Above: Hand-tied flies by Martin Goldberg Tools of My Father:  by Carin Goldberg Brooklyn born. Garmento. Jewish. World-class fly fisherman. My father Martin was all of the above, and more. He is remembered mostly as a difficult, verbose man prone to violent outbursts both verbal and physical. If pharmacological remedies were the norm (as they are today) in the 50’s and 60’s he might have been a very different man and father. While deeply tormented by his circumstances and his disappointments, oddly, he was very funny, audacious, well-read, worldly, and most of all, an avid outdoorsman. He studied forestry at Penn State and dreamed of becoming a forest ranger. For most Jews, especially at that time, this was a very un-Jewish choice of profession and considered verboten by his  mother and father, Jewish immigrants who would often threaten suicide or heart failure if my father were to pursue his true calling. His family insisted he join the family dress business, Robert Goldberg and Sons, located right smack in the middle of the New York City garment district. A successful business that, financially, served our young family well. A nice house, 2 cars, piano lessons, summer camp, trips to Europe. But my father was miserable and hated going to “the place” each day. And his deep unhappiness manifested in depression and rage. (This “prosperity” ended in 1963 when the business went bankrupt and we went from comfortable to poor practically overnight). But, there one one thing that transformed my father into the man he might have been. Fly fishing. Whenever possible he would leave in the middle of the night on a Saturday morning and drive his Opal Cadet (the dirty, “fishing/hunting/dogs” car) to upstate New York to his sanctuary on a pond on the Beaverkill River. It was on that pond that my father found his sanity. He would cast his line for hours until it was too dark to see, choosing his hand-made flies to match the entomology of the day and the stream. My father didn’t like to eat fish. He often threw them back except for the few he would bring back at the request of neighbors and friends. Although he taught me how to clean his catch of the day he never truly succeeded in teaching me how to fly fish. I think I never truly wanted to know how because I somehow knew I would be trespassing on his one true way of finding peace and well-being. Carin Goldberg was born in New York City and studied at the Cooper Union School of Art. She began her career as a staff designer at CBS Television, CBS Records and Atlantic Records before establishing her own firm, Carin Goldberg Design, in 1982. Over the following two decades Carin designed hundreds of book jackets for all the major American publishing houses. In recent years her image making has expanded to publication design, brand consulting and editorial illustration. Tools of My Father: is an ongoing series that explores and celebrates the relationships between children, tools, and fathers. Stay tuned in the coming weeks as we present other stories. Photo by Dorothy Hong
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Above: Hand-tied flies by Martin Goldberg

Tools of My Father:  by Carin Goldberg

Brooklyn born. Garmento. Jewish. World-class fly fisherman.

My father Martin was all of the above, and more. He is remembered mostly as a difficult, verbose man prone to violent outbursts both verbal and physical. If pharmacological remedies were the norm (as they are today) in the 50’s and 60’s he might have been a very different man and father.

While deeply tormented by his circumstances and his disappointments, oddly, he was very funny, audacious, well-read, worldly, and most of all, an avid outdoorsman.

He studied forestry at Penn State and dreamed of becoming a forest ranger. For most Jews, especially at that time, this was a very un-Jewish choice of profession and considered verboten by his  mother and father, Jewish immigrants who would often threaten suicide or heart failure if my father were to pursue his true calling. His family insisted he join the family dress business, Robert Goldberg and Sons, located right smack in the middle of the New York City garment district.

A successful business that, financially, served our young family well. A nice house, 2 cars, piano lessons, summer camp, trips to Europe. But my father was miserable and hated going to “the place” each day. And his deep unhappiness manifested in depression and rage. (This “prosperity” ended in 1963 when the business went bankrupt and we went from comfortable to poor practically overnight). But, there one one thing that transformed my father into the man he might have been. Fly fishing.

Whenever possible he would leave in the middle of the night on a Saturday morning and drive his Opal Cadet (the dirty, “fishing/hunting/dogs” car) to upstate New York to his sanctuary on a pond on the Beaverkill River. It was on that pond that my father found his sanity. He would cast his line for hours until it was too dark to see, choosing his hand-made flies to match the entomology of the day and the stream.

My father didn’t like to eat fish. He often threw them back except for the few he would bring back at the request of neighbors and friends. Although he taught me how to clean his catch of the day he never truly succeeded in teaching me how to fly fish. I think I never truly wanted to know how because I somehow knew I would be trespassing on his one true way of finding peace and well-being.

Carin Goldberg was born in New York City and studied at the Cooper Union School of Art. She began her career as a staff designer at CBS Television, CBS Records and Atlantic Records before establishing her own firm, Carin Goldberg Design, in 1982. Over the following two decades Carin designed hundreds of book jackets for all the major American publishing houses. In recent years her image making has expanded to publication design, brand consulting and editorial illustration.

Tools of My Father: is an ongoing series that explores and celebrates the relationships between children, tools, and fathers. Stay tuned in the coming weeks as we present other stories.

Photo by Dorothy Hong

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