When the war broke out in early 1940, I was working as an apprentice in a well established furniture factory.  I was very young, inexperienced, and scared about the future, my life, and the war.  After a thorough physical examination the draft board assigned me a 1A classification, and I was due to be called up at any minute.

Everything in the shop started to fall apart.  Most young workers either joined the service, or were drafted.  Some others quit to work in the shipyards, or at higher paying jobs.

The owner of the business had good connections with the authorities, and therefore got very lucrative contracts for his services.  Since we had so few workers left, he eventually arranged for me to be exempt from immediate call up.

I tried to learn the craft fast, but it was hard to do without proper teachers and role models; so I had to improvise.  I must have learned well, as one day the owner of the firm called me into the office and gave me the keys to the shop, to the office, and to his private desk.

He told me that there was a crisis in his private life.  He had fallen in love with a society lady, who, like himself, was also married.  They were leaving for some private place, for an unknown amount of time, and I must now run his shop alone.  He told me that because I was smart and trustworthy, if I succeeded, when the war ended I could become a partner with his son who was now in the Army.  He himself would step aside for the two of us.  Saying this, and not even waiting for my reply, he left.

I stood alone in the office, surveyed my surroundings, my options, and having no choice, decided to stay and continue with the fulfillment of the existing contracts, and the new demands from the Army.

I needed help. We still had a few older men.  There was no chance of getting outside workers, but I had a good friend, Harry Saxe, who had connections with the Navy on Treasure Island.  The Island was full of young sailors with time on their hands.  Harry arranged to have some sailors come in and work a few hours every day.  Some were very good, and I managed, somehow.  At the end of each day I paid them in cash.

I also got some pig farmers (two were Jews!) from the Midwest, who, although working in Kaiser's ship yard, still wanted to earn more money, and worked for me a few hours every day.  One even slept in the shop to save money, and went directly from the shop to his assignment at the shipyard.

How we managed to build ships and all the rest for the war effort with tired inexperienced workers is really a miracle, but we, as a country produced, and my shop produced, and  I increased our volume and profits.

Within 3 months, I tripled the profits for the firm.  Oh, I had praises!  The wife of the owner came in once a week, on Fridays, to make out the payroll and to deposit the fat checks that I turned over.

I felt good.  I learned how to run a business, and how to get along with various workers and clients.  I lost my shyness; I even became bold and talkative.

I had the office, the big desk, my own stationary, and even fancy business cards with my name boldly engraved.  I also acquired an old, used Plymouth car.  It became our "Old Faithful;" taking my family on short trips to get "losted," as Bennett, my son, called it, wanting to explore California.

Eventually the war ended. The owner returned with his lover, and they set up housekeeping in a fashionable neighborhood.  They had horses stabled in Golden Gate Park, and spent their time living the high, good life.  For religious reasons, his wife never gave him a divorce.

He did not reclaim the big office desk.  Instead, he had a smaller, more private one, in our building.  Soon, the old workers returned, and the owner’s son also came back from the Army.  The production went back to the old ways - private and family controlled.

I found out that I was not wanted, nor needed. They welched on the promise of a  partnership, and with no warning, took back the management from me.  Oh, I could stay, but only as a worker.

This was unacceptable for me, and without ceremony, I returned all the keys, and with sadness, left the firm to start my own business.

I felt that I must prove to myself that I can do for myself what I did for others.  It was not easy, but I did it.

I found a suitable place on Guerrero Street; less than a quarter of the space that I had been running for others on Folsom Street.  I soon attracted the best workers in the industry.  I paid the highest wages.  I got involved in my worker's private lives and helped them.  I also attracted the best customers, and although the newest shop and the youngest owner, I soon became number one in my trade; the most envied, copied and admired.

My shop became a haven, and a good place to meet and relax. The mailman, deliverymen, garbage men, and mostly policemen, liked my office.  They received their private messages, and sometimes even their mail, in my place.

I had a large refrigerator, well stocked with soft drinks, beer, vodka and whiskey - some regulars had their own bottles. My friend Victor had half a compartment for himself stocked with his favorite drinks.  People respected other’s property.

A large group of police officers almost made this their second headquarters.  They came in, leaving their cars or motorcycles outside.  Some came in for a quick, private repast.  Some came in and made wooden toys for their kids, or cutting boards for their wives.  I didn't need any protection, or to have tickets fixed.  I was a good, safe driver.

Most of them adored Bassya and liked to play tricks on her.   Like when she was driving, she would hear a police siren, and pull over wondering why.  Of course it would be one of our friends laughing.  Once, when Bassya was late going some place, two cops on motorcycles, sirens screaming, escorted her all through the traffic.  She said that she felt like a celebrity.

Two inspectors called me aside once and pleaded with me to be more careful, more discreet.  Every so often they raided some whorehouse, or worse yet, some small enterprise where one or two young women operated a shop for quick sex.  This was a dangerous group; sometimes they robbed or shook down some tourist or unsuspecting older, married man.  And, according to them, in almost every instance they found my name on one of my  business cards.

I was astonished, as I did not visit these places.  I thought that they were playing a joke on me, and told them so.  So the next time they produced the proof of the business card.  Yes, it was my card, my name and a phone number that I knew well.  It was the phone number and address of my former place on Folsom Street.

When I left the firm, I had also left all my cards, and the young man who took my desk, and who liked quick sex, regularly gave out his phone number and his name, which was actually mine, to all these places so that he could be notified when a new girl came to work.

When I accused him of giving me, a married, respectable man, such a reputation, he apologized and promised never, never to do it again.

But he did, and for many years my name appeared in the black books of some of the most notorious madams in our city.