Walter Gates Gill (collection manager for the Health branch of the New Jersey State Archives, Trenton), Judy Fosca and Evan Alkabetz (respectively research librarians at the John F. Kennedy Space Center Library, Cape Canaveral and the CIA Library, Langley), Esther Stecher (née Mangel), Jessica Sichel, Barry Kahn, and Lorraine Medved-Engel, if they existed, would have been instrumental to the completion of this work. Ian Faloona and Justine Frischmann most decidedly do exist, and their kindness and hospitality repeatedly saved this book’s life. The MacDowell Colony in Peterborough, New Hampshire, would seem in its unstinting perfection to be impossible and yet it, too, miraculously exists, as do Phil Pavel and all the staff at the highly unlikely Chateau Marmont, Hollywood.
Not long before he died, my mother’s maternal uncle, Stanley Werbow (1922–2005), a professor of medieval German at the University of Texas and a former staff sergeant operating in the field with the 849th Signal Intelligence Service at the Battle of Monte Cassino, was persuaded by one of his daughters to dictate some memories of growing up Jewish in Philadelphia and Washington in the early part of the twentieth century. Though fragmentary and rambling, that narrative, as vivid, intelligent, and wry as Stan Werbow himself, provided the spark that kindled this one, along with some crucial bits of atmosphere. Uncle Stan—who stirred the pot that served up The Yiddish Policemen’s Union, too—was among my most supportive and most exacting readers. I hope that he would have been pleased with this monstrous stepchild of those artless reminiscences; I know that, if not, he would never have hesitated to tell me.
Neither Stanley Lovell’s Of Spies and Stratagems, Michael Neufeld’s Von Braun: Dreamer of Space, Engineer of War, Annie Jacobsen’s Operation Paperclip, Bob Ward’s Doctor Space, Dennis Piszkiewicz’s The Nazi Rocketeers, Murray Dubin’s South Philadelphia, nor Gilbert Sanders’s Jewish Baltimore: A Family Album is to blame for this pack of lies. Keith Jarrett’s The Köln Concerts, Windy and Carl’s Depths and A Winged Victory for the Sullen’s self-titled first album reliably screened out the voices whenever they stirred in their corners. And when I was looking for a path of escape, Alejandro Jodorowsky’s charming introduction to his The Way of Tarot made a Fool of me.
I am grateful for the help of Steven Barclay, Jennifer Barth, Jonathan Burnham, Sonya Cheuse, Amy Cray, Mary Evans, Simon Frankel, Madalyn Garcia, Courtney Hodell, Adalis Martinez, Maddie Mau, Howie Sanders, E. Beth Thomas, Lydia Weaver, Matt Weiner, and Emily Werbow, and for the inspiration, understanding, and blessed distraction provided by Sophie, Zeke, Rose, and Abe Chabon.
Finally, as at the beginning and at every step along the way: eternal gratitude for the support, encouragement, love, protection, and, above all, for the existence, however improbable, of Ayelet Waldman.