The Best I Can Do

In the wretched place where my mother and father came from, you were born into your miserable station in life and there you stayed till the day you died. There was cruelty to many people in Eastern Europe, but especially to Jews. 

Jews came to America to escape the persecution and poverty of Warsaw, Poland. There was no anti-Semitism on earth that was worse than Polish anti-Semitism. That’s where Jews were treated worse than farmyard animals. Life there was horrible and survival was dicey. That’s what made America seem so miraculous to my parents. Out of utter desperation, they fled to the land of opportunity. 

My dad came here with nothing but 17 cents in his pocket and a willingness to work etched in his heart. He made his first home in Carroll, Iowa. He was Jewish and they were Catholic but they welcomed him, took him in and gave him a chance. Slowly but surely, Dad learned the language and earned enough money to send for the rest of his family. Smart, tenacious and resourceful, Dad could compete with the best of them.   

I’m one of nine children of Jewish-Polish immigrants. My father became a U.S. citizen in 1924—twelve years after he arrived and six years before I was born—but he fell in love with America the day he first stepped on its soil. Life here was tough, but once the family was back together, it was filled with golden moments. 

Looking back on my life, it would be hard to find anyone with a more humble beginning than mine. Growing up in Des Moines, there was barely enough food to feed the family, but we always shared what little we had. We didn’t think we were poor, we knew we were poor. 

We made our living salvaging what other people threw away. Our family bought, cleaned, patched up, reconditioned and sold burlap and cotton textile bags. My brothers and I worked hard because our Dad needed us and because we were poor. I wouldn’t take anything for that experience, but I sure wouldn’t want to do it again.

My story isn’t unique. First-generation Americans routinely lived the way my family and I did. A lot of them were smarter than I am and plenty of them worked just as hard. But what they didn’t have more of was determination and the desire to succeed. What I lacked in skill I made up for in effort. I was born with an inner drive to do and be my very best. Even as a kid, I was obsessed with maximizing my capacity and fulfilling my potential. 

Even when I barely had enough to eat…

Even when I wore damp clothes to school…

Even when I flunked first grade because I couldn’t read…

And even when grain elevator workers called me “a dirty Jew…”

I knew that if I did the right things, stayed alert and kept trying, everything would work out. 

My parents, brothers, sisters and I were accustomed to living on the lowest rung of the economic ladder. Hard work came naturally to us, and we didn’t count the hours or whine about heat, sweat or trembling muscles. We just worked until the job was done. My father always told me that I would go to college one day. At the time, I didn’t see how that would be possible but it turned out he was right. Thinking back, my Dad was right about a lot of things.

When I got the chance to attend the University of Iowa, I knew I had to do my very best, to use all of my God-given talents to achieve my education and succeed in the things that would come after.

It wasn’t my good looks that made me successful; it was my good planning. It wasn’t my grade point average; it was my guts. By my way of thinking, charm and charisma are overrated and drive, tenacity and consistency are underrated. So many times in life, people don’t use their full potential. They stop short. But by planning, dreaming and working hard, individuals can