Max loves to sing! Just like, he says, another resident who is a retired cantor.
MAX: Max, interviewed by Lisa or talking with other family members So I used to like to sing while I was working. And I like it, I always did it, and I liked it. See now, [in the] hotel we have a Rabbi, a little fellow – you know him? He's ninety-six. And we also have a chazzan cantor , you know, a past chazzan, he used to be in his glory. Now he's old, and he's sick, and I suppose he's got family trouble similar to mine, so he doesn't live with his family, or wife, or children, but he lives in the hotel. But I know he's a chazzan, cause when they call him to the telephone, they address him Cantor So-and-So.
Max is among Ashkenazi Jews at Jackson Manor.
NARRATOR: Lisa, backgrounding/commenting. The majority of people at the Jackson were Eastern European Jews like Max, finding solace in the historic and cultural similarities among them. They had come from the same areas, had worked all their lives for the education and success of their children, and now awaited death. Providing their children with the tools to escape poverty and oppression, their job was now completed, their lives now coming full circle.
The gifts these people gave to their children resulted in the establishment of their own lives. As the children comfortably ensconced themselves in suburbia the need was created for the existence of such hotels as the Jackson. The seaside locations resemble somewhat the Miami Beach condominiums many of them had come from. But the function of those condominiums was mainly for retired couples to enjoy their remaining years together. When a spouse died, however, the community could not serve the same purpose; it therefore became necessary for these people to be with their children, close enough to visit them but far enough away so that their children's lives would not be intruded upon.
Lisa reminds Max about his son Saul's love of singing..
LISA: Lisa, interviewing her grandfather, Max I'll bet that your singing rubbed off on Uncle Saul, huh?
MAX: Saul used to sing alright. He likes music, you like music, and I like music.
Max describes two residents who also love to sing.
MAX: You know what we do, there is one man where I am there, an old man and sick man, but he likes to sing. So he's got little books with Jewish songs, English songs, and songs that are [translated]. And evening, after supper I go out with him, sit down over there, but he forgets, he forgets the melodies, so I help him find the melodies. And then we go and enjoy ourselves!
But he's a sick man. It happens with him that he walked through the aisle, and he fell and he fainted and he was laying on the floor until they called a doctor and revived him.
So there is a few of them that know how to sing. One of them claims that a certain general in the Russian army picked him to be the soloist when they used to have parades. I mean it! He's very old now. He's ninety, or something. So sometimes I feel good, and he feels good, and I sit down with him outside and I poke him a little, and then I start singing some of the songs. This brings him back to, you know, younger years. So he tells me that the general picked him for certain festivities, and I can believe him, because I see he undertands music.
Music is a key survival item for Max.
NARRATOR: Music was one of the most profound illustrations of Max's romantic methods of survival. His was more an innate perception of the beauty of music than formal knowledge of it– he knew what he liked and called on this awareness whenever it was needed. A case in point is when Jennie died. One day, almost immediately after the funeral, he called George, bereaved and needing support. But at one point in the conversation he interrupted, informing George that he had just heard Beethoven's Ninth on the radio, and noting how beautiful it was. Music was not an escape for Max; rather it alleviated some of the pain. He employed music throughout his life, firmly instilling his appreciation for it within his children.