| The following column appeared in The River Reporter on May 7, 1998. |
By Bert S. Feldman
The Recusant Reporter
Thursday, May 7, 1998
— George Bernard Shaw
People may call this coming Sunday Mother's Day, but to me "Mother" is a high-falutin word. No, to me she will always be just plain "Mama," married to "Pop.'! They are both long gone, but they remain forever young in my, memory.
The story of how they met always intrigued me. In fact it was one of my favorite bedtime stories.
They were both immigrants, he in 1897, she in 1903. She was a tiny thing, four-foot-ten in her stocking feet, but with a heart as big as all outdoors. He was a boy of 13 and had run away from home. She, on the other hand, came from a very large and loving family. Two different people, from two entirely different backgrounds - yet, together they forged a family abounding with the warmth of love and caring.
Oh, yes, the story of how they met. Mama's brothers ran a fancy delicatessen on 116th Street in Harlem when that part of New York City was an upper-class neighborhood with a largely Jewish population. While her brothers worked the counter, Mama was the cashier. It was 1911, and Pop delivered delicatessen products. One of his stops (by horse and wagon, naturally) was that particular store, and he became intrigued by the little cashier. Particularly, he said to me, he was enchanted by the way she reached items on the shelves by balancing on a soda bottle. Also, he confided, during her balancing act, she displayed heavens! - a most shapely ankle.
So, time and tide, they went out (chaperoned, of course), and finally he popped the question, and she, shyly, said yes.
So, in March of 1912, they went before the rabbi in the neighborhood synagogue, and six brothers gave Mama away. (Today that synagogue is a Baptist Church.) They didn't take their honeymoon trip until early spring, when they came to Sullivan County - I think. They got off the Erie train at Callicoon and then rode a carriage for about three-quarters of an hour. I have a photograph taken on their honeymoon showing a sign that reads "Golden Eagle Hotel," but I haven't been able to locate it, no matter how hard I try.
So they settled down and began raising a family. In those precious years there were no old age homes or the like. So first came grandpa, Mama's father, of course, then my Pop's maiden sister, who became my loving second mother. And there was need for a second pair of hands, as there were three more to be loved: my brother, my sister., and the little pip-squeak, me!
So Mama kept house, cooked, and cleaned (no dishwashers or washing machines yet!), and gave us her love, and taught us to love others. And Pop worked hard and taught us how to behave. As he wrote in all of our autograph albums: "Be a joy to your mother and a pride to your flag." I can't think of better advice, and I taught it to my children and, now, my grandchildren.
But the oil that kept my family machine running smoothly was Mama's loving care - for all of us.
We lived through good years and through the Depression. My brother and I and my brother-in-law all went to war, and for the first time I saw my father's eyes fill with tears of pride as he hung the little flag with three blue stars in the window.
They are all gone now, Mama and Pop, sister and brother, aunt and grandfather - but Mama was the glue that held us together.
Yes, indeed, I remember Mama.
