Located prominently on downtown Cleveland’s Public Mall A, the Fountain of Eternal Life, also known as the War Memorial Fountain, stands to honor the bravery and sacrifice of Americans lost in armed conflicts from the Spanish-American War to the present day. Envisioned as a memorial to Clevelanders lost during the Second World War and Korean War at the time of its initial dedication in 1964, the fountain has served as a site of reflection of Clevelanders' attitudes towards armed conflict as well as a subject of debate on historic preservation over the decades of its existence.

The Fountain of Eternal Life’s sculptor, Marshall Fredericks, was a graduate of the Cleveland Institute of Art and had served in the United States Army Corps of Engineers and the United States Air Force during the Second World War. As the conflict came to an end in 1945, several organizations and media outlets in Cleveland began formulating a plan to develop a memorial to honor local residents who were lost. By the end of 1945, the Cleveland Press had raised $104,000 through a public subscription drive, enough for the initial planning and sourcing of materials for a monument to take place and for Fredericks to be officially selected as the designer and sculptor of the memorial. By 1946, it was decided that the memorial, dubbed the War Memorial Fountain in the media, would be built on Cleveland’s Mall.

March 25, 1955, marked the official groundbreaking ceremony for the memorial. The event was highlighted by the first turning of dirt being performed by Cleveland’s then-mayor Anthony J. Celebrezze alongside the president of the Cuyahoga County Gold Star Mothers, Stella Stark. As the monument was initially planned ten years earlier as a memorial to Clevelanders lost during the Second World War, organizers already had to contend with the fact that another conflict, the Korean War, would have to be addressed upon the memorial’s completion. This restructuring of exactly which conflicts are being represented by the monument would be a constant throughout the memorial’s life.

As the monument’s development and construction continued beyond the initial groundbreaking, it would not be without some adversity. In 1959, the City of Cleveland held public hearings on a proposal to lease Mall A to build a skyscraping Hilton hotel. If approved, the memorial would have been forced to relocate, potentially undercutting its significance by not allowing for a prominent location to be held. Although some on Cleveland’s City Council highlighted financial upsides to the hotel’s existence on the Mall, voters ultimately rejected the plan in a special referendum, permitting development of the monument to continue.

After 19 years of preparations and construction, the memorial was ready to be officially dedicated. On May 30, 1964, thousands of residents and spectators descended on Cleveland’s downtown Mall for Memorial Day celebrations and the dedication of the “Press War Memorial Fountain,” which featured the Fountain of Eternal Life sculpture. The sculpture itself featured four large granite slabs and a towering bronze figure arising upwards out of flames and a sphere meant to represent the universe. In all, the monument towered 46 feet above the ground. Marshall Fredericks described his work on the sculpture, stating, “This figure expresses the main theme of the Memorial Fountain, namely, the spirit of mankind rising out of the encircling flames of war, pestilence, and the destructive elements of life, reaching and ascending to a new understanding of life. Man rising above death, reaching upward to his God and toward peace.” Placed around the monument and inlaid upon the granite labs would be inscribed bronze tablets containing the names of local residents who perished during the Second World War and the Korean War.

In the years following the fountain’s dedication, the site was consistently utilized as a location for parades and speeches in celebration of patriotic holidays and days of remembrance. However, coinciding with this continued use of the Fountain of Eternal Life as a place of honor was the entrenchment of the United States in another major armed conflict: The Vietnam War. By 1971, the fountain had transitioned from a location seen as primarily honoring Cleveland’s perished soldiers to one that often hosted rallies and protests against all war. News publications of the time often highlighted the symbolism of holding such antiwar gatherings around a sculpture that depicts a figure striving upwards for peace, as Marshall Fredricks had originally intended.

Moving into the 1980s, the Fountain of Eternal Life experienced yet another major evolution in its perception and meaning. On May 30, 1983, the 19th anniversary of the monument’s dedication, Plain Dealer columnist William F. Miller ran a story with the very provocative title “Memorial fountain in sad shape.” In this piece, Miller detailed the current condition of broken concrete, failed water pipes, and cracked granite across the basin of the fountain. Miller went even further in describing the cracked sidewalks and rusted-over trash cans in the immediate vicinity of the fountain, further detracting from any aesthetic quality or any attempt to convey the memorial’s meaning. By 1987, discussion amongst media publications and within City Council meetings regarding the possible removal of the Fountain of Eternal Life had sparked Marshall Fredericks himself to comment on the matter. Fredericks depressingly stated to a reporter shortly before the fountain's 23rd anniversary, “I spent my whole life… doing sculpture. But what’s the point of it all when the most important one I did in my life is about to be torn down.” Ultimately, plans to preserve the Fountain of Eternal Life moved forward, and by November 1989 the monument was being hoisted from its place in Mall A and taken to a local restoration center. The occasion, which occurred on November 6, 1989, was marked by a small performance from a United States Marine color guard, in which the soldiers saluted the monument as it was taken away.

