Ida Harinstein Zeitz’s life is filled with mysterious choices, brushes with local history, and long periods of absence. Not even her true birthdate is known. The best guess, though, places her birth around 1885 in an unknown part of Russia. Her parents, Hyman and Gussie are equally mysterious. By the enumeration of the 1910 United States Census, Gussie, her daughter Ida, and two sons, Samuel and Jacob were living and working in Bridgeport’s South End. And by the time the Harinsteins made it into the census, Hyman, husband and father of three, had already died. Just five years into the family’s experiment in America, and already a pillar of support had collapsed.
The death of Hyman Harinstein almost certainly threw the family into a difficult financial situation. Both Jacob and Samuel Harinstein turned to working in a brass manufactory. And while many other girls her age were preparing for lives as mothers and wives, Ida had her hands in machinery that was crafting modern femininity. It’s no great shock that eighteen-year-old Ida Harinstein went to work in a corset factory. After all, the Harinstein home stood less than five hundred feet from the Warner Corset Company, a revolutionary in the fields of fashion and somewhat suspect health products. After 1912, Ida married a Volga Austrian factory worker, about ten years her senior, named Meyer Zeitz. Zeitz worked as a machinist in another giant of Bridgeport industry, the Singer Sewing Machine Company. Challenging times were at hand. Meyer applied for United States citizenship and joined Bridgeport’s growing Zionist movement, advocating for the establishment of a Jewish homeland in Palestine. At the same moment, the United States and Russia were at war with the Austro-Hungarian Empire, Meyer’s homeland. Throughout the late 1910s and 1920s, Ida Harinstein Zeitz practically disappears from the written record, likely having assumed the role of homemaker. Strangely, Ida’s name, not Meyer’s, is listed in city directories, implying that she was the head of household. It is an unusual occurrence. Very little else can be found out regarding the Zeitz family during this period of time. But in 1930, the Zeitz family reappears, and with an addition. Esther, a daughter of Meyer and Ida, was already ten years old. Meyer was no longer a machinist, but a clothing salesman, probably for the Bridgeport Fabric Company next door. And living with the Zeitz family in their Ash Street home was Ida’s brother Jacob Harinstein, and their mother, Gussie. Momentous change had transpired during the past decade, with little making its way onto paper. But confusion lay beneath the surface of an otherwise typical family. After the year 1930, Meyer evaporates from the record. It seems most probable that the couple separated without a formal divorce agreement. This is evidenced by the fact that Ida referred to herself as a married woman ten years after Meyer left the Zeitz household. It may have been these circumstances which led Ida to embark on a remarkable enterprise. Without any discernible experience, Ida took the reins of a bakery on Maplewood Avenue. How this transpired is unclear, but beginning in 1939, Ida launched a career in sweets which would last decades. Ida Zeitz operated the Maplewood Avenue bakery under the ownership of Ann’s Newfield Bakeries. Best known for their cakes and doughnuts, Ann’s Newfield Bakeries supplied their treats both to individual customers and to larger institutions like hospitals and restaurants until the late 1980s. For years she worked alongside her daughter Esther, bringing baked goods to Greater Bridgeport. Ida Zeitz was likely 72 years old when she retired in 1957, but her former employment was never far from view. Ida, her daughter, her son-in-law, and her grandchildren lived just one door over. The bakery continued to operate at the same location under the ownership of James Sousa Sylvia, an immigrant from the Azores. The Innovative Styles Barbershop and Omega Deli-Market occupy the structure today. In 1960 Ida Zeitz moved into the Father Panik Village, the first public housing development in Bridgeport. Panik Village began in 1939 as a visionary approach to solving issues of crime and poverty, by supplying residents of the city with more affordable living space. But conditions deteriorated in the decades after its founding, forcing residents into constant conflict with the city of Bridgeport, as they advocated for their basic needs. Ida lived in building number 40, at the same time that resident advocacy groups were being formed. She likely noticed this deterioration while living there. In 1967 Ida moved out of the Father Panik Village to Matthew Drive in nearby Stratford, where she spent the last days of her life. Ida Harinstein Zeitz died on May 13, 1967 at about 82 years old. Her image has been removed from her resting place at Shaare Torah Adath Israel, but her memory can be found in so many seminal facets of Bridgeport history.
