Steven Spielberg (5 page)

Arnold Spielberg, his sister Natalie Guttman recalled, “was always a
questioning
, exploring, and highly intelligent youngster whose quest for learning was and has never really been quenched.” But when Arnold was attending Avondale Grade School, he was regarded as “a nerd,” according to a
schoolmate
, Dr. Bernard Goldman. “He didn't fit into the group. Other kids played ball, but he never seemed to join in that. He wasn't a spectator. He probably had his own interests.”

From early boyhood, Arnold's primary interests were scientific: “The
earliest 
influence was the son of the man who lived upstairs [in my building]. His son used to tinker around with radios. I was a little kid then, about six or seven years old, and I used to go down to the basement, watching him build stuff. Then another guy moved into the house next door—he was a radio repairman, and he gave me parts. And I was going to Avondale School one day—I'll never forget this—I was walking up the street on Windham Avenue, and I looked in the wastebasket. There was a bunch of radio stuff. I picked up that radio stuff, ran home, and opened the door—‘Mom, don't throw this out!' I went to school, barely made it to class, came home—it was a crystal set that somebody had tried to fix. I just put the wires to the nearest
connection
and I got it to work. This was in 1927 or '28; I was ten years old at that time.

“I'll never forget putting the earphones on my uncle's ears when he came over from Manchuria to America. It was the first time he ever heard a radio. The family thought I was nuts, you know, a ‘crazy-head scientist.' I was always into magnetics and electrical stuff. Making magnets,
burning
up batteries, making shocking machines out of batteries from the old battery-radio sets. I used to go around to people's houses and say, ‘Have you got any used-up batteries?' They'd give 'em to me, I'd get some power out of 'em, connect 'em all in series, make sparks. Typical kid stuff.”

Arnie and his brother Buddy, who was only a year younger, shared the same hobby. “They were into electrocuting rats in the attic,” their nephew, Samuel Guttman, relates. “Arnold was a ham operator [from the age of fifteen], and somehow he had an antenna system that ruined the radio
reception
in the neighborhood. The two terrorized the neighborhood. My mother once got so crazy she threw a punch at 'em through a glass door.” Arnold “was remarkably intelligent in school, and he would fool around at home—he did all kinds of smart scientific things,” recalls family friend Millie Tieger. “He built a television set in the 1930s, before anybody else did, before anybody knew what a television
was.
Everybody said, ‘Arnold, what
are
you doing?'”

Some of Arnold's visionary qualities can be attributed to his avid interest in reading science fiction, a habit he later passed on to his son. “I've been reading science fiction since I was seven years old, all the way back to the earliest
Amazing
Stories,
”
Arnold says.
“Amazing,
Astounding,
Analog
—I still subscribe. I still read 'em. My kids used to complain, ‘Dad's in the bathroom with a science-fiction magazine. We can't get in.'”

Sam and Becky Spielberg, who spoke mostly Russian around the house, were struggling to make ends meet during the Depression, and they could not afford to send Arnold and Buddy to college. After his graduation in 1934 from Hughes High School, Arnold barely missed out on a college scholarship and had to take a job far beneath his potential, working as a clerk in a chain of small-town department stores across the river in Kentucky, run by his mother's relatives, the Lerman brothers.

Before becoming a store manager for the Lermans, Arnold worked as an assistant manager in Cynthiana, Kentucky, for his older cousin Max Chase, a nephew of Rebecca Spielberg. Starting the process that eventually would make Arnold's son Steven into a filmmaker, Max gave Arnold his first movie camera during the early 1930s. “I started taking home movies when I lived in Kentucky,” Arnold recalls. “My cousin bought one of the earliest 8mm movie cameras. He didn't know how to use it, so he said, ‘Here, you use it.' I was about seventeen years old when I started doing that. I used to take a lot of junk movies, you know what I mean? Family and stuff like that. But no class. Just pictures.”
§

