The Phone Call Visit

Locked in, no friends, no activities; the Covid knows no exceptions. It’s Christmas Day but so what, it’s just like any other day. Nothing special to do; no movies, no Chinese restaurants (the traditional Jewish activities on Christmas Day). My New Years resolution is to locate people I haven’t seen or contacted in years. 

I had a distant cousin who I haven’t seen or heard from in over 70 years. I always referred to her as my “rich cousin” because she lived on Riverside Drive and then on West End Avenue. She had matching bedspreads in her bedroom and a sleep-in maid to take care of her. In my memory, she had to be rich. Her parents were divorced but I do once remember her father visiting to help her with her math. Even 70 years ago, I remember knowing her father was very famous  for his work in the field Optometrics.

Although my visits were few and far between, each one was a treasure. They included  fond memories of sleepovers, birthday parties, sleigh riding in Central Park, shopping on Broadway, treating me to a gift of my choice in the Five and Dime store, dressing up in her ballet tutu, eating meals prepared by her maid and taking baths in her beautiful warm posh bathroom. I loved these visits; they were a different world away from my life in South Bronx.

So on this Christmas Day  I decided to locate my “rich cousin” Louise.  If she had married, I had no idea what her current name would be. I started by Googling her famous father Dr. Feinbloom+Optometrics. I quickly found countless references to his work involving the invention of soft contact lenses. His obituary included a surviving daughter Louise Herz and also made mention of son Dr. Richard Feinbloom. Further sleuthing on the computer gave me the son’s Manhattan phone number and a brief conversation with the son’s  wife, provided me with access to Louise Herz in Greenwich, Connecticut. Two phone calls later, Louise picks up. I give  her the background of my call, with a long narrative of all the indelible memories I have of the past we shared. I talk about her mother Ida and her grandmother Minnie (who had a wooden leg and who with her husband Yasha, ran a newspaper stand on 96th Street and Lexington Avenue). When I caught  my breath, I inquired, “Louise, what do you recall of our past?”  Her timid response was, ” Ethyl  Zimering from the Bronx???. I don’t know who you are. I don’t know that name.” I retold some events and added countless other ones. She did not seem to have a crumb she could offer from her memory repast. Finally, what seemed like an attempt to appease me she said, “Wait, there was a distant cousin named Etty who I do vaguely remember. Let me think.” 

Ethyl Haber (A.K.A Etty)

2020