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Few things are more tragic than young life cut short. But when that life is forgotten as well, the tragedy is multiplied. This almost happened to Rose Tarsky. Looking for Rose became an incredibly difficult task. With almost no information, and very little life to work with, searches for Rose consistently turned up nothing of any value. That is, however, until a myth and a typo guided the way. It is a widely believed misconception that American immigration clerks were guilty of altering the names of disembarking passengers, making them more “American.” This, while generally false, does discern a real truth. Names change. For one reason or another, and to the frustration of researchers, a single person can move through society with multiple names, both first and last. Rose Tarsky is a lie. Instead, on July 10, 1910, a girl named Rose Tatarsky (sometimes spelled “Tatarasky”) was born to parents, Ida Schneider and Julius Tatarsky. Julius and Ida were from Romania. And while little information is available regarding Rose Tatarsky’s parents and their time in “the old country,” naturalization records indicate that they were from a locality called “Kissinen.” Where Kissinen is, however, is unknown. Basic searches of this name turn up nothing. 1904 was a pivotal year for Julius and Ida. In quick succession, they married, had their first child, Bessie, and left their homeland forever. Though, the order in which these three events happened and the circumstances which precipitated them are all unanswered questions. It’s no surprise, however, that the Tatarskys left Romania for the United States. Like Jews in other Eastern European countries, the regular din of antisemitism was growing and stripping many of their civil rights. In Romania, Jewish children were actively barred from attending public school during the last few years of the 19th century. For a young Jewish couple set on having children, the decision to leave would have been excruciating, but reasonable. They arrived in Newark, New Jersey, where Julius jumped from job to job, trying to support his growing family. He was an ironworker. He was a salesman. He was a day laborer. His profession differed from year to year. Julius and Ida Tatarsky would have four children while living in Newark: Sarah in 1906, Rebecca in 1908, then Rose in 1910, and finally, Sophie in 1912. Between 1913 and 1914 the Tatarskys moved to Bridgeport, Connecticut. It’s not clear why they made this change. And the little information there is to reference regarding the family’s time in Newark makes this move even more mysterious. When they first arrived in Bridgeport, they chose a house on South Avenue, the industrial heart of the city. Here, Julius worked as a shoemaker to support his wife and five daughters. But this fell through within just three years. Julius Tatarsky became a “peddler.” Peddler of what? That remains unknown. But, the Tatarskys were able to float by, nonetheless. In 1917, the family moved to the more comfortable Brooklawn district.Wheeler Avenue was one of the more suburban streets in the Park City’s mechanical habitat. The Tatarskys’ new home at 63 Wheeler Avenue was just one of the many two-story houses which lined the street. And looming over the whole block was the imposing brick edifice of the Shelton School. This building is still there today, repurposed as condominiums. But the Tatarskys did not own 63 Wheeler Avenue. Instead, they were renters in the home of Jacob and Fanny Schneider, Ida Tatarsky’s parents. Whether this was an amiable arrangement is entirely unknown. The Tatarskys’ move may have indicated that Julius was struggling to support his family. On the other hand, perhaps this decision was rooted in a desire for the five Tatarsky girls to spend more time with their grandparents. It’s anyone’s guess. By 1920, Rose Tatarsky’s life was more than halfway over. There is little to extrapolate from her childhood. During the next decade, Rose did things that any average child might. Through the Young Women’s Hebrew Association on Fairfield Avenue, Rose experimented with theater, performing with the organization’s “Rainbow Circle” group and with Central High School’s own student thespians. She enjoyed playing checkers and may have played for the YWHA’s girls basketball team, the Comets. In 1930, Rose Tatarsky was on the cusp of a new decade, about to turn twenty years old. And finally, it seemed things had settled into a more reliable routine. Her father and grandfather were both in the business of selling fruit, and were probably doing so together. Of the four girls who still lived at home, three had stable jobs. Sally was a cashier in a dry goods store. Betty was a stenographer for a law office. And even Sophie, just seventeen, was working as a sales clerk in a grocery store. But notably, Rose was not working. The census record which tells this story was produced on April 7, 1930. Rose Tatarsky died less than three weeks later on April 24, 1930. And while no record has been found which states her cause of death, it is quite possible that the reason for her unemployment and later death was an illness. Considering the fact that Rose’s sisters, both older and younger, were all working, it becomes reasonable to assume that something was preventing Rose from doing the same. And perhaps it was this “something” which ended Rose’s life so prematurely. This biography almost didn’t happen. In looking for Rose, I initially came across a genealogical desert. But with some luck her story was revealed. Her photograph, mounted to the face of her headstone, has been destroyed. But there is another photo of Rose Tatarsky. When she graduated from high school in 1927, she, along with all of her classmates, had her photo taken for the Bridgeport Central High School’s yearbook. This image could be the key to restoring Rose Tatarsky’s image, dignity, and memory. Enormous thanks go to Elizabeth Van Tuyl of the Bridgeport History Center, who took the time to search for this photograph. In 1892, Goldye Nishball was the first of her family to be born on American soil. She would never need to clear the high hurtle of naturalization as her parents, Louis and Pauline (or Rose) would.
