Omaha (1908)
Dictated by Ary
“Finally the family triumphantly
produced a solution. I wanted to be an artist — well,
here was my opportunity. At that time there was a vogue for
colored photographs — the black and white image touched
up with color.”
After I had been in Sioux City a little while
my uncle decided that I would have more opportunity in Omaha,
where cousins of the family were fairly well established in
business. So I was given a ticket (the sum duly recorded with
the steamer passage!) and I was sent on my way. The cousins
were not entirely cordial in their welcome; the influx of new
arrivals from Europe was wearing thin their hospitality and
their finances. But a place was made for me in the bedroom of
the younger children and I was told I might stay there until
I found work. Several days tramping about the city brought no
results; boys with little knowledge of the language and the
customs were not in demand. Finally the family triumphantly
produced a solution. I wanted to be an artist — well, here
was my opportunity. At that time there was a vogue for colored
photographs — the black and white image touched up with
color. A photographer had need of someone to help him in this
work. It was a good business and I would eventually be able
to make photographs and color them on my own. So I was taken
to the photographer, and he consented to take me on trial.
He showed me a pile of photographs and told me to color the
cheeks pink. I looked them over; they were mostly portly dowagers.
My soul revolted — this was a mockery of art; I could not
lend myself to it. When a customer came in and the photographer
was busy with him I put the pile of photographs back, and stole
out of the shop. All day long I wandered about the streets,
a stone weighing on my heart, tears close to my eyes. I dared
not return to my cousins’ house; they would be angry at
me; how could a penniless immigrant refuse the opportunity they
had found for me. But I was determined, and then and there I
decided that I would never do anything that would violate my
ideals of art. I would go back to Sioux City, find a job —
any job — I would paint in my spare time, and sometime,
in a year — 5 years — 10 years — when I had saved
enough money, I would say goodbye to this world of business
and seek a place where I could live only for painting.
It was late at night when I softly opened the door of my cousins'
house and crept up the stairs, to stretch myself out on the
bed for a few brief hours of sleep. Then up early in the morning
to pack my few belongings, and leaving a note on the dining
room table, to walk out of the house and to the railroad station,
to take the first train back to Sioux City.
