That quiet inner voice was followed by an unexpected realization. I care about Artie and his future: I love my brother
February 1964
“Here, Artie, catch!”
The red asphalt shingle went flying through the air. Artie, perched precariously on a stepladder, shot out a hand and grabbed it neatly.
“Hey, don’t start up with Prospect Park’s frisbee champion!” he said, waving it triumphantly over his head.
Mutty laughed. He had agreed reluctantly to his mother’s request that he work with Artie on Sundays, Mutty’s only day off. But he found that he was enjoying working on the hotel roof much more than he’d expected. The work itself — they were laying the shingles on the wood beams — was relaxing, almost hypnotic. Even for a top student like Mutty, Columbia pre-med courses were really tough. Spending hours doing mindless, repetitive work like this — lay the shingle, hit the nail; lay the shingle, hit the nail — was like giving his overworked brain a Florida beach vacation. But it was more than that: It was good, so good, to be working side by side with his brother.
Mutty had been shocked by Artie’s decision to quit college. Go to college, make time for Torah learning, get a profession, get married, support your wife and kids. That’s what everyone did.
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