One evening in 1893, a young Jewish immigrant named William Bakst joined the New York mutual-aid association made up of his compatriots from the Lithuanian town of Oshmene. The strange ceremony that marked his induction made a deep impression on him. He found especially striking the regalia that seemed utterly to transform the presiding officer, whom Bakst knew by his familiar old-country nickname. “When the inside-guard led me to the president,” Bakst later recalled,so that I could give the oath that I would never, God forbid, reveal the secrets of the society and that I would be true to its goals, when I set eyes on Gershke Yankls with a red sash across his chest, Standing there giving three strong raps of the gavel, and all those present responding by standing, I became so scared that I didn't even know what they were telling me to repeat. The “regalia” that the president wore frightened me most of all. For me, a greenhorn just out of the yeshiva who had never in his life attended a meeting, the red sash gave the impression of a high government official.