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Julius Gold, iceman and patron of the arts, was laid to his last resting place yesterday, next to his wife in the Mount Judah Cemetery, Cypress Hills, while the Jewish east side mourned the passing of one of its most beloved characters. He was sixty-eight.

More journalists than would care to admit owe their start to Gold. When the late Joseph Barondess came from Europe, eager to write but penniless, it was with the aid of Gold that he rose to fame. Every Friday afternoon after a hard day’s work, Gold walked up the rickety steps to Barondess’ room and left outside a cake of ice and near it a bag of food and a copy of the Augenblick, the East Side’s great Jewish paper of the time.

Some of the older residents of East Broadway harken back to the day when Gold first came to this country forty-eight years ago, a sturdy young man of twenty. He saw a band of hooligans tormenting an old Jew and pulling his "payiss." Dropping his bundle he waded into them. It was a complete rout. Ever after, whenever the hooligans paid one of their visits, "the Jewish vigilant" would be there. Rufflans annoying Jews.

Nine years ago Julius Gold sold blanched when the victims warned, "I’ll call Julius."

At 228 East Broadway there stands the imposing Bialystoker Home for the Aged, housing 200 inmates. That was Gold’s work, too, David Sohn, the superintendent, said.

Abraham Cahan, Philip Kranz and Jacob Gordon are among the writers who were aided by Gold in their younger days, said Jacob Krepliak, writer and one of Gold’s proteges. He would sit with them for hours discussing the day’s news and the latest book, he confided.

He told about Gold’s restlessness, his artistic soul, his kindness. "Do you see that crowd?" He pointed to the thronged street outside the Zion Memorial Home, where the services took place, "every one of those 5,000 people who will walk in Gold’s funeral procession today owe him something. Each one of them received some kindness from him."

Six children survive Julius Gold–five sons and a daughter. They attested to Jewish learning he had given them, the money he had spent for books in his home, classics of Jewish lore, the ice business that began in a Bowery basement and retired. These nine years he spent distributing kindness to his people and talking with the editors of the Jewish papers. Saturday he died in Lakewood from a heart attack. The people of the "ghetto" were shocked by the suddenness of it. The word spread like wildfire.

Yesterday 5,000 shuffled mournfully in his funeral cortege.

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