The other day, while at the periodontist, the hygienist, Kelly, who I have known for a number of years, mentioned how she could not understand how people that live alone with no friends or family survive. I agreed with her intuition by explaining that connections with others are a lifeline. Her comment reminded me of the Bette Midler song: You Got to Have Friends. The song points to the fact that friends are essential to bringing us joy and helping us deal with the uncertainties and difficulties that life might bring.
D. H. Lawrence’s classic novel, Women in Love, devotes a chapter to a wrestling match that the two male protagonists, Rupert and Gerald have. In the context of the story, the match does not represent an act of violence, but rather a way to explore closeness, trust and vulnerability without relying on language. Although the physicality between the two may be an innuendo of a homoerotic relationship, that is not the intent of Lawrence. Instead, the author communicates to the reader how the two men, through the intensity of the match, share a special form of bonding that is physical, emotional and existential at once.
During my adulthood, my mother told me I always had managed to make friends from the time I was a child. I still am in contact with some of the kids I have known since childhood one of whom I have stayed in regular contact with throughout the years. However, my closest friend, Jack Trachtenberg, I met in college while at the University of Pennsylvania.
I have a clear memory of our first encounter. Before we came to know each other, a few weeks into my first semester as a freshman in 1963, I had observed Jack in McClelland Hall, a place where people living in the dorm could study. His small stature sitting next to a heavy set, borderline obese student gave them the appearance of the odd couple. They would be sitting together strewn with textbooks at their table both in intensive study. At about the time I saw them together, I was experiencing some difficulty in my math class and asked around if anyone knew someone proficient in math. A fellow student pointed to that same overweight student telling me his name was Arnie Klein, and he was excellent in math and quite generous in helping others with math. Sure, enough Arnie was willing to answer some of the questions I had; I had yet to even talk to Jack.
Shortly after, while walking to my dorm room after seeing a show at Irving Auditorium from a show at Irvine Auditorium, I spotted Jack walking alone on Spruce Street. I approached him, introducing myself explaining how I had observed studying with Arnie, and then with freshman zeal I rambled on discursively about the latest research done on the convolutions of the human brain. The theory had been generated some years before after a postmortem investigation of Albert Einstein’s brain had shown it to have a vast network of convolutions that may correlate to human intelligence.
As luck would have it, Jack was a pre-med student and was actually interested! Our shared values and commonalities outside of our studies nurtured our relationship, and we quickly became close friends. The term “Grok” first employed by Robert Heinlein in his bestseller sci-fi work, Stranger in a Strange Land, I believe best describes our bond. When an individual groks with another, there is a profound and intuitive understanding that the two share with each other. The term grok reminds me of the Black vernacular use of “digging one another” that implies going so deep in another’s skin that you can feel that person’s pain. Digging connotes something much deeper and more significant than understanding.
Because of the mutual trust we shared, we could confide in one another in the best and worst of times without fearing the loss of our special bond. I will not elaborate on the many circumstances in which we supported one another, but as many, if not all of you have experienced, it’s wonderful to have a friend that you know will always be there, through thick and thin for you. Because we knew we could contact one another at any time, the barrier of distance did not separate us or weaken our bond. We have utilized that ancient communicating device called a telephone as a means of maintaining our connection. When I came East to visit family and relatives, we always would take time out to see one another in person rather than some form of digital not in person meeting.
When you are growing up you have little choice who your neighbors or classmates are. With age and breadth of experience, you begin to develop your own interests and likes that may gravitate you to certain types of people. However, by the time one is older taking on deep and meaningful relations with another such as my solid relationship with Jack, is not a likelihood. This is why I consider my connection with Howard Bricker, who was in his ‘70’s while I was in my ‘60’s when we first met, so rare.
How we met remains crystal clear in my mind. I had read about the card game bridge and, though unfamiliar with it, knew it required skill and mastery beyond mere luck. I had been curious about it for some time so Lisa and I took a class offered for seniors. In the class, the teacher divided us into groups of four and, conveniently, we were sitting next to another couple, Howard and Noreen, who became our learning partners. As we introduced ourselves to each other, all four of us felt comfortable sharing who we were.
Bottom line was that Noreen, Lisa, and I gave up on becoming experts in bridge. Howard, on the other hand, honed his skills in gaining some expertise in playing bridge. More importantly, Howard and I formed a connection based on our diverse backgrounds rather than any love for the game of bridge. As an example, we shared a love of language. While serving in the U.S. Navy, given his high language aptitude, Howard was chosen to study and become fluent in Russian. A feat he accomplished quite well. The Navy employed him as a decoder of Russian messages in Okinawa.
Howard was a biblical scholar who had studied Hebrew. In fact, he was so knowledgeable in Jewish customs, that a rabbi that knew him suggested he convert from Catholicism to Judaism. He let me know that he jokingly responded to the rabbi informing the latter that that wouldn’t be possible because he could not give up bacon. I knew from the start that Howard was not your typical “Joe,” but a person with such broad knowledge that I Iikened him to be a polymath. After I had told him of my own successful and unsuccessful ventures in life, we began to form a strong bond.
In addition to the bridge lessons, we started playing golf together on a regular basis where, on the links, our relationship developed. As our relationship grew, Howard confided in me about a tragedy that had occurred in his and Noreen’s life, when several years before his oldest son had drowned trying to recover a boat that not been moored correctly. Subsequently, we shared our religious beliefs as he attended my temple when I was leading the services one Saturday, reciting my original bar mitzvah when I was 13. He invited me to his church during Lent where we would talk and share fish dinners with the other congregants.
Lisa and I went to Howard’s 80th birthday and met all of his family. About a year later, Lisa and I received a phone call from Howard’s son, Andy, who gave us the sad news that his father had died of a heart attack. When I heard this, I felt the pain of sorrow take over my body. It just seemed so unfair that such a wonderful friend was gone. I went to the memorial service, gave a eulogy to Howard with his family letting me know that Howard really cared and liked me. I let them know both how sad it was that he had died, but also how glad I was to have the opportunity to have met him and become his friend.
The late Arnold Lazarus, my former major advisor at Rutgers University, where I received my doctorate in psychology, made an interesting comparison between marriage and friendship that I agree with in his excellent book: Behaviorism and Beyond. He pointed out that insofar as friends do not live under the same roof year in and year out their shared intimacies are intensive rather than extensive. In a marriage, each partner shares the responsibility of what life is like under the same roof: Cleaning diapers if there are children, doing the laundry, taking care of necessary repairs, and doctor’s appointments etc. These shared burdens require the need for some degree of emotional privacy for each partner.
Unlike in some countries, marriage does not imply ownership, but rather a place where each partner allows the other his or her individuality to pursue their own contacts beyond the marriage. My wife Lisa spends a great amount of time as a local President of The National Council of Jewish Women. I am proud of the work she does. She like I has many friends and acquaintances outside our marriage. Our mutual understanding allows us both the necessary psychological movement to pursue our own interests and not encroach on our partner’s rightful territory. Lisa never short circuited neither my very intense relationship with Jack nor the relationship with Howard that blossomed late in my life. A lesson I have learned through these important friendships and within my marriage are both of extreme value to us humans who as Aristotle stated are “social animals.” I believe they are the nutrients of life that assist in both our enjoyment and longevity of life.
Dr. Bernard F. Natelson 