the executive directorship
of the CJF.
Detroit, Mr. Aronson
says, was an overwhelming
experience early on. What
he doesn't say is that corn-
ing here was like being
called up to the major
leagues. His predecessors,
Mr. Kraar and Wayne
Feinstein (now the Los
Angeles Federation exec-
utive director), were highly
regarded both nationally
and internationally. Many
applicants as qualified as
Mr. Aronson received
strong consideration for
the post. But there was
something about Mr. Aron-
son, said search committee
chairman David Page, that
made him the right person
for this city.
26
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, 1990
"He's a dedicated Jew
and a thorough profes-
sional," Mr. Page said.
"We were not the only ones
impressed with him,
though. We found that he
was well-liked and respected
universally.
"He's a different kind of
person. He can relate to
anyone on his staff and to
this community. But what
was really different about
Bob was that he was not
only highly recommended
by his former community,
but the key was, they were
very, very unhappy about
losing him."
Mr. Aronson will always
carry his love for
Milwaukee with him. He
often shows visitors pic-
tures of his old house with
his neighbors and best
friends. And for a split se-
cond he drifts, maybe
across Lake Michigan and
up north.
But then he pulls back. A
matter of minutes later, he
anxiously recalls a restau-
rant he "discovered" near
the Fox Theatre and within
Bob Aronson consults with
Jewish Community Council
executive David Gad-Harf.
walking distance of the
Federation building at 163
Madison. The restaurant is
art deco, done in reds,
whites and blacks. Young,
chorus-line type people
walk by the restaurant's
large front window to the
adjacent theater where
Fiddler on the Roof is play-
ing. Power lunches bet-
ween executives in conser-
vative suits are happening
on the inside. It's upscale
and safe, and it's exactly
what Mr. Aronson seems to
feel comfortable doing.
Across the street, gray
dust fills the air as man
and machine dismember
into rubble what was once
a building.
Detroit, like the building,
crumbles. Mr. Aronson