But American citizenship was not enough to shield Goldye from a tumultuous early life. Goldye, with her sister and five brothers, were in constant movement. In any given year, the Nishball (or Knishbaul) family was living in a new building in Bridgeport, Connecticut. Goldye would have known no less than six different homes by the time she was twenty years old. Perhaps this restless upbringing was in part due to her father. Louis Nishball, was a shoemaker, but sometimes a confectioner–an unusual combination. Other records of the time suggest that Louis was unable to find work at all. His erratic employment status likely made it difficult to settle in one place for long. Goldye’s parents were both Austrian Jews. And while we know that they emigrated in the latter half of the 1880s, little else is known about their lives in Austria, how they arrived in Connecticut, or even the exact year in which they came to the US. However, Louis and Pauline Nishball’s lives quickly shaped the trajectory of Goldye’s own. In 1910, Goldye was just eighteen, yet she and her brother Joseph were responsible for bringing in at least a portion of the household income for the family of seven to live on. The work was unglamorous. Joseph worked with machinery in one of the many factories dotting fueling Bridgeport’s economy. Goldye, meanwhile, was working as a stitcher in a corset factory. The work would have been hard. And even in their own home, they would have had little respite. Under the same roof, the Nishballs lived with an Italian family, another Austrian family, and in their own living quarters, a Russian-born Jew working as a drug store clerk. Today, there is no trace of the commotion at 621 Pembroke Avenue. The three-story building has long since been replaced by newer, more modern housing. The next decade was a tumultuous one for the Nishball family. The outbreak of World War I in 1914 likely occupied the minds of the Nishballs. Though we don’t know exactly where in Austria the family was from, it is certain that Goldye would have had relatives wrapped up in the conflict. The War would hit much closer to home a few years later. In October 1917, Goldye’s younger brother Samuel was conscripted into the United States military. After being sent to Camp Devens in Massachusetts, Samuel was promoted to the rank of corporal and deployed to France. It would be nearly two years before he was able to return to his family. When Samuel returned from the War in June of 1919, the Nishball family was in disarray, with only Goldye, and older brother Joseph, to seek stability. In late May of that year, Goldye’s mother, Pauline, died. Less than a month later, before the family could process the loss of their mother, or the return of their son, Louis Nishball, father to seven, was dead too. Goldye Nishball had been catapulted into being a head of household, with three brothers living under her roof. Each of these brothers, Samuel, Harold, and Albert, worked, and likely was able to contribute somewhat to their living expenses. And if things became dire, their older brother, Joseph lived next door, with his wife and three young children. But within a year, this arrangement dissolved, and the family would move once again. In a bizarre shift, Goldye got married. Her new husband was a Russian Jewish immigrant named Aron Aranow. He co-owned a grocery store in Bridgeport. And while the marriage, itself, was not unusual, the circumstances were. For an unknown reason, Goldye and Aron were married in Manhattan. Why New York? The available records provide no clear explanation. Though their out-of-state wedding would foreshadow later events. For nearly a decade, the constant movement would abate. Goldye and Aron would live in a suburban home on Whitney Avenue through the entirety of the 1920s. Aron would continue working in the food business, operating a deli on Main Street. The space is now occupied by New Colony II Diner. Goldye, meanwhile, became a mother to two. In 1924 came a son named Louis. And a few years later, there was a daughter, Pearl. In 1931, after a whole life lived in Connecticut, Goldye and her family abruptly left for New York. The deli was still there on Main Street, but Goldye’s younger brother, Samuel was now in charge. Similar to the Aranows’ unusual New York marriage, no record points to a specific reason for the exodus. When considering the paper trail, the two just up and left. The Aranows seemed to have had a foundation in Bridgeport. There was a business, a home, a family, a congregation. It’s no use hypothesizing the cause of their departure. But