Thread by @cagoldberglaw

Something extraordinary happened to me. I went to The Met on Fri b/c my favorite painting, Alice Neel's The Fuller Brush Man was on exhibit. Last time the private owners showed it was the year 2000.

This is a story about two Alices.

Back in 2000 I was a case manager for Nazi Victims and Holocaust Survivors in Northern Manhattan and the Bronx. I'd do things like recertify their reparations, set up homecare, take them to doctors visits, etc.

Later on I got really good at getting them new restitution money. And after 9/11 I started weekly groups for current events and memoir writing. But back then, I was fresh out of college and mainly was just a buddy to them. They'd confide in me about the traumas they didn't

want to burden their families with. One of my clients was Alice Fraser. She was in her 80s with a tiny voice that sounded like the kitty in Mr. Roger's Neighborhood .Mrs. Fraser was a widow without any children who lived in a sparse lamp-lit apartment in WA Heights.

She'd broken her hips a couple years prior getting out of the way of a speeding bus turning a corner a block from her apartment. And was homebound. I helped her with meals-on-wheels and finding a physician who could make house calls, get her money to tip the super's kids

who'd turn the lights on and off at Sabbath. I saw her every couple of weeks. She spent days in a ratty gray recliner which was a universe unto itself -- newspapers and mail stuffed on the sides and under the cushions. One day she surprised me by pulling an article from under

the arm rest fabris. She said " I want to go to The Whitney." Now this was a surprise. The Whitney Museum was miles away and I don't think Mrs. Fraser had even been to the corner store for years. Plus, I'd never heard her express any interest in art.

She then pointed to a photo of a painting in the clipping and said "That's my brother, the Fuller Brush Man." Her brother had died back in the 70s or 80s. I'd heard all about him -- he'd left behind two sons who were now adults.

Back in the '30's he'd been captured by Nazis and taken to Dachau where he did forced labor. He was one of the lucky ones because in 1939 Germany gave Jews the option to leave if they gave up all their worldly possessions and had another country willing to take them.

He eventually became a door-to-door salesman in the US, selling brushes, which is how he must have known Alice N. -- he sold her paintbrushes.

In a feat of logistics, one Saturday, Mrs. Fraser, her nephews and I got her into an Access-a-Ride and took her to The Whitney. It was the centennial of Alice Neel. Alice N. had died years prior after a painful life involving a daughter dying of diptheria, an ex

kidnapping her other child and moving her to Cuba, and an angry boyfriend burning up her studio and all the paintings inside of it. Alice Neel never strayed from the way, painting nonstop, anybody who would sit for her, while raising two sons in her apartment in spanish harlem.

Her portraits were never much accepted by the NY art scene which was overrun by abstract art. But she didn't change her style to be popular. She just kept painting. For her, everybody was a worthy subject -- the young, the old, the poor, the unknown Black and hispanic people

in her neighborhood. one interview I read, she was asked "what's the most reckless thing you do?" And she said "I paint."

At The Whitney, Alice Fraser, in her wheelchair beneath her brother, told all the hipsters dressed in NYC black "That's my brother. That's my brother."

She was so proud. Her nephews and grandnephews were with us, looking at their dad. The painting was a masterpiece and different from the others --. Capturing eagerness, hope. Not long after, Mrs. Fraser had a stroke and lived out her life in a nursing home near my office. I still

saw her regularly but communicating was hard. I'd often reminisce about the trip to The Whitney. She had the clippings at her bedside. I'd see her nephews sometimes when I was there. After Alice died, I lost touch with them. And couldn't remember their last name.

Over the past 20 years, I've been wanting to reunite with them, and really anybody from that period of my life since all the survivors have died. At The Met, I was thrilled to see that the placard actually said the name of the Fuller Brush man -- Dewald Strauss. He had a name!

I was a step closer to getting in touch with Alice's nephews. I was totally blown away, though, when I went to the Gift Shop and saw this book written by Alice's nephew, Jerry Strauss. It actually talked about our trip to The Whitney with his Aunt Alice in 2000!!!

It also gave more background about his father and Aunt. His Aunt Alice had sponsored Dewald in the 1940s. She worked as a domestic servant at the time for a wealthy family in the Bronx. She made $60 a week. in an affidavit to the government, she said she

supported herself on $10/m and would use the rest of it to support her brother. It worked! She got him over. He'd been here only 2 years before enlisting in the army. He was sent back to Germany as a soldier in the US Army. Naturally he was fearful of getting caught --

a German Jew who'd escaped a concentration camp and now back in Germany fighting in a US Army uniform. He fought 100 miles from his hometown. And in the Battle of the Bulge. He was wounded but then sent back to the frontline. In 1946 he was honorably discharged w/ a purple heart.

In the car home from The Met I was already texting with Jerry and then we spoke on the phone that night, reminiscing about our outing in 2000 and Aunt Alice telling everybody "That's my brother That's my brother." He sent me a link to the Ted Talk he did about it. Can't believe

in all my googling of Fuller Brush Man I never came upon it.

I can't say enough about this show, book and tedtalk. And I'm so glad that the quiet heroics of Alice Fraser
are also on display.

Also, this is Jerry's book which I lovelovelove.
amazon.com/Giving-Father-…

Typo: $60 a MONTH

I sent Jerry this thread and he loved it. He also said he’d gotten up to speed on my career and told me “I know Aunt Alice would be so proud of you.” 😭