all Oral History

Harry Goldman

Harry Goldman was born in Russia around 1895, in a town he described as Kiev or thereabouts, during a time of pogroms and revolution. His father came from Odessa and worked as a baker. As a small child, Harry and his three siblings survived a terrifying raid when they were hidden under a huge sugar barrel while soldiers searched the house. Refusing to accept the persecution of Jews, his father, quoting that he wanted neither their honey nor their sting, left first for America. He found work as a Jewish baker in St. Louis within a day of arriving, and in eleven months saved enough to bring his family over.

In St. Louis Harry attended Carr School, then Glasgow School and Central High, and studied typing, shorthand, and bookkeeping at Brown's Business College. His father, deeply observant, engaged a private Hebrew tutor rather than sending him to a Talmud Torah, and Harry gained much of his Jewish learning from Shabbos study groups at shul. At sixteen he took a job with a wholesale dry goods company, later learning to cut leather jackets at a California sportswear firm. In 1933 the company sent him to open its Dallas branch, and he spent 34 years traveling Mississippi, Texas, and Oklahoma while always keeping Shabbos on the road.

Soon after arriving in Dallas, Harry met Sarah Summer through his landlady, and the two married after arranging to support his parents together. They raised a daughter, Hannah, and a son, Joe, and built an FHA home in South Dallas with lumber generously priced by a Marshall, Texas timber man. During the war Harry became a skilled precision grinder, making airplane bearings, and later worked on rocket parts before retiring in the early 1970s. He was one of five founders of Akiva Academy and a lifetime board member, attended Tiferet Israel twice daily, volunteered making surgical dressings, and took up oil painting at the Jewish community center. Admired as a humble and devoted man, he was honored by his synagogue with the gift of a Sefer Torah.

His descendants carry on his devotion to Yiddishkeit.