Clara’s Fountain.

Well over a decade ago, I was on my yearly  pilgrimage to see my father in Delray Beach, FL. Of course, I went in the wintertime. There I would enjoy the Sunshine’s State feel good warmth and get to listen to Sid (my Dad) perform his stream of conscience monologue. I’d chime in with an occasional “Uh-huh” or “Yep” and once in awhile, “That’s right.” 

Once he was between subject matters, so I interjected. “Do you have any photos of Mom? I have none.” He refocused and said, “Yes! I have box loads.” That energetic little man was now on a mission. He dove into his two walk in closets which were piled high with “stuff.” My father was no minimalist. Out came a few tattered cardboard boxes. “Here! Go through these and pick out the ones you want. I have plenty.” So like a good son, I did what he told me to do. 

Those boxes contained the Sambur family history in its visual form. I started choosing Mom containing photos. One particular black and white caught my full attention. It was a fuzzy photo of Mom sitting primly on the edge of a fountain. Her beguiling smile was still prevalent. I had a deja vu,  I’ve been to that fountain. I just couldn’t place its exact spot. 

I kept rifling through the photos. I extracted loads of them. When I was satiated, I looked up at Sid and asked, “Is it OK for me to take this many?” His reply was sage like. “Take! Take!! A boy needs pictures of his Mother.” 

For me, this was one of Sid’s most generous acts.

Fast forward to the early 2000’s. I was visiting NYC and my nephew Keith and his soon to be wife Courtney. We’d go out each night and take in the City’s famous bars and bistros. (I was able to stay up later in those days). In the morning my hosts would go off to work. I’d fortify myself with many Starbucks and head out for long walks up and down the avenues. My turnaround point was always Central Park. A place (besides Yankee Stadium) which meant so much to me while growing up in the Big Apple. 

As usual, I was wandering around the Park with no specific destination. Then, I found it. Clara’s Fountain! I let out a BIGLY smile that would make Mom proud of her youngest boychik. (Young man in Yiddish) I sat approximately in the same spot where Mom once perched. There I’d think about her and I’d miss her once again. That tiny woman made such an impact on me in the seventeen years she was involved in my life. She taught me (in a subtle way) the art of nurturing. She’s the reason I’ll offer you food and drink just by showing up at my home or camper. She made me a Jewish Mother in a man’s body! 

Now, no visit to NYC is complete without a pilgrimage to Clara’s Fountain. 

Thanks Mom for making me a better person. I only wish you were around a lot longer. You were the best. 

Cheers to all the great Moms in the World.

Jeff 

PS The fountain’s real name is Bethesda Fountain.