Arnold continued to work for the Lermans until the coming of World War II. He enlisted in the U. S. Army Signal Corps in January 1942, but was soon transferred into the Army Air Forces. After serving as an airplane-parts shipping clerk in Karachi, Pakistan, he parlayed his ham-radio experience into a post as a radio operator. Stationed first in Karachi and then outside Calcutta, in the China-Burma-India theater of operations, he was part of a B-25 bomber squadron that destroyed Japanese railroad lines, shipping, and communications in Burma, earning them the nickname of “The Burma Bridge Busters.” Arnold recalls that although he “flew a couple of missions,” he spent most of the war running the squadron's communications room: “At first I signed on to be a radio gunner, but they said, ‘No, if you know how to fix radios, you're better off on the ground.' They wouldn't let me fly
anymore
.” He was rotated back to the United States in December 1944, serving out the rest of the war at Wright Field in Dayton, Ohio.

The country's shared sacrifices and its victory over fascism, coupled with the eventual discovery of the full dimensions of the Holocaust, contributed to the postwar advancement of social acceptance and economic
opportunities
for American Jews. The Cold War climate of fierce American
competitiveness
with the Soviet Union also helped open doors in higher education, science, and business during the postwar years, while helping make
Christians
somewhat more tolerant in their social interactions with Jews, or at least less overt about their anti-Semitism.

The most immediate and far-reaching benefit of wartime service for
Arnold
Spielberg was the GI Bill of Rights, which finally enabled him, like 2.2 million other American veterans, to attend college. The GI Bill gave veterans what one of them called “a ticket of admission to a better life.”

It was that for Arnold Spielberg, making it possible for the former
department
store manager to earn a degree in electronic engineering from the University of Cincinnati in June 1949 and launching him on what would turn out to be a highly successful career in computer engineering. Arnold
remembers that just before his father died, he was “so proud” to see his son enter college.

“Arnold blossomed in an academic setting,” family friend Millie Tieger observed. “Arnold was such a turn-around person. He married Leah and she encouraged him to go to college. She
pushed
him. She was already a graduate of the University of Cincinnati; she was a smart girl, talented, very outgoing. I think she wanted Arnold also to have a good education. He turned out to be a brain, absolutely brilliant, a pioneer in computers. When Arnold was working in New Jersey, doing early computer research, he used to come to Cincinnati, and he would sit down at our kitchen table and calculate numbers to the thirteenth power. I had no idea what he was talking about. I would say, ‘Shut up, Arnold.'”

W
HEN
Steven Spielberg's mother attended Walnut Hills High School, the college preparatory school for Cincinnati public school students, she was “kinda mousy. So was I,” recalls fellow student Edith Cummins. “We weren't the prom queen types. She was very plain.” “I was different-looking,” Leah told Fred A. Bernstein, author of
The
Jewish
Mothers'
Hall
of
Fame.
“But I never wanted to change. If I had had a tiny pug nose, maybe I wouldn't have had to develop a personality. But instead, I learned to play piano. I was somebody. I loved my life, and I believed in me.”

“She was so different from the Spielbergs,” notes Millie Tieger. “She had a sparkle. They were all bigger, dark, and here is this under-five-foot young lady, blond, her eyes flash, she talks like this [moves her head and eyes rapidly as she talks]. Arnold was super-smart and accomplished, but I think Leah had a more all-encompassing ‘people' personality. She's a very insightful creature.”

Leah started dating Arnold Spielberg in 1939. Arnold attended high school with Leah's brother, Bernie. “We all played tennis together,” Arnold's sister Natalie recounted. “Leah was going with somebody else at the time, but when she broke up with her boyfriend I introduced her to Arnold because I thought that would be a good match.”

During the early 1940s, Leah pursued her musical ambitions as a student at the renowned Cincinnati Conservatory of Music, affiliated with the University of Cincinnati. She planned a career as a concert pianist and did some public performing, much to the pride and delight of her family. Leah was “a very talented concert pianist,” Arnold says. “She contributed a lot of artistic talent to Steven.”

