Eventually Max learned to play dead. He found it otherwise impossible to resist, since Louis was filled with such superhuman strength when enraged that it would have taken more than one adult to subdue him, had they even been aware of the need.

And despite his inherent inclination to be optimistic, Max found that the constant violence began taking its toll. He never felt safe at home and knew that whatever success he achieved at school, or in any aspect of life, he would suffer for it.

As the attacks increased, he seriously considered ending his life in order to escape his tormentor.

At the age of seven, he contemplated stabbing himself in the stomach with a butter knife. While in his secret, inner world, he had seen the potential for his existence and was excited at the possibilities that lay ahead, the outer world presented him with a very large, seemingly unavoidable obstacle.

His decision made, he picked up the knife. Yet as he pushed the soft-edged blade into his tummy, he remembered that quiet, inner voice from early infancy. So he put the knife aside, realizing in that moment that he had a purpose—a true mission—and even though there might be obstacles in his path, he would have the courage to face whatever came his way.

Once he’d learned how to escape his brother’s choke holds.

As a toddler, despite his lack of coherent speech, Max exhibited leadership qualities by taking charge of any group.

As he grew, he excelled in every subject at school and had real joy in learning. He was very good in sports and at twelve years old was Westchester County’s fastest runner in the fifty-yard dash. Max joked that it was running away from Louis that had led him to become such a fast runner.

When he graduated from eighth grade, he was valedictorian, president of the student council and captain of the football, wrestling, and baseball teams. He had an extraordinary sense of anticipating where the ball or opponents might be headed, he always seemed to be in the right place at the right time, and the idea of making an error never occurred to him.

He expected himself to be perfect in every thing he did, . . . and so, he was. Yet these expectations didn’t yield the anxiety experienced by most children.

There was no question that he was loved by his parents, and thanks to his father’s success, he had material abundance. So, despite the torments leveled in his direction by his brother, Max managed to survive his early adolescence.

Then when he was fifteen years old—on Thursday, February 19, 1965, at 3:15 P.M. in Dr. Howard Gray’s medical office—Max Doff died.