Robert Browning
It is worse still to be ignorant of your ignorance.
St. Jerome
My God, Richard realized, I am broke- looking months out, checkbook broke. He took the next-to-last Coors Light out of the nearly empty refrigerator, opened it and sat down to review the situation.
Okay, Richard Roth, take it step by step. You're 34 years old, a good CPA, good record with good companies. You're legitimately out of work, they eliminated the department. Resumes are out all over New York City without a bite. The headhunters all say the same thing: job markets lousy on the East Coast, lousiest in New York. And there's no more time, you've got to find a job. Compute.
And there it was, inescapable: go west, young man. Working outside of New York City had never crossed his mind until that moment. Richard subscribed to a private job-listing service, and two weeks later was on a plane to interview at a small ceramics factory in rural Kansas that needed a controller. He rented a car in Kansas City and drove west for two hours. City born and bred, the open spaces amazed him. He could literally see the road running to the horizon.
Mick, a friendly type who owned and managed the place, said they were expanding and had to upgrade their accounting systems. It was time for a CPA to be running things.
After the interview, they toured the factory and Mick explained, "We make small ceramic fittings for industrial use. The car companies are starting to put more ceramics in their engines, and we're hoping our business will really take off."
The heart of the factory, he pointed out in great detail, was a series of special brick ovens in which the ceramics were fired at tremendous temperatures. "Not your basic house bricks in these ovens," he said proudly. Richard nodded approvingly, as he knew he was supposed to. "Roth, that's a Jewish name isn't it?"
Richard was a little startled and considered telling him that was an illegal question, but decided not to. The man just seemed curious. "Yes, it is," he replied.
"Well, you won't find too many Jews around here. In fact, I don't know of any. The reason I ask, though, is you might find it interesting that the bricks in these ovens are the same type the Nazis used in the ovens they burned all those Jews in."
Richard was too stunned to reply. That was the most offensive thing anyone had ever said to him. And worse, Mick was completely unaware of what he'd said. Not an inkling! He was continuing the tour, jabbering away.
Richard couldn't respond. His mind was back in New York, with old Mr. Epstein in the delicatessen, his sleeves rolled up, and the numbers the SS troops had tattooed on his forearm still visible, still readable. They finished the tour, and Richard left immediately. Mick invited him to lunch but he refused, saying he had to catch an early plane. A week later, Mick offered Richard the controller's position and he turned it down despite his personal financial crisis.
The last time I saw Richard, he was working for a large investment company in New York City.
