Their very early history, however, was rather different and to some extent may have shaped their contrasting personalities. Even though both were born in Gorlovka, it was only J.B. who accompanied his parents to America. N.M. was left behind at the age of 1 or 2, essentially--as it seemed to him in retrospect--abandoned by his immediate family. He was left in the care of a maternal aunt, Rose Bach, and his maternal grandfather, Mendel Schelesnyack ("Selznick" became the Americanized version). As a young child at the tender age we now know is very sensitive for bonding with parents, he transferred his affections to Rose as his mother and Mendel as his father.
Two years later or so he was told by Rose that they would go to America, and he was assured that Mendel (who was much older than Rose) would meet them at the train station. But apparently there was money enough only for Rose and N.M., and Mendel was left behind, contrary to assurances given to N.M. So he felt abandoned again, and perhaps--even worse--that he was abandoning his "father." (His feeling for Mendel is reflected in my middle name.)
When Rose and N.M. stepped off the train in Milwaukee, he was greeted by his natural parents, Tillie and Myer, in the company of several of Myer's brothers and their spouses. N.M. was immediately asked whether he could pick out his parents among the assembled throng of bald men and their wives. To our eyes today they resemble each other remarkably (see photo on previous page). Imagine N.M.'s confused state of mind. The adults thought this situation was quite humorous, but to N.M. it was no laughing matter because he thought Rose was his mother and that his father had been left behind! This traumatic memory stayed with him all his life; it was related to me on audio tape in the 1970's.
To add further to his problems of adjustment, a younger sister, Ida, had been born in Milwaukee before he arrived and had become the center of attention in the nuclear family. Later, another sister, Sara, was born. In my judgment, Dad had a feeling of being "left out" in his immediate family, a feeling that lingered for years. Perhaps his lack of a strong ego resulted from--or contributed to--this feeling. Similar stories no doubt could be told of other immigrant families, although I am sure few had so many look-alike uncles!
J.B., however, never lacked for ego. He had an earthy vitality, but was aggressive, ambitious, self-promotional, entrepreneurial, and didactic. The saving grace of his occasional vulgarity was that it seemed intentional, often done for effect. Dad, by contrast, was relatively passive, quiet, self-effacing, risk-averse, both a gentle man and a gentleman. These strong contrasting personalities were nevertheless bound together for 80 years by a strong affection that many would envy in our hurried world of today.
The sinews of this bond were the practice of dentistry and the game of chess.
They entered the joint practice of dentistry in 1923 in Milwaukee after graduating Marquette Dental School and completing postgraduate clinical study at the Forsythe Dental Infirmary in Boston (now affiliated with the Harvard Dental School), then as now a pre-eminent institution in the profession. (It now occurs to me to wonder how they paid tuition.) In the world of dental practitioners in Milwaukee they soon gained an estimable reputation beyond the large Franklin family that I assume provided an early core group of patients. I often met people who would ask whether I was related to the Drs. J.B. or N.M.
They got referrals from the management of the Schroeder Hotel, probably Milwaukee's only first class hotel in those days and the stopping-off place for well-known entertainers, some of whom developed dental problems on the road. So celebrities sometimes turned up in J.B. or N.M.'s chair (Hildegard is the only one I now recall Dad mentioning).
They practiced together until 1945, when J.B. took additional study and training to become an orthodontist, which he correctly (and typically) recognized as a more promising field of dentistry. He also became a professor at Marquette Dental School, with several published articles in the field. In addition, he developed a nursing home and had the typical hallmarks of material success in the post-war boom. Dad meanwhile stuck to his last--or his chair--in the same office until 1977, turning out beautiful inlays, crowns and bridges for his loyal and large body of patients, who were treated to classical music and the most caring and gentle therapy. He could not comfortably inflict pain on any living being, an attitude not then common in that profession.
To this day I meet former patients, including our former longtime member of Congress, who claim they have never been able to find another dentist with such craftsmanship and compassion
But it is chess that is most vividly called to mind when people think of J.B. and N.M. They learned the game as kids. I recall the two of them playing game after game at J.B.'s home or ours until wives pleaded with them to quit. The game was too anti-social to be indulged in if others in addition to wives were present, however.
Their style of play reflected their personalities. Even from the next room one could hear J.B.'s pieces pouncing on the board or hear the opposing piece captured and flung noisily into the box. He cracked gum, whistled, puffed billowing clouds of cigar smoke and engaged in other distracting tactics that would evoke continual but gentle remonstrances from Dad. Dad, on the other hand, sat patiently and quietly, perhaps muttering from time to time "es 'st schlecht" ("it's looking bad"--his English was impeccable, but this Yiddishism has remained in my memory). When things were going well he might say "how's that for you, Doctor?'--about as assertive as he would get during a game. When they spent winters at the same condo in Florida they were out near the pool every day playing several games. If they didn't it was cause for note, if not concern. I estimate that they could have played as many as 10,000 games with each other over three quarters of a century. I have no idea--and they perhaps didn't either--who won more of them. It didn't matter; simply being together did.
This special bond was broken by J.B.'s death in 1984. His life had been marred by the untimely death of his first wife and a troubled son, compensated to a large degree by a happy second marriage to a warm and gracious woman (Lillian). N.M. was blessed by a marriage of 62 years to Bessie Ozonoff, two sons and six grandchildren.
The two brothers were fortunate to have each other through this extraordinarily long period. Such a saga of brotherly love is a felicitous model for any family.
