The Twelve (2 page)

The Death of Max Doff

1965

J
ANE AND HER SON MAX ARRIVED AT THE TARRYTOWN MEDICAL
Center complex of offices at precisely 2:44 p.m. that fateful February afternoon. It was cold, and there was snow on the ground—not a clean, fresh snow, but a melting-then-refreezing snow that became less inviting by the moment.

The roads were mostly clear, although from previous salting and plowing, they had a film of crunchy dirt that was unappetizing to the eye and ear.

It was a good thing the roads were clear. Jane Doff was an awful driver. She had no confidence at all behind the wheel of a car and had been in a terrible car accident just two years previously—an event that had changed her life.

***

Jane Lefkowitz was a beautiful woman. Standing five foot five inches with perfect skin and a perfect figure, she had dark, curly hair, incredibly soft, dark eyes, and a captivating smile that was irresistible. She reminded those who met her of Mary Pickford, Norma Shearer, and the other movie stars of the 1920s and 1930s.

She was just sixteen, and accompanying her twenty-four-year-old sister Mona on a boat cruise to Cuba. As the daughter of Russian immigrants, Mona was perceived to be an “old maid” with few chances left to marry. The eldest of three sisters, Mona was not beautiful like Jane and did not attract suitors easily. But this was 1939, and her parents were from the old world, so she had to be the first to marry, or her siblings could not.

Such was the tradition of Russian families, or at least of the Lefkowitz family.

Jane's father, Arnold Lefkowitz, made a modest living as an egg seller in Newark, New Jersey—a profession that his wife, Gladys, looked down upon. A deeply intellectual man, he was an expert on the Torah and became well regarded by rabbis throughout the world. But this wasn't enough to compensate for the degree to which Gladys felt she had “come down” in the world.

Her own family had owned their own store in Europe, and her father was a medical doctor, which was quite prestigious. So Gladys considered herself worldly, and sophisticated, and much too good for her humble husband.

Gladys never worked but was an excellent homemaker and managed and controlled all the money generated by her husband, Arnold. Despite the expense of the cruise, she went to the “for a rainy day” jar she kept hidden in the third drawer above the kitchen icebox, pulled out the necessary amount—almost completely depleting the fund—and sent not just Mona, but also her sister Jane, on a ten-day cruise from New York City Harbor to Havana, Cuba.

Jane was to serve as chaperone for her sister, with whom she really didn't get along. But she wasn't about to object, for this was an opportunity for Jane to see a little of the world. She had a dream of traveling, of being a writer, and of living in a thatched-roof cottage in Devon, England.

And it wouldn't have been proper for Mona to travel alone, since there would have been the potential for people to gossip as to her behavior and moral character.

This was serious business.

Mona needed to find a mate on this “singles cruise,” although no one dared call it that. Time was running out, and Mona's future—and the future of Jane and her sister Miriam—teetered in the balance.

The cruise was designed so that there would be interaction among the many single men and women on the ship. At the first cruise dinner Jane and Mona were assigned to the captain's table.

Herbert Doff, who was a dapper, good-looking twenty-four-year-old—the same age as Mona—was also seated at the table. He was five foot eight, with dark, wavy hair and sparkling, brown eyes full of playful mischief, a little pudgy from overindulgence of wine and food, but generally fit and physically strong.

***

A brilliant scientist, Herbert had seemed headed toward a promising career as a professional chemist. But an explosion in the chemistry lab at Union Carbide had left him partially deaf and required him to take a six-month, paid leave of absence from the lab. During that time Herbert spent his time going to ball games, dating curvaceous young women, and generally attending to the necessities of life—such as renewing his driver's license.

This last activity had led to a turning point in his career.

Herbert observed that driving test booklets were in short supply and, having time on his hands, took it upon himself to print copies and sell them to prospective drivers.

Since a fair number of people failed the written exam of the driver's test and were forced to reapply, he hired a secretary to type up and mimeograph one hundred copies of the booklet, with the answers to the multiple-choice questions included.

Herbert then presented himself at the entrance to the license bureau of Manhattan and quickly sold every single booklet—for a dollar a copy. He printed thousands more of the booklets and recruited friends and students to sell them all over New York City, for which they each would receive a quarter for every copy sold.

This arrangement continued for several months, with Herbert accumulating a profit of several thousand dollars a week—which was very good money in the mid-1930s and far more than he could ever hope to make as a chemist.

Unemployment was still high as the country struggled to come out of the Great Depression. Military service at that time was not a requirement, but rather a privilege and a solution to unemployment. The Army inductee's level of pay and opportunity for continuing education was determined by his performance on the Armed Forces Entrance Examination. Since the examination—just like the driver's manual—was a public-domain document produced at the taxpayers' expense, Herbert saw another opportunity to make money while helping others.

He completed what were for the most part basic math and English questions, then duplicated the exam paper, and thus was born the booklet titled “Practice for the Armed Forces Test.” And Herbert was on the way to making his first $1 million.

In 1938 $1 million was practically a fortune and certainly more money than a single man could spend without getting into mischief—something at which Herbert excelled. He loved the high life—lavish meals, good wine, the company of beautiful women—the latter being the reason he was on the cruise.

He had been dating Lisa, a voluptuous, blue-eyed blonde for six months, and she was expecting him to place an engagement ring on her finger, guaranteeing her a life of comfort and pleasure. Even though he was fond of Lisa, Herbert didn't want to marry her.

First of all, he wasn't ready for marriage. And besides, while she was a fun party girl, she wasn't someone with whom Herbert saw himself settling down and having children.

