I couldn’t enter into the orthodox Jewish stream, the Hassidic dance – I tried, but it wasn’t really my own. I couldn’t really become a fighter in the Spanish Civil War, since it was over. I didn’t have the right accent or speak the kind of English my professors spoke. There was plenty of cafe culture in Montreal, but I wasn’t welcome there. It was mainly French and I spoke English. You had more prestige if you came from the wrong side of the tracks and I come from the right side. So I was always trying to find a cafe that was mine, a language and style that was mine, always looking for a homeland and a position – until it became clear to me that I had no position and that nobody else did either. They’d been swept away.
From Melancholy Baby by John Walsh. The Independent Magazine: May 8, 1993 Originally posted Jan 5, 2014 at DrHGuy.com, a predecessor of Cohencentric