Out of the Balkans (Part Two)
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OUT OF THE BALKANS (PART TWO) by Jason C. Mavrovitis ©2002 Jason C. Mavrovitis All Rights Reserved No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations. This is Part Two of two parts available on this site as a PDF file. A complete PDF file of the book, including Parts One and Two, Appendices A and B, and the Bibliography may be obtained on a CD from the author by contacting him at: http://www.pahh.com/mavrovitis/cd.html i CONTENTS PART TWO Recollections and Celebrations CHAPTER ONE Lily 104 CHAPTER TWO Nitsa 107 CHAPTER THREE The War 110 CHAPTER FOUR Remembrances 113 CHAPTER FIVE Army Days 192 CHAPTER SIX Macedonian Easter 210 CHAPTER SEVEN Home Again 235 EPILOGUE 237 APPENDIX A The Mystery of Lily’s Father 239 APPENDIX B Third Class Travel (Steerage) 242 BIBLIOGRAPHY 244 ii 3$577:2 5HFROOHFWLRQVDQG&HOHEUDWLRQV &+$37(521( /LO\ Lily was a life force. From her commanding voice to her assertive, high-heeled walk, she dominated her environment until she suffered her first heart attack. Even after that, when she felt well she was Lily. Only when angina pain reminded her of her illness and she sensed her mortality was she vulnerable. At these times, everyone feared for her yet denied the possibility of her death. I remember my mother as a human dynamo. Her energy was boundless, and her ability to organize her activities astounding: shopping, cooking, cleaning, spending time with friends on the phone and in person, writing two hundred or more Christmas cards, preparing holiday banquets for fifteen or twenty, meeting with her bridge club, sewing dresses and blouses for herself and for Nitsa, and being the guiding force that made and kept together family marriages. Mom was a demanding and firm mother. We knew that we were loved, but we also knew that under most circumstances we were “to be seen and not heard,” “speak only when spoken to,” and obey. I do not know where my mother, the little immigrant girl, learned manners, but I was taught everything from elevator behavior to how to use a finger bowl by the time I was six. My lessons included opening doors for ladies, walking on the street side, taking off my hat in the presence of women, reply with “sir” and “madam,” standing when a woman came to or left a table, or entered a room, and so forth. Lily’s nails were long and red – she had them and her hair “done” every Thursday morning at a beauty parlor on Third Avenue. Her hair turned salt and pepper when she was in her early forties, and she put on a few pounds, but remained a handsome woman. Lily laughed. She laughed loudly, deeply – without restraint. She had a wonderful sense of humor and loved good times. Lily was earthy. She delighted in naughty jokes and spicy stories. Lily loved to dance. If she heard Greek music she would be on her feet, and to the embarrassment of my father, she sometimes performed solo dances usually reserved for men [the Zeibekiko (Zembekiko) for example]. She and Dad danced an amazing tango together. 104 Lily adored men of every age. Her attraction to men was innocent. She wanted “ to do” for men: to cook for them, serve them, and cherish them. And, men idolized her for it. Lily was generous. She gave at every opportunity, of herself and of her resources. At Christmas, she would send me out anonymously with packages of food and gifts for poor Greek families. When I was seven and eight, she loaded me with two huge shopping bags every two or three weeks and sent me out to walk a mile or more to the Staten Island Ferry, travel across the bay, take a train, and deliver food to an old couple who were half-blind and lived on a small farm in the middle of the island. Lily had an open heart and home. She welcomed all the friends that Nitsa and I brought home. She fed them, entertained them, counseled them, and comforted them. There was never a time that my friends were not welcome – friends from Christ Church, from school, girlfriends who were from outside of New York and in school or in show business, and army buddies and their wives, even if I were not home. She treated them as her own children. As much of a disciplinarian as Mom was when I was a child, she let go of me when I reached twelve, and I began my journey to manhood under the guidance of my father, godfather, and Uncle Louie. The transition was almost magical: one day I was a child, the next a young man. Lily was a leader. At Carelas’ farm, she served the