A Few Minutes with the Mayor – by Mayor Paul Becker

It was almost a century ago, 1916 to be exact, when a young man, only 18, was put on a boat by his six older brothers and shipped off to America before the Turkish army could conscript him. Three other brothers had already been killed in “the war to end all wars” and they were determined that he would escape their fate.

This eighteen-year-old, coming as he did from a tiny remote village in the interior, had no formal education, and could neither read nor write, although his father was a high-ranking Imam at the Sultan’s Officer’s School. Nevertheless, soon after arriving in Syracuse, New York, he found a job as a waiter. After a few years, he married a girl whose parents traced their lineage back to Commodore Perry and the Revolutionary War. Needless to say, the family disapproved, so the young couple moved to New York City. She abandoned her goal of becoming a concert harpist.

His brothers had trained him in barbering, and he soon earned his living on the Upper West Side in Manhattan. Eventually, he opened his own shop with a clientele from every imaginable walk of life. He never got rich… but he always paid his bills, and for his entire life, he never borrowed even five cents.

The Roaring Twenties roared right into the market crash of 1929, but it had no effect on him because he never had enough money to invest in the stock market. However, 1929 did change his life forever because his wife gave birth to a baby boy. Now he had three mouths to feed in “the Great Depression.”

When Pearl Harbor exploded, he had been in the United States for a quarter century…. but he never did learn to read or write in any language. Yet, by this time he spoke fluent Turkish, English, Arabic, Spanish, and a smattering of Russian and Greek. The parade of guests who graced his home on Sunday afternoons gave testimony to his informal education. They included established writers, politicians, and even a visit from one of the daughters of the last of the Ottoman sultans.

Years of hard work caught up to him and he died at the age of 58. When he died, his son found 2,000 one-dollar bills hidden in the base of his hot towel heater in the barbershop. That was the sum total of what he’d saved in a lifetime of work.

I am that son, and I have to say I believe he was richer than many wealthy people I have personally known.

Now “tis the season,” and I have been reflecting on what made him so happy and secure. The answer was simple… he loved people… all people. Indeed, I remember sitting with him many a Sunday afternoon on Broadway crosswalk park benches where he would engage in one of his favorite pastimes… watching other people.

Two-thousand years ago, the One whose birth we celebrate, proclaimed we should… “love one another as I have loved you.” Sadly, those words get lost in each generation except for a few who understand that genuine love is almost always returned with love. Love is more powerful than all the money printed by man. Love is the force that drives the human race. Hate, the opposite of love, does nothing but consume the hater. Today’s world? Full of hate—political, social, racial, religious, you name it—hate in its many forms. Result? Unhappy, bitter lives. Without love, where is joy?

But…’tis the Season…” with its positive joyous message of love, the true message of Christmas… a time to remember His birth… and love each other. It may sound implausible, but I’d like to imagine a world without hate. My father knew this, even without printed words to teach him.

Posted December 5, 2013