Judy Kassouf Cummings
My mother was a saver. As a single mom she worked for over 60 years, a Lebanese-American waitress in a Jewish-American restaurant, located in the wholesale district of Cleveland, Ohio. It was hard work, good work. Mom liked meeting people and served them up the best pastrami-on-rye sandwich in town. She rarely complained after a long day. I knew that her journey through life had been a struggle, yet I also knew that she hoped to teach me the value of saving money, so that my life might be easier.
There were many small banks placed about our home: the large red and blue ceramic piggy bank held dollars, a Popeye bank held dimes, a Cleveland Savings & Loans Bank collected an array of coins, and a brownish-gray, mechanical elephant bank held quarters. As a child, I liked the elephant bank most of all.
Mom came home each evening, removing her white work shoes to reveal swollen ankles mapped by varicose veins Then she would untie her apron, filled with pennies, nickels, and dimes, empty its contents on the kitchen table, and begin counting coins, rolling them into paper sleeves for deposit. I assisted her, stacking each coin by worth. Mom's face would brighten whenever she'd receive a quarter or silver dollar. On occasion, she'd hand me a quarter to put into the elephant. Popping the coin into its trunk, I'd flick the spring-loaded tail, and start saving.
This mechanical cast aluminum bank was produced between 1930-1950 by The Gar-Ru Entertainment Company in Long Beach, California. I know this detail because Mom kept the instructions explaining how to take money out of the bank which isn't the easiest task.
One way is to turn the bank over, shake it, and wait for the coins to drop from a slot between the elephant's eyes. The other way is to loosen a large, difficult to turn, side-bolt. The fact that money is easier to put into the bank than to get out was part of my mother's plan. Her object was to teach me the joy of saving, not the thrill of spending, focusing on long-term goals, not on short-term gratification.
This sturdy bank, which rests now on my bookcase, reminds me of my mother's self-assuredness, wisdom, and the willing, loving sacrifices she made daily on my behalf.