Sid Sambur was a small man with big opinions on what constituted right vs. wrong. He had no qualms about tossing out the Yellow BS flag if he noticed wrongdoings. When it came to “putting people in their place.,” he wasn’t equipped with a pause button. He would not submit to being taken advantage of or being belittled.
There’s multitudes of Sambur stories of my father’s Clint Eastwood persona. Here’s one example:
In the early 70’s, I was still living at home in the Bronx. It was toward dusk when I headed out with a buddy on a short bicycle ride. Unfortunately, I flatted out. We began pushing our bikes back to our somewhat safer neighborhood. As the darkness descended, we pushed faster. Too late. We found ourselves in a cul de sac of teenage White thugs displaying sharp knives. Their message was simple and direct. “Drop the bikes, you Jew Bastards and run.” This wasn’t the time to attempt negotiations. We dropped the bikes and ran.
When I got home, I was more than shaken. (Those were the longest knives I’ve ever seen!) Dad heard me come in and asked, “What happened to you? Where’s your bike?” Between sobs, I related the events to him. “Jeffy! Get in the car. We’re going to the Police Station.”
Dad drove to the PD as if our jalopy had lights and sirens. Sid Sambur didn’t gently make entry into the Station. He erupted volcano-like through the front door. I followed along on the trail of pumice and ash. “I want to speak to someone about a bicycle theft. Those hoodlums pulled knives and called my son a Jew Bastard. I want to file a report.”
The Cops response to Sid’s explosion was shall we say, underwhelming. Only a bicycle theft? Just knives instead of a Saturday Night Special? Being called an Anti-Semitic slur? Yawn! thought New York City’s Finest.
The Detectives were lethargic at best. Sid got louder and angrier. There was finger pointing too. Finally one blue collar guy had enough and began filling out the paperwork. After I gave my statement, we were ushered out the door. My Dad was still voicing his strong opinions.
I never did get my bicycle back, but I did see another dimension to my Father.
Sid Sambur is no longer with us. May he finally get a good night’s sleep and Rest In Peace.
I believe he passed on his “when you see something, say something” gene to Jeffy his youngest son.
If Sid were alive today, he’d be nauseatingly appalled (like me) at our current state of affairs. He too would see the stark similarities between Germany In the 1930’s and America in the present.
The difference is my Father would verbally speak out. I use an I Pad to get my point across. I fear the repercussions of getting punched in the face or worse by voicing my opinions. Like I mentioned in my last post, there’s a lot of pissed off people out there.
So...on this Fathers Day, I’d like to Thank Sid Sambur for bequeathing me with my “Don’t follow the crowd” gene. That “Lord of the Flies” mob mentality is oftentimes wrong.
Last photo: Me toasting to the memory of Sid. He was the ultimate survivor.
Cheers to all the great Dads who made a difference.
