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Morris Friedman
Morris Friedman

Morris Friedman

Morris (Moises) Friedman was born 25 January, 1907 in Kopaigorod, Russia. He was the youngest child of Israel and Dina, but was really raised by his older siblings, Sam and Anya. The family was destitute, dirt floors and many children to one bed.

His son tells the story of how as a young child, soldiers would come to the house to command a meal. One time they came, a soldier gave Morris his horse and asked him to get it some water. Morris rode it down to the river, the horse lowered its head to drink, and Morris slipped down over the horse’s neck into the river.  Another time, a soldier came in and leaned his rifle against the wall, Morris, fascinated by the gun started to play with it but it went off and shot him in the ankle. 

He emigrated with his family to Vera Cruz and then Hermosillo, Mexico in about 1922, then moved to Los Angeles in 1925. He married Fay Miller on 30 January,  1933 after a long and patient courtship (she kept saying no but changed her mind in the end). They honeymooned on Catalina Island and eventually had two children. Morris was part owner of the Friedman Bag Company.  He worked as a salesman at the bag company and retired in 1974. And played golf. He developed Parkinson’s Disease later in life. He died in Los Angeles in 1985. 

From Annette and Bea:

“He hosted a lot of family parties, very social, a good salesman. He flew weekly from LA to Las Vegas to see his psychiatrist. He played golf and liked to tell jokes.”

I invite you to send me any stories, memories, letters (even if untranslated), documents and photos concerning Morris Friedman and I will add them to this website.

A Life Together

Fay Miller and Morris Friedman - Wedding - 1933
Fay Miller and Morris Friedman - Wedding - 1933
Fay Miller Friedman and Morris Friedman
Fay Miller Friedman and Morris Friedman
The family was so poor and hungry in Kopaigorod that they used to send the youngest children (Harry and Morris) out to the fields to steal food with a candle and blankets over their heads.
As told by Jack Simplot in Idaho