Clara

My sister Clara never liked living on the farm. She felt it was beneath her. I think she also felt squeezed in the family grid. She was the second daughter. She wasn’t the son, the Jewish Prince, that Mama and Papa wanted. He came next. And I was the baby and beautiful.

She was offered a scholarship to Vassar when she graduated from Hunter. Unlike older sister Elsie who had gone to finishing school, Clara wanted to work.

“I always thought Elsie was dumb and obedient.” She later told me. “I had dreams. I wanted to be rich. I wanted to go to elegant places to dine and dance. I wanted to see the world. Papa thought what he provided was perfect; good horse and surrey, good food, proper clothes – clean and in good condition but not necessarily stylish.”

“I always had a desire to be different than I was. I was never satisfied with my looks, my clothes, or my friends. I went to work as a secretary for Mr. Olney and I would imitate his speech. Maybe I thought unconsciously it would improve my position in society.”

In turn, I imitated Clara’s speech. She thought it was hysterical because it was wrong enough to be amusing. I was laughed at in school. I suffered but refused to change. I speak exactly as Clara does to this day. People find it difficult to distinguish our voices over the phone. I really loved copying her. When she wasn’t home, I even tried on her clothes.

“I loved you,” she said. “But you could do no wrong in Mama or Papa’s eyes. You got love. I got every mundane job heaped on me. Elsie had the adulation for everything she baked and sewed. I was given the upstairs to clean, every Sunday. It never even showed so I didn’t hear a compliment from one end of the year to the other. I had to lash out to express my anger, otherwise I’d explode. You were an easy target for me. Young! More important, I could type and you couldn’t. I liked the edge that gave me when you needed my help.”

I remember staying in the room when Morris gave Clara her engagement ring. I must have been eight years old. She was furious that I wouldn’t leave but he couldn’t wait to be alone with her. Morris was so excited about his success- not his success in having won my sister’s affections, but his success in the purchase of the ring. But Mama and Papa didn’t approve.

“Maybe in Cologne the name Sarnoff hadn’t the importance of Oppenheimer,” Clara protested. “But it’s certainly obvious his family achieved a good deal more. Papa was really a bigot. What hurt me was that Papa considered Morris a fourflusher, a spender with no backing. I enjoyed the prominence of his family. I loved Morris’ humor and bravado.”