnawing cancers that mentally plagued the royal family. Out here in the cleanliness of nature’s purity; devoid of the royal court’s sickening endless intrigue. He enjoyed the break with his devoted family.

‘Would he exchange his high born status for the aching, bone weary life of a farmer, anyone of whom would have gladly traded with him without hesitation?’

Nicholas shook the dead end mental quirks to the vital reality of the courts, harshness, and mistrust vital to his responsibility. He watched enviously as birds circled lazily overhead.

The family did as they were told by their captors when they returned to the palace. All the five children, Olga, Tatiana, Maria, Anastasia, and Alexei sat in a front row seated in finely upholstered dining room chairs. Behind them the Nicholas, Alexandria and the queen mother, Alice stood dressed as if at a coronation; Nicholas dressed in a neck-tight uniform