Leah Adler, Stephen Spielberg's late mother, used to have a kosher restaurant not far from where my partner and I live on the westside of Los Angeles. We had driven by a number of times and were curious about the place, but never enough to be inspired to eat there. Finally, one evening we were in the neighborhood and decided to try it out. Walking in, we were greeted by a headshot of the famous director placed directly opposite the entrance door, mounted above a potted plant. Seconds later, a woman rushed over and, after greeting us, said, "Of course you know who my son is." Not wanting to admit that we had come to the restaurant primarily because of its association with him, nor wishing to acknowledge any interest in a local film industry bigwig, I answered with my best innocent expression and tone, "No." Pointing to his picture, she then responded, "Why, it's Stephen Spielberg. You must know who he is."
She then accompanied us to a semi-circular Naugahyde-upholstered booth, sat down next to me and proceeded to tell us her life history, or at least elements of her life story from Stephen's birth through her divorce and marriage to the man who was husband's best friend, and so on. And so on, up to the present day. Reading between the lines, it was obvious she thought Stephen needed to pay more attention to her, damned with faint praise his wife, and complained that he has never really helped his sister--an aspiring screenwriter--break into the movie business. We also learned that Stephen had bought an apartment for her in a Wilshire Boulevard high-rise in Westwood, but in one of the lesser buildings, and only on the third floor. There was more, much more. She wandered off for a while, sat at other tables, came back after our food had arrived, and we heard yet more, including that she thought she was a very selfish woman. She had lived for herself, caring little for any damage she caused on the way...and that, despite this, all had turned out well in the end.
We quickly came to realize that the restaurant was her living room, and we were her latest guests. I can't recall she showed any interest in us, but we didn't mind--she was enough of a character, enough of a show, that we were happy to sit back and listen, smile and nod. We sometimes muse about the evening, happy to have had the experience. We were never inspired to return.
A few evenings ago, I heard an interview with John Williams, the composer with whom Spielberg has most often (always?) worked. He spoke with great affection about Spielberg's parents, adding that Mrs. Adler was an excellent pianist and had not pursued a professional career in music in order to be a wife and mother. Sadly, we heard nothing of this during the evening we spent at her restaurant. It would have been interesting to talk classical music with her.