role of nurse, counselor, party organizer, trip director, and child psychologist. Women came to her with their problems, and she felt perfectly at ease cornering their husbands to give them forceful advice about being better spouses. When my cousin Diamond Papadiskos’ wife, Clara, suffered terrible injuries in an automobile accident, Lily watched over her during her recovery. Diamond took Mom’s directions about everything. The day that my cousin Helen Psaltis arrived in the United States with her two young children, Aliki and Deno, Mom went into action. After looking at the children, who had suffered great hardships in Greece, she immediately had them in the car and on the way to Dr. De Tata, who prescribed vitamins and food. Our home was full of male cousins on holidays: Nick and Thanasi Mavrovitis, Gus Mavrovitis, Tom Papanas, Elias Dimitriades, and on. At first, they did not know quite what to make of this outgoing, commanding, and unfettered woman. She was unlike anyone they had known among the women in their Greek experience. But, once past the initial shock of her extrovert personality, they quickly took to her and loved her. She became their second mother. 105 Between 1945 and 1950, my mother suffered three heart attacks. She had regular, frightening episodes of angina pectoralis1 that mimicked the onset of an attack. To relieve these attacks she took countless tablets of nitroglycerin, a therapeutic that improved oxygen supply to her coronary artery and relieved the pain. And, she came to rely on Teacher' s Scotch Whiskey as her emotional crutch. Nitroglycerin tablets and drinks of Scotch became co-therapeutics. Her heart condition was the result of years of extremely high blood pressure, often 240/140. Somehow, her body overcame the initial onslaught of heart attacks. From the early 1950s through the early 1960s, her health seemed improved. She never gave in to her illness and continued to live actively doing virtually everything she had ever done. My fear of inducing a heart attack by causing her emotional or physical stress was constant and influenced how I conducted myself and led my life. I remember that often when I looked at Mom I saw sad eyes, eyes that had a longing in them. Perhaps I saw something that was not there. I do not think so. I wish I knew, and if she did have this sadness, I wish she had shared it with me. 1 Angina pectoralis, pain in the chest, occurs when a weak heart is stressed under certain circumstances including emotional situations. The pain is due to an insufficient blood supply to the heart muscle during times of increased activity. 106 &+$37(57:2 1LWVD My sister, Eleni, was born on 13 September 1931. Her namesake grandmother still lived, so little Eleni was called Elenitsa, -nitsa being a diminutive suffix. We called her Nitsa. Her ª Americanº name was Helene. Nitsa was two-and-one-half years older than I. While I have warm feelings about our early childhood together, I have only vague recollections of our daily relationship. One memory results from the fact that we shared a room until I was five or six. When we were sent to bed, we would climb halfway up the stairs to the second floor, lean over the banister, and say in unison: ª Kali nichta sas, kai avrio mai aegia,º to Mom and Dad and whoever was in the kitchen with them. [Translated: ª Good night and good health tomorrow.º] A few minutes after we were in bed, Mom would come upstairs to tuck us in. The second Mom was out of hearing, Nitsa would turn on the radio that sat on the table between our beds and tune at very low volume to ª I Love a Mysteryº or some other scary show. Sometimes, to my relief, she found a comedy hour. Unfortunately for me, Mom' s hearing was excellent. When she arrived on the scene to scold us, she ended up scolding me and slapping my behind. I could not pretend sleep and giggled, while Nitsa was the consummate actress, not moving a finger and breathing deeply. I never told on her. After our Papou1 remarried in 1940 and left 260 Ovington Avenue, Nitsa moved into his bedroom and gained her privacy. Nitsa and I spent many hours at the kitchen table with Mom while she taught us to mark a pattern on material and to cut, baste, and sew both by hand and using the professional Singer sewing machine. Making dresses, skirts, and blouses was a game for us, one that filled many rainy Saturday afternoons. Nitsa was gifted. She earned ª Aº grades from her first school year through college, except for a ª Cº in fencing.