The Fountain of Eternal Life was returned to its place atop the now-named Memorial Plaza in 1991. With this, the sculpture itself was rededicated and became the centerpiece of what would now be named the “Peace Memorial Fountain.” Moving forward to the end of the 20th century and into the 21st, the fountain continued to serve as a site for both military memorialization and occasionally for antiwar and peace rallies. In 2004, the monument was once again rededicated, with this occasion officially marking the site’s commemoration of Clevelanders lost in all conflicts from 1899 to the present day.

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On August 16, 1979, bulldozers leveled three homes on Rock Court to make room for a parking lot and expansion of the Pick-N-Pay supermarket. In what was probably a last act of defiance by those seeking to save the buildings, someone concealed the gas valves of each home under piles of stones.

This wasn't Rock Court's first protestor uprising. The battle began earlier in the year when nine tenants ignored eviction notices from their landlord and hired a lawyer to block demolition of the three homes. Their efforts to save the aging structures walked the line between community organizing and theater. Tenants collected signatures, attended council meetings, filed court papers, and staged a rally complete with music, dancing, and a march. Their efforts obviously failed, but the widespread support of the neighborhood reflected the friction that frequently existed between Coventry residents and "outsider" developers.

From the start, it was unlikely that the tenants would win. There was no disagreement that the homes had seen better days, nor was the property owner beyond his rights to demolish the buildings. Yet the homes' impending doom attracted public interest because Rock Court embodied both the history and contradictions of the Coventry area.

The houses that lined this narrow, unpaved street (which, at the time, linked Euclid Heights Boulevard with Hampshire Road) were likely constructed in the late 19th century for workers on the interurban lines and streetcars. From the 1940s to the early 1970s, Rock Court was populated by Hungarian and Italian immigrants. The three two-family homes on the west side of the street (backs facing the parking lot) were purchased and managed as apartments by A. Siegal, who had also built Pick-N-Pay. The Rock Court neighborhood was overseen by self-proclaimed "street mayors," whose primary responsibility was to discourage non-residents from driving through their community. The road was (and continues to be) so hideously bumpy that the street mayors may well have saved many a car-owner's axle.

By the late 1960s, a wave of counterculture types had begun to settle in the houses and apartments along Hampshire and Lancashire roads. The three homes on Rock Court bordering the lot--as well as several Rock Court homes to the north--were soon occupied by artists, musicians, writers, photographers and neo-dadaists. One of the homes claimed by the Pick-N-Pay lot even housed a new-age church.

Coventry's metamorphosis in the late 1960s and early 1970s forged a new identity for the area: a sort of Midwest Greenwich Village or Haight-Ashbury. Local demand for unique goods and services was quickly met by mainly local entrepreneurs. Stores that previously catered to the immigrant community were largely replaced by unique specialty shops geared to sightseers and the neighborhood's left-wing residents: places like Bill Jones Leather, Record Revolution, Rainblue, Green Tomato and the first Arabica.

By the late 1970s, however, increased demand for housing and retail space pushed up rents, infuriating new and old residents who often railed against what they perceived as malevolent inflation instigated by greedy landlords and real estate speculators. By the time Pick-N-Pay announced plans to expand its Coventry Road store, the tenants of Rock Court had no trouble finding sympathetic ears. Beyond commiseration, however, little could be done. Not only was the landlord on the right side of the law, but expansion of the supermarket and lot were needed to support the changing community. A handful of forested homes still stand near Rock Court's terminus at Hampshire Road. In fact, those who venture in from Hampshire may still encounter self-styled "mayors," as well as an abrupt and poorly marked end to the road high above what is now the Marc's parking lot.

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In 1919, the United States was experiencing its first "Red Scare." Following the Bolshevik Revolution in Russia in 1917, public sentiment against Socialists — who maintained a strong presence in Cleveland during this era — was high. Many viewed the Socialists and their sympathizers as a threat to American society.

The 1919 Cleveland May Day Riot began when a World War I veteran took offense at the red flags being proudly waved by Socialist demonstrators as they marched toward Public Square. A fight broke out, and soon enough a melee between Socialist and anti-Socialist citizens ensued. The violence was only quelled after the intervention of police and military units. At one point during the widespread rioting, a mob stormed and ransacked the Socialist Party headquarters on Prospect Avenue. The riots injured dozens and resulted in two deaths. The event highlighted the simmering tensions that existed in Cleveland after World War I.

This tension would continue well into the 1930s when unionists, leftists, and unemployed workers joined together in a series of strikes and protests under the banner of the Unemployed Council. Although Communist and Socialist movements in the US have waned since World War II, Public Square continues to serve as a setting for protests of all types.

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