"in 1962 two sad jews appeared at our 515 east 13th street door, late at night, maybe three in the morning. they announced that their names were mekas, and they had just come by plane from buenos aires because they had heard that jonas mekas lived in new york. their little boy jonas got lost in vilnius, lithuania in 1943 during the german liquidation of jews. they stood there in the doorway, and they looked at us, and we looked at them, and they cried, and we cried, because they realized i wasn't the son they were hoping for. it was really very heartbreaking. so we gave them our beds, and we fed them and showed them new york for 24 hours, and then we put them on the plane. it was one of the saddest stories of our new york life."

"...this time he flew straight to the window, which was always to be open for him. but the window was closed, and there were iron bars on it, and peering inside he saw his mother sleeping peacefully with her arm around another little boy. peter called, 'mother! mother!' but she heard him not; in vain he beat his little limbs against the iron bars. he had to fly back, sobbing, to the gardens, and he never saw his dear again. what a glorious boy he had meant to be to her! ah, peter! we who have made the great mistake, how differently we should all act at the second chance. but solomon was right—there is no second chance, not for most of us. when we reach the window it is lock-out time. the iron bars are up for life."

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