in one short year, everything had changed. The Aranows were now living in a house on Hendrix Street in Brooklyn. But they quickly changed addresses again and became renters in an apartment on New Lots Avenue. This structure still stands, and is now the graffitied facade of a Chinese takeout, called Shun Feng Restaurant. The Aronows would relocate one more time to Aveunue J. Goldye still remained home caring for her children, but Aron was no longer in the food business. Now, he was a bus driver, of all things. Very little else of Goldye’s life can be discerned during this time. With the onset of World War II, Goldye probably thought back to a not-so-distant history. Just a few years prior, her younger brother, Samuel Nishball, was launched into a war which would rock their homeland in Austria. Once again, the Nishball homeland was in disarray, and European Jews were a direct target. What must Goldye Aronow have thought when her own son, Louis enlisted in 1943? Her thoughts are a complete mystery to the modern observer. Goldye Nishball Aronow died in Brooklyn on February 20, 1945. As if to punctuate a life defined by movement. Goldye moved one last time to the Shaare Torah Adath Israel Cemetery in Fairfield. She joins her parents, Louis and Pauline Nishball. And while her image has been destroyed, her story remains. Barely old enough to walk, Dora Rubenstein had traveled farther than many people ever imagine. With her mother, Lena, and older sisters, Lillian (also sometimes called Lena), and Jennie, Dora had crossed the Atlantic onboard the S.S. Vaderland, arriving in September, 1906. “Dora,” however, was not her birth name. Like many immigrants from non-English-speaking countries, Dora had adapted her name to fit her adopted culture. Dupke, Dobe, Dora Rubenstein was born on May 12, 1905 in a place called Suwałki, a region straddling the border of Poland and Lithuania, and at the center of conflicting land claims. The circumstances of the Rubensteins’ immigration are unclear. Their hometown, Krevulka, is something of a mystery, populating no conclusive results in a general internet search. Most probably, the name is a misunderstanding or mispronunciation of a community within the region of Suwałki. And strangely, missing from the voyage, was Dora’s father, Samuel Rubenstein. Later records of the Rubenstein family suggest that Samuel may have arrived in the United States a few years before his family. Perhaps he set out to pin down a job, so that his wife and children, when they eventually arrived on American shores, would have a stable home to enter. Whatever the case, the early years of Dora Rubenstein’s Stateside life was tumultuous at best. If Samuel’s goal had been to find a job, he had succeeded. But his chosen profession was also illegal. With the help of a few associates, Dora’s father was in the business of buying stolen scrap metal and other goods, reselling them for a profit. His suppliers though, were children, likely drawn to theft as a way of escaping poverty in the city of Bridgeport. And from this perspective, Samuel Rubenstein may have maintained the same ideology. This was not theft in service of survival. In less than a year, Samuel was arrested no less than three times for his purchasing of stolen goods. Most of his arrests resulted in fines, but some moved Judge James Walsh to impose jail sentences of a few months. It’s not possible to know whether Samuel knew his activity was criminal. Even on the 1910 US Census, he had declared that his profession was “junk peddler.” And when Samuel and his associates attempted to advocate for themselves, they were only able to provide written statements in Yiddish, which were “unintelligible to the police.” Perhaps this was all just one big misunderstanding. Misunderstanding or not, Dora Rubenstein’s childhood was dominated by the frequent arrests of her father. Even with Samuel’s legal trouble, the Rubenstein family would grow considerably. By 1923, Dora had eight living siblings to contend with in their house on Lindley Street. And as the family grew, and things settled, even Dora’s father found legal work, becoming a truck driver, and then an expressman. In 1926, Dora became a clerk for the company that would employ her the rest of her life. The Red Star Company manufactured women’s clothing, but specialized in hosiery. But in 1929, some unknown change occurred. Dora was no longer working as a clerk, but as a bench hand in the Red Star factory. Somehow, she seems to have slipped down a rung of the employment ladder to a less-esteemed and extremely tiring position. But