Peter Barnum
Toastmasters Storytelling #5: Mr. Kinitsky

Almost all United States citizens have at least one ancestor who 
immigrated within the last hundred years.  They came from Brazil, to live 
in Miami, from China to live in California. But perhaps the place most 
linked with immigrant heritage is Ellis Island, New York. Between 1892 
and 1954, this was where over twelve million people took their first step 
on American soil and their first breath of American air. And after 
landing and passing through customs, they stepped out into the great 
melting pot, instantly transformed and integrated into American society.

Well, not exactly. Rather, a Polish man would walk to the Polish section 
of town, to move in next to his old neighbor from Krakow. An Irish woman 
would go live in a scale model of Dublin. And Russian Jews, such as my 
great grandparents, would travel to Brooklyn, to live next to people like 
Mr. Kinitsky.

The remainder of this story is told from the perspective of my 
grandfather, who was a boy at the time:

Mr. Kinitsky was from Poltava, which is near Kiev. He lived with another 
man next door, but always seemed to spend most of his evenings in our 
apartment.  His booming voice would fill the room as he told stories of 
his day or of his opinion on Mister President Harding’s Revenue Act. Mr. 
Kinitsky was proud of how a little boy from Poltava had crossed the seas 
and grown into a real American. He was not, he said, a greenhorn like the 
new immigrants. He would brag, in perfect Yiddish, how he had mastered 
the American accent, and the young woman behind the counter at the post 
office surely thought he had grown up in “Nehbreschka” (Nebraska).

When  not entertaining the children by telling of the first time he had a 
banana, “Fit-tooie! But how was I to know it was to be peeled first?”, he 
worked by going around with his horse and wagon, collecting old chairs, 
metal scraps, and priceless broken treasures, to be sold to junkyard 
dealers and middlemen. 

He usually would work until quite late, but one early evening, he burst 
into our apartment with news.  “Ah, I must tell you what happened! You 
all know the watchmaker, Mr. Katz, yes?”, without waiting for a response, 
“I was going by the shop of Mr. Katz-oh, by the way, his wife is feeling 
much better, you will be glad to hear – and as usual, he had a few 
tidbits. It was half an old grandfather clock in good condition, which I 
– but no, what was I saying.” He paused for a moment. “Do you have a 
glass of water? I had quite a run up the stairs. Denks.”

Mr. Kinitsky took a sip and continued. “Yes, but as I was saying, after 
we loaded the clock in my cart and Mr. Katz went back in the shop, their 
daughter Rosa brought me a small box of worn springs. We spoke some small 
remarks. Ay, she has a wit as bright as her eyes and-“, he eyed the 
children, “-and she is the most beautiful woman in the world and we have 
decided to marry.”

There was stunned silence. “Rosa Katz? Surely no, how did Mr. Katz agree 
to this? He was just talking to the Rabbi last Sabbath about arranging a 
match. You with the clockmaker’s daughter?”

“Arrange a match? Bah, this is America!” But he looked troubled. 
“Actually, I did not know this. And I have yet to discuss this marriage 
with her. ” Ah, we see. “But I will tomorrow and you and Mr. Katz will see!”

The next day: “Ahhh, I went by the shop this morning, but there is a 
problem. A woman such as that will not want to marry a junk dealer.” He 
turned to my great-grandfather. “Hymie, you are a fine tailor and the 
women swoon over your work on dresses. You must teach me how to be a fine 
tailor, and then I will be ready to ask Miss Rosa to marry me.”

What followed was a three-hour session on the art of needlework. Mr. 
Kinitsky perhaps spent more time poking himself than the cloth, but by 
the end, was able to serviceably adjust a skirt, and looked infinitely 
pleased with his new skill. “Tomorrow, tomorrow we will continue, and the 
next day, and soon I will be a fine tailor and open up a shop with my new 
bride!”

But we saw nothing of him the next day, or the day after.  We went to 
temple the day after that, and were stunned to see Mr. Kinitsky dressed 
up better than we’d ever seen him. And talking with the clockmaker! We 
did not want to interrupt, so we stood at the side of the room, watching 
them smile and laugh. Finally, the clockmaker grasped Mr. Kinitsky by his 
shoulder and left. In something of a daze, Mr. Kinitsky came over to us. 
We waited open-mouthed for him to tell us what had happened.

“Abram Kinitsky, there is no way that you have so soon gotten Mr. Katz to 
take you as a son.”

He waved us to silence and glanced around conspiratorially. “Shh, no no, 
but I have talked with Rosa, and I know how sometimes I exaggerate, but I 
tell you truthfully that she is as charmed by me as I by her.   And she 
and I have a new plan. Tailoring is not the way, but the Widow Goldshtein 
has started giving me lessons on good manners. You should have seen me, I 
greeted Mr. Katz so graciously and charmed him with my words. And, hear 
this, he has invited me to dinner with his family tomorrow night!”

And Mr. Kinitsky told us later of how he had charmed them all during that 
dinner. We saw less and less of him over the next two months, but one 
night he burst in, and announced that Mr. Katz had taken him aside and 
asked if he would like to marry his daughter. One crushed glass later, 
Mrs. Kinitsky moved up next door to us. 

After marriage, he was as loud and energetic as ever, but Rosa would 
temper his wild enthusiasm with good foresight. In fact, he later 
confessed to us that the plan had been entirely hers. “The plan was 
hers, yes, but my execution was worthy of Broadway! Perhaps I should go 
down tomorrow to audition.” Rosa gave him a little nudge and he looked 
slightly abashed. “Well, perhaps no, but what a performance it was!”