Going to America

In my first novel, Ikons: Saint Nicholas the Wonder Worker, I describe my grandfather Massey's voyage to America: how he disembarked from the port city of Danzig aboard the SS Arabia, endured seasickness and indecision, and finally the dehumanizing experience of Ellis Island.  His journey was a tale fraught with danger, new friendships, romance and hope.

Danzig

My impression of the SS ARABIA in Danzig

I had Massey leave for America aboard the SS ARABIA, a converted British troop ship.  There was no such ship, but I liked the idea of placing the immigrants in the worse possible facility. 

* * *

 As the procession rounded the corner to the gangplank Massey suddenly came face to face with the SS ARABIA.  It was massive.  To his mind it was larger than any ship could possibly be.  Its whiteness shouted out against the gray overcast sky, her masts and funnels disappeared into the murkiness high above, and her deck spanned the horizon.  For a moment Massey stood frozen in awe.

 * * *

I gave my poor grandfather a bad case of seasickness, threw in the origins of his life long friendship with two Polish gentlemen and added a shipboard romance for good measure.  There was quite a bit of uneasiness as their ship approached America, each man wondering if he would be admitted or sent back in disgrace.

Ellis Island

 Ellis Island, the gateway to America.  Even though I had no proof, I sent Massey to Ellis Island.  After all, it was the port of entry for millions of Europeans during the early 1900's.  Following several weeks at sea, the passengers of the ARABIA were straining to catch a glimpse of the new world, their new home.

***

Eyes strained from every viewing point to catch a glimpse of the lady with the lamp.  For days, weeks, and even years, the passengers had heard of the lady who stood in the harbor to welcome immigrants to America.  But try as they might, their eyes could not pierce the gray mist shrouding New York Harbor.  The sun drenched sky that had greeted the ARABIA that morning had steadily clouded over as the ship moved west.  By the time she had reached the three-mile limit the sky had turned dark gray and a solid drizzle was falling.

 * * *

Ellis Island - Circa 1907

From mountains of background information, I constructed a plausible story of Massey's experience passing through Ellis Island.  I had him prodded, questioned, examined, interviewed and finally having his first American meal of eggs, bread, coffee and a banana.

Truth

Well, all this made a very nice story, but it never happened.  A decade after I published Ikons, I received an email for a woman whose grandfather accompanied Massey from Hutava.  According to her, my grandfather was part of a group that left their village for America in 1907.  Their destination was not New York's Ellis Island, but Baltimore's Locust Point.  Her family remained in Baltimore, but the others scattered, with Massey ending up in Rockdale Illinois.  
 

Baltimore Point of Entry in Its Heyday

So even though my version of Massey's first trip across the Atlantic is more fiction than history, it served as a source for an additional piece of our family's puzzle.

Christmas Scenes in Historical Fiction

Christmas occurs several times in my trilogy, but none are as detailed as that celebrated in Slogans: Our Children, Our Future.  The polyglot observation of Unkurda's last Christmas fest is a compilation of family stories, research and my memories.  For memories, I chose the time I was growing up in Rockdale, Illinois.  A good portion of Rockdale residents back in the 50's were of Eastern European origin, so the Yuletide events I witnessed were representative of rituals from their part of the world.  Each street represented a different country.  While most children waited for Santa Claus, one street over Polish children awaited Mikolaj, while two streets down saw Estonians behaving for Jõuluvana, and on my street, Fisher, we hoped for the arrival of the Russian Ded Moroz.

Ded Moroz

Christmas in Rockdale

The holiday memories I chose to incorporate were those of a ten-year-old boy. On Christmas Eve my Uncle John and Aunt Elfrieda would join us for a gift exchange.  Of course, the gifts were important, but what followed was the stuff of cherished memories.  The main event of the day, as I want to remember it, was Midnight Mass at Saint Joseph's Catholic Church and what followed.

Saint Joseph Church - Rockdale, Illinois

Rockdale was a small village, perhaps 900 people at most.  No one lived too far from Saint Joe's, so Sundays would find the sidewalks crowded with women and children trudging off to morning Mass.  I'm sure men also joined us, but for some reason I don't recall them.  I have since been led to believe they were enjoying spirits of a different ilk.

About eleven-thirty on Christmas Eve night, my mother would bundle us up and accompanied by my aunt, herd us off to church. I was given responsibility to hold the flashlight and sweep the sidewalk for ice.  As we marched up Fisher Avenue and turned left on Meadow, other families joined our impromptu procession.  The flow of bobbing lights grew as we intersected Stillwell, Central, and Davis Streets and finally merged into a glowing ribbon for the last leg up Midland Avenue's hill to Saint Joseph.

My only clear memories of Midnight Mass was visiting the now completed nativity scene and the bag of hard candy the priest passed out as we left.  On the way home, my mouth watered, not from the thought of multi-colored candy, but in anticipation of the feast my father and uncle had prepared.  They spread the kitchen table with links of winter sausage they had lovingly roasted all day and my mother's baked goods: fresh bread, potica, ruskies, klutskis, and sprinkled sugar cookies in the shapes of reindeer, Santa, and bells.  On this night, not only was I was allowed to gorge myself on treats and drink coffee, but I was also permitted to join the adults until the wee morning listening to my father and his brother spin yarns of "years ago." These tales and my memories formed the basis of my novels' Christmas scenes.