at the same time, the Red Star Company gained a new employee. Annie Rubenstein, Dora’s younger sister, and the first of the family to be born on American soil, got a job at the factory. Annie, however, was a designer. Perhaps this gave Annie an edge over her sister. Or perhaps Annie displayed certain design skills that Dora lacked. Whatever the case may have been, Annie would rise through the ranks during the coming years, while Dora performed the grueling factory labor typical of the industrial era. Dora’s slipping career wasn’t even the worst financial problem she faced though. On March 28, 1933, Samuel Rubenstein, father of nine, died at just 60 years old. Without warning, the household’s main source of income had vanished. In the wake of Samuel’s death, the Rubensteins were forced to move to a house on Fairview Avenue, and then finally to 1245 Capitol Avenue. But things changed again when Annie became factory manager in 1935. Suddenly, Dora was no longer a bench hand, nor was she just a clerk. Under her younger sister’s tenure, Dora had become a shipping clerk and was likely making more money than she had ever made before. And Dora wasn’t alone. With Annie as superintendent, Dora’s older sister, Jennie became a forelady, and her younger brother, Irving, a fabric cutter. The Red Star Company was becoming a Rubenstein family affair. Dora Rubenstein died young. She was only 42 when she passed away on December 7, 1947, the first day of Hanukkah. But before she died, she left one crumb that sets her apart from the other men and women whose images were defaced. In 1940, Dora Rubenstein applied for American citizenship. And with that documentation, came a photo. While the portrait on Dora’s stone has been desecrated, her image lives on. Photograph of Dora Rubenstein taken for her 1940 US Citizenship Application
National Archives at Boston; Waltham, Massachusetts; ARC Title: Naturalization Record Books, 12/1893-9/1906; NAI Number: 2838938; Record Group Title: Records of District Courts of the United States, 1685-2009; Record Group Number: Pg 21. The stories of immigrants begin long before reaching American shores. Joseph Velenchik was born in Poland, in 1878. Little can be divined regarding his life there, though certain facts are clear.
Joseph, by trade, was a tinsmith in the thriving Jewish community of Białystok. Like much of Eastern Europe, Poland was under the control of the Russian Empire. And with this control came the need for military strength. Joseph, being both Jewish and Polish, likely did not enlist in the Russian Army, but was probably conscripted. He served in an infantry unit for eight months, rising to the rank of corporal. The circumstances of his short service are entirely a mystery. By 1904, Joseph was married and on his way to New York City, on a ship called Saint Paul disembarking from England. Joseph’s wife was Goldie (or sometimes Gussie) Rubenstein. She was from Białystok, as well, though a few years younger. But even so, Goldie had already been married once before, and even mothered a child, named Ida, in 1901. Ida, who now used the surname, Velenchik, boarded the Saint Paul with Goldie and her new husband, embarking for America. Any number of things could have driven the newlyweds from Poland. Increasing antisemitism led to outbreaks of unprovoked violence against the Jews of Białystok. The killing of Jewish men, women, and children, as well as the destruction of Jewish-owned properties was disturbingly commonplace, and the city of Białystok was no stranger to this violence. Of course, other threats to life and livelihood may have caused the Velenchiks to set a course for the States, but the real fear of anti-Jewish terrorism cannot be overlooked. The family soon moved one state over, and settled in Bridgeport. The building in which they initially lived, just northwest of the intersection of East Washington and Housatonic Avenues, has since been destroyed by the path of Connecticut Route 8. It would have been an uncomfortable existence with home only a stone’s throw from the ironworks, a soap factory, a lumber yard, a mattress factory and an artillery storage facility. In 1915, however, the Velenchiks made a considerable move. Joseph, it seems, had saved enough money or built enough credit to purchase a home in a more residential neighborhood on Madison Avenue, just a few blocks away from their old residence. Even still, Joseph and his family would relocate yet again in 1918 to a home on Taft Avenue. The Velenchiks were becoming more financially mobile, and Joseph had made a critical step from one