Barry Konovitch saved me from drowning. Well, maybe not actually drowning, but he did lift me out of deep water with one muscular arm after I sank under the surface of the camp pool.
That was in 1963, at Camp Columbia in Elizaville, NY. Word came Wednesday that Rabbi Barry Konovitch had passed away on May 15. He was 83.
Barry was an iconic figure at camp. Tall, handsome, blond, muscular, Barry was head of the waterfront.
For the summer of ‘63 when I was 14, I almost earned an intermediate swimming instruction certificate (I would have qualified if I had mastered treading water. Half a century later I still cannot tread water).
Paul Jeser, my instructor, told me to dive into deep water, swim underwater for 10 yards then tread water. I didn’t want to as I did not know how to swim and was not certified to dive into deep water. As he was much larger than I, I reluctantly complied.
My dive was decent. Holding my breadth, I swam underwater. But as I surfaced I spouted I could not tread water. I sank, only to be raised above the surface by Barry who had jumped into the pool. When he asked if I could swim I shook my head no. He sternly admonished me never to enter deep water again before successfully learning to swim.
Paul had pity on me so at summer’s end he gave me the intermediate card with the proviso that I truly earn it next year. Sadly, I have yet to fulfill my portion of the deal.
A few years later Paul took over as head of waterfront as Barry pursued his studies to become a rabbi. After ordination Barry served as a rabbi of two Miami-area temples. He blogged and wrote two books (https://share.google/WASrPnFpTAkvrG6sw).
Saving my life was just one of my memorable interactions with Barry at camp.
If you do an Internet search for Barry Konovitch you will come across a 2014 article about his driving the same red Corvette for 46 years (https://share.google/YaQQBgIrbH1PqXz1i). Sounds exciting, but to me the car I identified with Barry was a red Triumph TR4 convertible.
In 1964 I was a waiter at camp. Waiters were not permitted to leave camp grounds.
Fellow waiters Larry Jacobs and Stu Garay were also enjoying a day off from serving. Our day off coincided with one of Barry’s who chose to hang around camp that day. In the late afternoon we implored him to take us off campus in his car.
Though at first reluctant, Barry succumbed to our nagging. He agreed if we could secure the permission of head counselor Hal Gastwirt. Hal wasn’t available, so we asked his second in command, Tully Dershowitz. He consented.
We were all set. Stu won the rights to ride shotgun on our way out of camp. The rear seat was not intended to support two near-six foot tall teenagers—Larry and me. The back seat was no more than 12 inches deep. Leg room? There wasn’t any.
Barry did not hold back on the throttle. He whizzed down the two-lane country roads of Elizaville, NY. Wind whipped through our hair. Larry and I felt as if we were riding in an old-fashioned rumble seat. We felt every bump, fearful we would be tossed out. There were no seat belts.
We drove to an ice cream stand on the outskirts of Red Hook, some 10 miles away. Barry parked the car, he and Stu got out and waited, and waited, and waited for Larry and me to unfurl our cramped legs. It seemed like a full five minutes before we could support ourselves standing up.
Larry and I were relegated to the back seat again on our return ride. When we untangled ourselves back in camp we asked Barry why the TR4 even had a back seat. He explained it was for insurance purposes. Without a back seat the TR4 would be classified as a sports car with high insurance rates. With a back seat, even one clearly not intended for use by anyone older than six, lower family car rates prevailed.