Yet he couldn't seem to summon up the courage to look her in the eye and tell her that, so he decided to disappear. It was the cowardly route, but he believed that his absence would heal Lisa's desire for marital bliss—at least with him—and he would continue to play the field.

So, he told her he had to go to Havana on business and prepared a quantity of pre-written postcards that would be sent to her from Cuba for six full months, detailing the ever-more-complex business entanglements he would encounter, preventing his return.

Herbert would, of course, be back in New York and hoped that, by the end of six months, Lisa would have given up on him and found another man.

Thus he found himself at the captain's table, and the moment he sat down at the captain's table next to Mona and Jane, he fell madly, hopelessly, completely, and forever in love . . . with Jane.

Her beauty was overwhelming, and while she seemed to know that she was beautiful, she didn't flaunt it. However, it did cause her to emanate a sense of confidence and comfort that automatically drew him to her. During the course of dinner, he learned her age and realized that she was too young to enter into a courtship with him. He subsequently paid more attention to the age-appropriate Mona, who was clearly delighted with his charm.

When the ship docked in Havana, newly matched couples strolled down the streets and visited the beaches and casinos of the sultry capital. Herbert arranged for the sisters to accompany him on horse-drawn carriage rides through the city. He took them to shows, treated them to dinners, and bought them flowers and gifts. They were an inseparable threesome throughout the stay and resumed their position at the captain's table on the return trip, Herbert seated firmly between the two sisters, being ever attentive to Mona.

Upon their return, the Lefkowitz family was regaled by their two daughters with tales of a potential suitor for Mona. Thus, it came as a shock when Herbert came calling and asked permission to court Jane.

Neither Gladys Lefkowitz nor Mona ever forgave Herbert for rejecting Mona. Even years later, when Mona was married and had two children, Herbert was considered a scandalous cad who had misused her to gain access to her young and beautiful sibling.

As she got older, Jane became more stunningly beautiful. In 1953, when she was already the mother of three children, she and Herbert were dining at La Mamounia Hotel in Marrakech, Morocco. Winston Churchill was sitting at a nearby table and couldn't take his eyes off her. He finally invited Jane and Herbert to join him, a gesture she took in stride. Although she had enjoyed a simple upbringing, she was comfortable around people of any stature.

She had a gentle soul and an uncanny, almost telepathic empathy that gave her the ability to put people at ease, no matter who they were. Such was the case with the elder statesman. They talked as if they'd known each other for years, while Herbert sat back and glowed with pride.

***

It all ended for Jane on June 16, 1963, at 4:22 in the afternoon on Sleepy Hollow Drive in Sleepy Hollow, New York, about twenty miles north of New York City.

She was driving Louis to pick up refreshments for the party that would celebrate Max's graduation from eighth grade. Max had been chosen to give the valedictorian's address to the students and their parents the following day, and since both the upper and lower schools of the private Hackley School would be in attendance, there would be hundreds of people in the audience. Jane felt she should make some gesture of acknowledgment to Max for his striking academic success.

Max was home preparing his speech. Jane stopped her white station wagon at a stop sign where three roads intersected. A brown Chevy approached, driven by Mrs. Allison Broadstreet.

Jane had the right of way, but she hesitated.

Instead of coming to a full stop, Mrs. Broadstreet mistakenly confused the accelerator with the brake, thrusting the car full throttle and reaching a speed of forty miles per hour—which thankfully would not be fast enough to kill Jane and Louis, but would be enough to throw Louis from the car and leave his mother with wounds to the head and face.

They were rushed to the hospital, and Jane required forty-three stitches to close the wound above her left eye. According to the doctors, the only other result was a concussion.

Max went ahead and gave his speech the following day, as planned, at the Hackley School commencement ceremony. His brother, Louis, unhurt by the accident, was the only family member in attendance since he, too, was a Hackley student and was required to be there.

Herbert chose to stay at the bedside of Jane. She returned home shortly and was still as beautiful as ever to her husband and indeed to all others, but not, unfortunately, to herself.

Jane was afflicted with a minor flaw—the inability to control the nerves on the left side of her face. She still had her smile, but it had changed, and she was unable to ignore this anomaly in her features. She had never been vain and almost took her beauty for granted. Life had been good to her. She'd been blessed with Herbert, her children, a comfortable home, friends, and abundance.

She had always felt nurtured, loved, and living in a perpetual state of grace. In the aftermath of her accident, however, all that disappeared. She became despondent and lost her zest for life.

Forty-one at the time of the accident, Jane began to doubt her worth. Her dream of England remained unfulfilled. Her identity was inextricably linked to Herbert, whom she loved dearly, but living in the shadow of this powerful and successful man had given her a sense of inferiority, and she began to resent him.

She lost all belief in herself. She had never been religious and harbored doubts that God existed, especially as a result of the accident. As feelings of regret and disappointment rolled over and over in her mind, she began to chain-smoke cigarettes and drink vodka to numb her pain.

***

Her primary physician was Dr. Howard Gray. His children also went to Hackley School, and Howard and his wife, Zelda, often dined and met socially with Herbert and Jane. Since this friendship had been of many years' standing, it seemed only natural that when Jane returned from the hospital and was diagnosed with clinical depression, Howard would be called upon for advice and assistance.

When she was a young girl, Jane spent two weeks every summer at the Jersey shore. She loved those outings, and as a young mother she would always arrange the summer holidays for herself, Herbert, and the children on Cape Cod, Long Island Sound, or even Martha's Vineyard—anywhere she could spend hours staring at the waves. It didn't matter what time of day or night, the hypnotic trance of the sea—its sounds, its swelling, rushing water, its retreat, its constant movement—engulfed Jane and placed her in a state bordering on bliss.