STEVEN
J.
ZIPPERSTEIN
111
tural memory, in the broadest terms.
It
can tell us much about how one
builds out of such artifacts our sense of the past-when we rub the
often all-too-smooth surfaces of collective memory against the con–
founding messiness of everyday life as captured in the best of biograph–
ical writing.
Isaac Rosenfeld did not die in the room described by Bellow. Nor did
he die on Walton Place. His new, airy, two-room apartment, to which he
moved a few months before his death, was on Huron, near Chicago's
Loop, where he then was teaching at an evening school branch of the
University of Chicago. Bellow had last seen him at the Walton flat.
Without access to the primary sources used by biographers-letters,
journals, interviews, etc.-this could not have been known. Still, this
constitutes more than a mere, passing errata .
This information was culled from interviews, as well as letters Rosen–
feld wrote at the time. In one letter written a few months before his
death, Rosenfeld tells Freda Davis, the friend who discovered his dead
body, about the apartment, and he relates a conversation he had with
his son, still living with his ex-wife in New York: "[George] knew I was
sad. I assured him my life was much better now. 'I'm no longer in that
basement. I have a nice room, new clothes, a car. I have lots of friends.'"
Davis, a high-school sweetheart whom he met again near the end of
his life, spent much time there. As she described it, the flat had a bright
kitchen, a desk in the living room piled high with manuscripts; the bath–
room was in the hall, the bedroom was tiny and somewhat dingy, but
the main room was large and filled with books. Isaac had bought him–
self a convertible. Interestingly, none of the descriptions of his sudden,
sordid death ever mention this sporty car. In this same place, according
to Davis's account, Rosenfeld enjoyed cooking for her, an apron tied
around his waist, a flashy car waiting for them outside the window. In let–
ters to friends, and in his journal, he speculated that he might soon break
off their relationship. He also suggested that he might well marry her.
Rosenfeld completed several of his best essays and stories in the last
months of his life. At the time he was at work on a book on the Chicago
fire, and a literary study of Tolstoy. He was writing sketches for
Chicago's Compass Players-the precursor to the comedy group, Sec–
ond City-and one of the sketches, "The Liars," was performed in
Chicago by Mike Nichols, Elaine May, and Shelly Berman. Mike
Nichols later optioned it for television. "King Solomon" appeared in
Harpers
soon after his death. A lengthy essay about Chicago, published
posthumously in
Commentary,
is often considered his finest piece of
nonfiction. Among his unpublished novels were expansive explorations
