Famous Nathan by Mr. Lloyd Handwerker Read Free Book Online

Titanic . We believe that the boat is unsinkable.”
    By Monday evening in New York, the true scope of the catastrophe became apparent: Titanic, the largest ship then afloat, had gone down. An eyewitness report detailed the exact moment the news hit the city.
    â€œThe scene on Broadway was awful. Crowds of people were coming out of the theaters, cafés were going full tilt, and autos were whizzing everywhere when the newsboys began to cry, ‘Extra! Extra paper! Titanic sunk with 1,800 aboard!’ Nobody could realize what had happened, and when they did begin to understand, the excitement was almost enough to cause a panic in the theaters. Women began to faint and weep.”
    In the stretch of days between the sinking and the arrival in New York of the survivors on Carpathia, the city became a death-haunted place. There was no way the news could not have reached Nathan, so complete was the grip that the calamity asserted on the public imagination. A new phrase entered the American vernacular: “Women and children first.”
    It was all anyone talked about. That Thursday, thirty thousand people gathered at Pier 54 on the Hudson River for the 9:00 P.M. docking of Carpathia . Almost every cop on the city’s force was summoned to duty in the neighborhood, which was cordoned off by ropes hung with ghostly green lanterns. A misty rain and occasional lightning flashes heightened the drama of the scene.
    â€œThere was almost complete silence on the pier,” wrote an eyewitness. “Women wept, but they wept quietly.”
    For a transatlantic immigrant who had crossed the same seas just a week previously, the story of RMS Titanic must have taken on a tragic weight. Five hundred thirty steerage passengers died when the liner sank. Nathan Handwerker could have been one of them. He could well have left Europe not from Holland but from Cherbourg, France, Titanic ’s second-to-last port of call. Nathan had to believe that he had just dodged a bullet.
    But he was too busy to be spooked. The new hire worked at the luncheonette, a small “store,” as he called it, with only four or five other employees. There was a single communal table for customers, mirrored walls, and an L-shaped counter with chairs. Nathan’s boss gave him two aprons, both white, one to wear below his waist and another on top.
    A hitch arose: he had to be called “Benny,” not Nathan. A manager’s name was Nathan, and it would have caused too much confusion for there to be two Nathans in the tiny kitchen.
    It didn’t take long for “Benny” to move up the restaurant food chain. After a single morning at the sink washing dishes, his boss approached. “He comes over [to check his work]. He never had seen anything like it. Clean!”
    The boss offered a fresh apron. “Put on the apron, Benny. You’re going to be a busboy.”
    â€œWhat should I do?” Nathan asked in Yiddish.
    The boss gave him a rag. “If you see a customer leave, you pick up their dishes, bring them to the sink, and wipe the counter.” He mimed the actions so that Nathan understood.
    The noon rush was upon them. Customers stopped at the counter for sandwiches and frankfurters and then grabbed seats. They were reluctant to return to the counter for their desserts and coffee, in fear they’d lose their place at the table.
    â€œWhen people get busy, you’ll take orders,” Nathan the manager told Nathan the new busboy.
    â€œBoss, I can’t,” Nathan said in Yiddish. “I’m Jewish. I can’t speak English.”
    â€œOne at a time,” the manager said, holding up his forefinger so that his busboy could grasp the concept. “One order at a time.”
    Language impaired or not, the new employee was quick. “I caught on right away what he meant. Small coffee was one cent. A large coffee was three cents. The manager was on the coffee counter. I would hold up one finger