made the jewelry himself, with apprentices he trained. And so I got dressed up in clothes I borrowed from Hillel, another friend who was as short as I was, and presented myself in front of the security window inside the door of J. ZALATNICK, FINE JEWELRY MANUFACTURING, TRADE ONLY, on the eighth floor of a high office building in downtown Detroit.
The receptionist-secretary behind the security window was a homely woman of thirty or so. When she looked up, I smiled at her as if she were a great beauty I was seeing for the first time. She blushed and said, “Yes?” her voice cracking slightly.
“I am always glad to hear yes,” I said to her, leaning my elbows on the sill. “It is such a sweet sound compared to no.”
“Can I help you?”
“I hope so. I am here to see Mr. Zalatnick.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“I think Mr. Zalatnick will see me.”
“I see you,” a gruff face suddenly said from behind the security window. The hand belonging to the face was resting protectively on the shoulder of the young woman. “What do you want?”
“Our mutual friend Max Regenwitz suggested that we should meet.”
“Max? Why didn’t he phone? Come in, come in.” Zalatnick pushed a buzzer somewhere and the door next to the security window unlatched. I went through, carefully closing the door behind me, and followed Zalatnick’s chubby waddle into a tiny office in the back. Glancing into the main room, I saw the backs of ten or twelve men huddled over workbenches, loupes in their eyes, working on small objects clasped in vises.
“Where do you know Max from?” Zalatnick asked.
“From Zhitomir,” I said.
“You speak pretty good English for a greenhorn,” Zalatnick said. “You here for a job?”
I held my hands out, palms down, in front of Zalatnick.
“What’s that?” said Zalatnick, puzzled.
“Max said you needed workers with steady hands.”
“I don’t have time to teach greenhorns anymore. I need people with experience.”
“How does a fellow get experience unless someone brilliant teaches him?”
“Flattery don’t work with me,” Zalatnick said.
I looked straight into Zalatnick’s conscience. “I wasn’t referring to you, Mr. Zalatnick. I was talking about someone with foresight.”
Zalatnick stared back at me, but I wouldn’t drop my gaze. Finally, Zalatnick looked away.
I said, “I’d like to try your penny test.”
“Oh ho,” Zalatnick said, “Max told you. All right, I guess you win, come inside.”
Zalatnick led me into the shop not as if I was a fellow looking for a job but as if I was a friend of a friend. I was sure the men in the shop could smell the difference.
Zalatnick perched himself on one of the high stools, gestured for me to take the adjoining empty one. I noticed some of the men glancing over in my direction. One of them had a snicker on his face.
“The routine,” Zalatnick said, “is this. You take this saw, it’s very delicate, and you cut Lincoln’s head out of a penny. If you break the saw blade, finished. If Lincoln’s head has an extra bump when it’s out, flunk. If a piece of Lincoln gets left behind in the penny, good-bye. I have to warn you, nine out of ten can’t do it.”
“How do you get the saw blade through the penny to start cutting?” I asked.
“I’ll drill a hole for you over here,” Zalatnick said, heading for the small drill press.
“Please,” I said. “My penny.” I handed a brand new copper coin to Zalatnick. “I’d like to practice once on my own penny.”
Zalatnick looked at me. I guess it was the first time a greenhorn had suggested practicing on his own coin.
“Be my guest,” Zalatnick said. “Ruin yours instead of mine.” He drilled a hole in my penny right near Lincoln’s nose. He loosened the saw blade, put it through the hole, then retightened the blade.
I went to work, carefully trying to carve out Lincoln’s face and my future.
After ten minutes, Zalatnick came back from his workbench to
The receptionist-secretary behind the security window was a homely woman of thirty or so. When she looked up, I smiled at her as if she were a great beauty I was seeing for the first time. She blushed and said, “Yes?” her voice cracking slightly.
“I am always glad to hear yes,” I said to her, leaning my elbows on the sill. “It is such a sweet sound compared to no.”
“Can I help you?”
“I hope so. I am here to see Mr. Zalatnick.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“I think Mr. Zalatnick will see me.”
“I see you,” a gruff face suddenly said from behind the security window. The hand belonging to the face was resting protectively on the shoulder of the young woman. “What do you want?”
“Our mutual friend Max Regenwitz suggested that we should meet.”
“Max? Why didn’t he phone? Come in, come in.” Zalatnick pushed a buzzer somewhere and the door next to the security window unlatched. I went through, carefully closing the door behind me, and followed Zalatnick’s chubby waddle into a tiny office in the back. Glancing into the main room, I saw the backs of ten or twelve men huddled over workbenches, loupes in their eyes, working on small objects clasped in vises.
“Where do you know Max from?” Zalatnick asked.
“From Zhitomir,” I said.
“You speak pretty good English for a greenhorn,” Zalatnick said. “You here for a job?”
I held my hands out, palms down, in front of Zalatnick.
“What’s that?” said Zalatnick, puzzled.
“Max said you needed workers with steady hands.”
“I don’t have time to teach greenhorns anymore. I need people with experience.”
“How does a fellow get experience unless someone brilliant teaches him?”
“Flattery don’t work with me,” Zalatnick said.
I looked straight into Zalatnick’s conscience. “I wasn’t referring to you, Mr. Zalatnick. I was talking about someone with foresight.”
Zalatnick stared back at me, but I wouldn’t drop my gaze. Finally, Zalatnick looked away.
I said, “I’d like to try your penny test.”
“Oh ho,” Zalatnick said, “Max told you. All right, I guess you win, come inside.”
Zalatnick led me into the shop not as if I was a fellow looking for a job but as if I was a friend of a friend. I was sure the men in the shop could smell the difference.
Zalatnick perched himself on one of the high stools, gestured for me to take the adjoining empty one. I noticed some of the men glancing over in my direction. One of them had a snicker on his face.
“The routine,” Zalatnick said, “is this. You take this saw, it’s very delicate, and you cut Lincoln’s head out of a penny. If you break the saw blade, finished. If Lincoln’s head has an extra bump when it’s out, flunk. If a piece of Lincoln gets left behind in the penny, good-bye. I have to warn you, nine out of ten can’t do it.”
“How do you get the saw blade through the penny to start cutting?” I asked.
“I’ll drill a hole for you over here,” Zalatnick said, heading for the small drill press.
“Please,” I said. “My penny.” I handed a brand new copper coin to Zalatnick. “I’d like to practice once on my own penny.”
Zalatnick looked at me. I guess it was the first time a greenhorn had suggested practicing on his own coin.
“Be my guest,” Zalatnick said. “Ruin yours instead of mine.” He drilled a hole in my penny right near Lincoln’s nose. He loosened the saw blade, put it through the hole, then retightened the blade.
I went to work, carefully trying to carve out Lincoln’s face and my future.
After ten minutes, Zalatnick came back from his workbench to
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