socioeconomic rung to another. Tragedy would not elude the Velenchiks, though. Joseph and Goldie had grown their family in the intervening years. Now, joining Joseph’s stepdaughter Ida, were Morris, Gertrude (or Gussie), Lina, Israel (or Roy), Max, and Aaron. But, on February 12, 1919, an article appeared in The Bridgeport Times, titled, “ATE POISON PILLS.” Aaron Velenchik, only 16 months old, had unknowingly eaten through a whole box of the laxative, Alophen. Medical professionals tried to intervene, but it was too late. Aaron died at St. Vincent’s Hospital. It’s impossible to guess at the impact this loss had on the family, but one can only imagine the immense pain which accompanies the death of a child. Joseph, and his family, however, held their resolve and marched through the loss, even having one last child, Charlotte, in 1922. By that time, Joseph’s stove supplies and repair business had grown substantially, allowing him to open up two locations, one of which was in the building 1715 Main Street, the address of the Velenchiks’ first Bridgeport residence. Joseph was also secure enough to employ his stepdaughter, Ida, as the Bridgeport Stove Company’s bookkeeper. Joseph Velenchik would continue this trend of hiring family, shortly thereafter having Ida, Morris, and Gertrude all work as salespeople for the family business. Between 1930 and 1940, the Velenchiks rebranded. The Bridgeport Stove Company became the Loyalty Oil Burner Corporation, while apparently also specializing in plumbing operations. It then became the younger siblings’ endeavor. Israel played the role of manager, while Max became a mechanic, and Charlotte a secretary. Joseph, now in his sixties, appears to have stepped back from the business, allowing his children to take the reins. Sadly, Joseph Velenchik died on February 10, 1941, cutting his retirement short. He was just shy of 62 years old. And while his portrait is gone, his story lives on in the family he worked so diligently to propel towards the American Dream. Like many women of her time, Rose Abeson’s story is difficult to trace. With no occupation, and many children, the path she carved out is largely made up of those of her husband and children.
Rose was born in Mykolaiv in 1876 to a man named Chaim David and a mother whose name has been lost to time. Though now in Southern Ukraine, Rose and her family would only have known it as a city under Russian control. It is difficult to render any accurate idea of Rose’s early life,, but anti-Jewish sentiment abounded, and likely made life difficult and dangerous. Pogroms erupted in the region in 1899 and again in 1905, though the latter was stymied by stiff Jewish resistance. In 1899, Rose married Abraham Abeson, the man she would spend the rest of her life with. Abraham was also from Mykolaiv and perhaps knew Rose from when they were young. They would go on to have six children. Their eldest, Sarah, was born in 1900, followed by Julius, David, Lillian, Louis, and finally Walter. In the spring of 1914, with their four boys and two girls in tow, Abraham and Rose Abeson traveled over a thousand miles to the city of Liepāja, Latvia. There they set aboard a ship called the SS Kursk and made the long journey to Ellis Island. From New York, the young family moved east to Bridgeport. Within two years, Abraham owned his own grocery. The Abesons made several moves renting in a series of different buildings before they were able to own their own home at 942 Madison Avenue. Over the years, the Abeson family became progressively more successful. Abraham owned the State Produce Company, operating adjacent to the family home. He opened more locations nearby, and employed his entire family. Sarah was a secretary, David and Louis were managers in the store, and Lillian and Walter were sales clerks. One notable absence is Jacob. While the family was making the grocery store profitable, Jacob, who later went by Julius, had struck out on his own. Even with English being his second language, Julius had proven himself a skilled debater, making local newspapers several times. His academic prowess would lead him to attend Columbia and Yale Universities. Years later Julius would live in Manhattan and work as a highly regarded attorney. Rose, all the while, remained in the background. She died on March 27, 1936, at the age of 59. Her life on paper was defined by those whom she helped to cultivate, nurture, and support. Though her photograph may have been destroyed, her story still has life as long as we continue to tell it. |
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