A Member of the Working Class

In A Member of the Working Class, Milton Wolff probes his childhood and youth to create a rich, sensuously detailed tale of a boy growing up as a first-generation American in Brooklyn during the 1920s and 1930s. Wolff wrote this book after young people at many of his speaking engagements asked how he and others ended up volunteering to fight in the Spanish Civil War.

A Member of the Working Class tells how Mitch Castle, kid from Brooklyn and protagonist of Another Hill, ended up going to Spain and fighting in the Spanish Civil War.

A MEMBER OF THE WORKING CLASS follows Mitch Castle, hero of Another Hill, from childhood to the eve of his departure for Spain. The youngest - and perhaps unwanted - child of ill-matched Jewish immigrants, Mitch avidly observes and tries to make sense of the world around him while his parents fling put-downs at each other and his older siblings alternately fight and form alliances. Neighborhood bullies demand battle; Italian children from a few streets down accuse the Jewish kids of killing Christ. In school, a teacher decides that Mitch, who loves to sing, is tone-deaf and must be a "listener," while the class Caruso surreptitiously pisses in Mitch's inkwell.
   Yet Mitch's world is anything but bleak. Wondrous ships sail the walls of the family flat; a kindly teacher excites his love; he plants oats gleaned from workhorses' feedbags in a strip of dirt outside the house. Mitch and his friends explore the newly constructed beach at Coney Island, and later he helps his elder brothers earn spending money at a weight-guessing booth on the boardwalk. He reads tales of the Three Musketeers, dreams of becoming an artist, and goes to the local movie palace.
   After dropping out of high school, Mitch joins the Civilian Conservation Corps so that his family can go on Relief. Back in Brooklyn, he finds his old friends active in the Young Communist League. He joins the group, returns to his high-school sweetheart, and gets a job as errand boy in the garment district - only to find himself rapidly involved in street-corner speech-making, a love triangle with his brother's Catholic girlfriend, and a stock-skimming operation at the hat factory where he works.
   Personal and political tensions escalate until finally, when a YCL organizer asks for volunteers to go to Spain, Mitch raises his hand.

Excerpts from A Member of the Working Class

His brothers two and sisters two--a tidy symmetrical arrangement disrupted by his own late, presumably accidental, arrival--moved in the light of the room but only one of them, Hank, materialized (vaguely) in his memory: a thin, sharp, swift of light, coming and going soundlessly. And somewhere at infrequent intervals there was a dark presence that stank of tar and raw metal: that was his father.

A fight could be triggered by just about anything.
   There was the time the family had gone for a walk on the new boardwalk. It was some sort of holiday and Mitch's parents had dressed up, Max in a double-breasted dark blue suit, white shirt, and red striped tie; Celia wore a green flowered dress under a brown cardigan sweater. Max was in a festive mood, loud and flirtatious. Mitch knew, even at ten, that when he laid on the Gypsy charm it was because he had done some bad thing that needed a lot of oil to smooth over. "Look, he shouted, grabbing Celia's arm, "Corn. Hot corn. This time of the year! Wait, I'll get you one, Celia." And he trotted over to a stall where a huge black kettle hung suspended over a kerosene-fed flame issuing clouds of steam. Mitch and his mother watched as Max haggled with the man tending the kettle, rejecting ear after ear of corn fetched from the boiling water, until he got the one he wanted, which he bore back in triumph to his Celia. Why only she got an ear of corn, Mitch did not know, but that was the way it was, nothing to fuss about.
   She began to eat it with some pleasure and then as an afterthought she asked Max how much it had cost.
   "What difference does it make," he replied, "eat it, enjoy it."
   But she had to know, she would not take another bite, another nibble, she said, unless he told her how much it had cost. Annoyed, he said, the darn thing only cost a quarter.
   "A quarter," she shrilled, "a quarter! You crazy, we don't have a quarter to put in the meter for gas and you throw away a quarter on one piece of corn?"
   She flung the corn over the boardwalk railing down onto the sand and tore off, Max after her. Mitch was suddenly alone; his father's departing words "That's your mother for you...she'll never give you a minute's pleasure" registered, undigested, in his head.
   
   

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