Irving Fine

My father, who loved to be called don Fino, was first generation in the United States and was very proud to be an American citizen and to be from the Bronx.  He had a sister, Claire and a brother, Phillip.

His mother was Rose Arzt, from Stanislaus, Poland, sister of the esteemed Rabbi Max Arzt, his father was Morris Fine, from Minsk, in Belarus. When he was born his parents lived in the Lower East Side, before moving to the Bronx.  His father, who never spoke a word of English, worked in the fur trade with Hungarians.  He died when Irving was 13 years old and his mother then had a hard time supporting her family with her candy stores.

Irving attend Morris high school in the Bronx that was popularly referred to by it’s Yiddish name; Moishe,  Soon after graduating he wanted to enlist in WWII and was told to wait to be drafted.  Whilst waiting, he worked in his cousins deli in the garment district, running sandwiches to the garment workers.

His draft number finally came up and Irving, from a Yiddish speaking home, was shipped to Oregon, then on to New Guinea and the Phillipines.  He was in the army, working with jeep mechanics as a parts requisition clerk.  He met many ex-pat Spaniards while on the base in the Phillipines which would have an important influence on his life. Irving attended the world’s largest seder, hosted by McArthur for soldiers in the Pacific theater.

Once back in the US, he enrolled in NYU, under the GI bill, for which he was so grateful.  He lived in Greenwich village, went to every jazz concert he could and was a devotee of the Big Band sound.  He used to say that his interest in Spanish was heightened by the beautiful Venezuelan professor who taught his first class at NYU.  He went to study in Mexico City for a year and he took the bus all the way from NYC!

After NYU, he went to graduate school at Penn State, where he met my mother, Serine Folk, from Scranton, PA.  She was working in the library and he asked her where the Spanish dictionaries were located.  Since his uncle was a prominent rabbi in Scranton, my mother’s family knew he was a good match. His summers were spent working as a translator for migrant workers.

After marrying, they lived in Scranton, where my brother, Billy (William) was born.

Irving began working in his phD in Boulder, Colorado, where I was born.  He got his first teaching job in Billings, Montana, at the University of Eastern Montana.  Then he got a better offer from Butler in Indianapolis.

We moved to Indianapolis in 1962 when I started kindergarten.  We lived on 49th, between Central and Washington and moved the next year to 58th and Broadway.  My brother and I both went to PS #84.

When I was 12, in the summer of 1970, we lived in Montparnasse, Paris, while my parents studied French at the Alliance Francaise. During that summer he worked on a farm in Estramaduras in Spain.   As a result of his French study, my father also taught French at Butler and had many ballerinas in his classes.

He was very devoted to my mother and drove her everywhere, as she did not drive.  She taught at Tech and he drove her to work.  They were regulars at the symphony, many theater productions, foreign films and the opera at Indiana University.

Later in life, when my mother needed the care of an assisted living facility, my father lived with her there and made the best of it by entertaining the staff with his jokes.

A few years after my mother passed away, my father came to live with me in Annapolis, Maryland.  He loved being with his two grandsons; Matthew and Raphael.  Everyday he walked to a nearby cafe, read the New York Times and got to know the other regulars.  Everyone whom he met, loved him.  He entertained my Air BnB guests with his jokes.

Throughout his life, he was passionate about the Spanish language and always spoke Spanish with everyone who entered our home, or he met on his walks.

A friend, with small children, who he adored, came to visit him on one of his last days alive, he sat up, very alert and pleased to hear me tell them about don Quixote.  I was surprised to learn that not all 5 years olds know about don Quixote!