Leah, a home economics major in college, was graduated and took a job as a social worker for the Travelers Aid Society at the city's Union Terminal. She married Arnold in South Avondale's Adath Israel synagogue on February 25, 1945, while he was still in active service at Wright Field. Joining him in Dayton, Leah worked for the local social services department. After his discharge later that year and their return to Cincinnati, Leah helped administer
electrocardiograms for a few months at the Jewish Hospital, but quit that job shortly before Steven was born at the same hospital. With her own artistic career sidetracked by the demands of raising a family, she passed on her artistic ambitions to her son, but never stopped playing the piano.

“The first piece of furniture we got when we were married was a piano,” Arnold says. “We borrowed a bed, and we bought a Baldwin spinet.” Arnold, who took piano lessons as a boy, was always an avid music listener. “We had a big collection of classical records,” he recalls. “We had classical music playing in the house all the time, way back, early on.” While pregnant with Steven, Leah spent much of her time playing classical pieces on her piano, and when he was an infant in diapers, he would sit on her lap on the piano bench, listening and learning to tap out the music. Sometimes Arnold also got into the act: “I knew enough to know the notes, so when she'd play, I'd turn the pages.”

Sometimes the music would affect Steven in unexpected ways. “Steven always had a highly developed imagination,” said Leah. “He was afraid of everything. When he was little he would insist that I lift the top of the [piano] so he could see the strings while I played. Then he would fall on the floor, screaming in fear.” But Millie Tieger, who remembers watching him as a small child sitting at the piano with his mother, suggests that the early influence of Leah's music is “the key to the understanding” of his creative development: “What went into Steve when he heard his mother play music so beautifully?”

Like fellow
Wunderkind
director Orson Welles, whose father was an inventor and whose mother was a concert pianist, Spielberg acquired his dazzling blend of artistic talents from a synthesis of his parents' disparate abilities. He once said he is the product of “genetic overload.” His father describes Steven's personality as “a lucky piece of synergy,” explaining that Steven's mother is “a very musically creative person, she's a good dancer. And she's a zany type. I'm a little more grounded. But I also like creative things. I was a great storyteller. I love science fiction.”

Arnold's pioneering creativity within his own field of computers has brought him several patents. When Steven was an infant, his father would put him to sleep by the imaginative means of using an oscilloscope to reflect wavy lines on the wall. Though Steven showed no interest in following his father into engineering, he picked up his interest in filmmaking from his father. Steven's fascination with all kinds of cutting-edge technology and his mastery of the tools of filmmaking have been evident from the earliest days of his professional career.

The influence of music is also strongly evident in Spielberg's career. He played the clarinet (though not very well) in his grade school and high school bands, and sat in as first clarinet for composer John Williams in the beach scene of
Jaws.
He still noodles on the instrument for pleasure and relaxation. He has been a passionate collector of movie scores since childhood, and has said, “If I weren't a filmmaker I'd probably be in music. I'd
play piano or I'd compose. I'd probably be a starving composer somewhere in Hollywood right now, hopefully not starving, but I probably would not have been successful.”

In the view of Williams, who has written the scores for most of Spielberg's films, he is being overly modest about his musical sense: “Steven could have been a composer himself. He has that rhythmic sense in his whole being, and I think that is one of the great things about his directing—this rhythmic, kinetic sense he has.”

Through his parents, Spielberg inherited his love of music from Grandpa Shmuel, who performed in the Russian army band, and from Grandpa Fievel, the Russian immigrant Jew who was not allowed to go to school but used his music to proclaim “How wondrous are Thy works.”

Perhaps the most joyous scene in all of Spielberg's movies is the ending of
Close
Encounters
of
the
Third
Kind,
in which the scientists finally devise a way of communicating with the alien mother ship by using their computers to play synthesized music together. The musical interchange between the humans and their extraterrestrial visitors starts as a few tentative notes and quickly becomes a rapturous duet of spiritual celebration.