Christmas in Joliet

Another Yuletide tradition was joining my mother's relatives on Joliet's east side, between Christmas and New Year.  Our first stop was always Aunt Teresa's on Landau Avenue for a viewing of her latest homemade ceramics.  Her home was filled with clusters of this newly glazed angels, multiple Santa, and enough shepherds and animals to fill every manger in the country.

Afterwards we would join the rest of the relatives at my maternal grandmother's home one block over on Henderson Avenue.  With nine children and thirty-five grandchild, Grandmas Mores' gathering was always complete chaos.  My aunts would bring their best food offerings, each trying to outdo their sisters.  But no matter what temptations they spread before us children, nothing could compare to Grandma's treat, oplatki. Oplatki are thin, rectangular wafers made from the same recipe and ingredients as the Communions host and are embossed with religious images, like the manger scene, the Virgin Mary, Star of Bethlehem, or Jesus in his crib.  For a small donation Grandma got them from the organist at the ethnic Slovak church, Saints Cyril and Methodius and doled them out to her numerous grandchildren to share.

Oplatki - Christmas Wafers

Grandma made us examine each image in detail before allowing us to cover the sheet with honey and enjoy.  I'm not sure if it was the taste or the fact we received it just once a year, but the memory of oplatki persisted. Like many of the old traditions, the Christmas wafer has disappeared from our family as the Old World generation passed on and American Christmas became homogenized and much more secular.  Some things aren't missed until their completely gone.  Perhaps the scenes I included in Slogans will keep the memories of Christmas "years ago" alive just a little longer.

Religion In Historical Fiction Writng

When I began writing my trilogy, I had no idea religion would so heavily influence my characters.  Initially, I tried to stay away from religion, which from the title of my first novel, Ikons: Saint Nicholas the Wonder Worker, should have warned me of the futility.  I tried to make organized religion antiseptic by implying the village of Hutava could no longer afford a priest. My fictional village did have a church building, but it was not used as such except for special occasions.  I christened the church Saint Ivan Vladimir, for no special reason I can recall and described it as the standard Russian onion domed church with a fading icon of the name saint. 

Saint Ivan Vladimir in factious Hutava

Religion in Hutava

My main characters, having been raised Christian, rebelled against my attempts to secularize them and adhered to their religion as best they could.  Akulina and Massey followed the dicta of fast and abstinence, observed holy days, and traditional rites, such as the sacraments of baptism, marriage and anointing the sick.  In their family spiritual matters it was the patriarchs, Boris and Serge, who assumed the pastoral role in the priest's abstinence.

How much the Orthodox faith infused their beings was attested to during Massey and Akulina's courtship and wedding.  Their prenuptial traditions, banter and wedding reception antics were based on my recollections of my Eastern European relatives.  My maternal grandparents, John and Cecil Mores, provided some insight into Slavic wedding customs, but it was the reverence and frivolity of their children's ceremonies that I recalled and used as the basis for many scenes.

John and Cecil Mores on Their Wedding Day

There was nothing frivolous about Akulina's faith, however.  I gave her an unshaken belief in an afterlife that sustained her through the travails of her shortened existence.  But it was not just her who relied upon religion when she needed an anchor.

Religion In America

Religion increased in importance when Massey arrived in America.  Tossed into the turbulent waters of the new world, he and the others of the Orthodox community sought refuge in stability provided by their spiritual bond.

Saint Nicholas Orthodox Church - Joliet, Illinois

They founded Saint Nicholas Church which became the both their social and spiritual center.  I remember going to Saint Nicholas when it was housed in the building shown in the above photograph.  My most vivid memories of the church are not of the heavily perfumed ceremonies, but rather the ensuing trip to the Dairy Queen on the next block.  In the mid-40's Joliet was home to the very first Dairy Queen and for a nickle, I got a really large curly ice cream cone.

I based my characters' Russian religion on a mixture of my memories, current and historical religious programs, and imagination.  I'm grateful to the Orthodox church in Joliet for providing me with the history of the faith in Northern Illinois.  I believe I did them justice.

The Old Believers 

To bless with two fingers or three?  That was the question which caused the schism in the Orthodox church and created the Old Believers.  I introduced the Old Believers (Starovyery) in Banners: For God, Tsar and Russia and continued their story in Slogans: Our Children, Our Future.  Their isolated Siberian village of Unkuda, which became home for the refugees from Hutava, was 300 years out of step with the modern age and provided the backdrop for the Russian Civil War.  I didn't know much about the Old Believers, but I live in an area populated by Amish and other Christian sects of that nature.  The Amish became a surrogate for the Old Believers' language, life style and world view.

Old Believers

The differing views of the Orthodox religion provided ample opportunities for friction and misunderstanding between the refugees and the Old Believers.  For dialogue, I used old English words to delineate an Old Believer.  The clashes between the two groups were usually harmless and sometimes even humorous.  But all changed under the Red banner.