Related by Marriage: The Serious Shot

Marquette Park, Chicago, Illinois, June 27, 1959. Here's another image from Martha's wedding.

Related by Marriage: Wake

threatened children's lives. Mr. Irene's maternal Grandparents, Anna and Stanley, lost three offspring during that decade. Here, the family mourns the loss of Baby Jean, who died at three-and-one-half months of age. The family wakes Baby Jean at home. A portrait of family members who stayed behind in Lithuania hangs on the wall. Baby Jean's siblings, Benny and Martha, fold their hands in prayer. Petra, Stanley, and Anna stand on the left.

Related by Marriage: Loss

Mr. Irene's maternal Grandparents, the first-waver immigrants Anna and Stanley, lost their three middle children. Only their eldest daughter, Martha (to whom I referred as "Aunt M" before her death), and their youngest daughter, Mr. Irene's Mom, survived.

I wrote about the death of brother Benny here.

Today, I post a photo of Baby Jean. She survived only her first three-and-one-half months.

Bridgeport, Chicago, Illinois, 1924. The Godparents of Baby Jean pose with the child on her christening day.

The Culture of Recording Convalescence

In the first half of the twentieth century, children often died. Mr. Irene's maternal Grandparents, Anna and Stanley, lost one child, Baby Jean, when she was an infant, and another child, Benny, when Benny was a young boy.

Death came into people's lives with little warning. A dog bite—like the one Benny suffered—could lead to a fatal infection. Pneumonia was life threatening. My Mom's maternal uncle, Edvardas, died of a ruptured appendix, and so did her paternal Grandfather, Cody Sr.

The expectation of likely death probably prompted people to photograph ill family members. Our albums have many snapshots of relatives in different stages of convalescence—from people resting with the flu to those enduring the last gasps through cancer. It's a genre of snapshots, and it resembles the series of funeral photos that I wrote about earlier.

My Mom fell gravely ill as a young girl. Initially, the doctors were unable to diagnose the ailment. They recommended that she drink large quantities of heavy cream and the nectar squeezed from an aloe vera plant. Later, the same physicians realized that they had misdiagnosed Mom's condition, and they put her on a restricted, no-fat diet.

Kaunas, Lithuania, about 1935. Mom rests. The medications stand on the bedside chair. You've seen a photo of my Mom's childhood bedroom earlier.

What's different here? Not only do Raphael's adorable angels still hang on the screen; now, someone has clipped holy cards featuring the Madonna and Jesus Christ to the screen so that they can watch over the sick child.

Related by Marriage: Martha's Wedding Day

Mr. Irene's maternal Aunt, Martha, was quite a few years older than Mr. Irene's Mom. She grew up in Bridgeport when her parents, Anna and Stanley, still were new immigrants. Things were rough. When the Great Depression hit, Stanley no longer could maintain the butcher shop. Martha got a job to help the struggling family and stopped attending Englewood High School.

Martha worked—mostly in factories—through her teens and adult years. Despite being part of the workforce, Martha did not meet anyone in whom she was romantically interested. When the abondanza of Displaced Persons arrived in Chicago, most of the men who were Martha's age already were married. Martha, at 31, was a bit too old for many of the single arrivals; back then, a man would not contemplate marrying an "older" woman. Mr. Irene's Mom, by contrast, connected with a young, unmarried immigrant.

Eventually, Martha happily met Wally, himself a Displaced Person. They married about ten years after the World War II refugees had arrived. Martha was forty-one years old. Martha and Wally lived in Marquette Park until Wally's death; they never had children.

After Wally died, Martha lived with Mr. Irene's Parents.

Marquette Park, Chicago, June 27, 1959. Martha and Wally sit with their attendants behind them, namely Martha's sister (Mr. Irene's Mom) and Wally's brother.

Related by Marriage: Uncle Benny

Mr. Irene's Mom was the youngest of five children born to Anna and Stanley. Aunt M was the eldest; the three middle children died. The death of the three children speaks to life in the early twentieth century, when there were no antibiotics, and the danger of death could be a sniffle away. It's no wonder that Mr. Irene's Mom still says, "Oh no!" each time someone sneezes.

The second child and the only son, Benny, was three years younger than Aunt M. Benny had a wonderful pet dog, "Sporty." Sporty bonded only to Benny. Benny was an active boy. One afternoon, he ran out to the playground, and a stray, stockyards dog bit him. Benny returned home to show his mother, Anna, the wound. The wound became infected. Anna took Benny to the hospital. Doctors admitted Benny. In the hospital, Benny developed sepsis.

Benny lingered in the hospital, but there were no drugs with which to treat him. One afternoon, Sporty howled. Anna looked at the family and said, "Benny has died." After the family buried Benny, Sporty refused to leave Benny's room. He wouldn't eat. Shortly thereafter, Sporty died, too.

When I think about that story, I remember the movie, "My Dog Skip."

Bridgeport, Chicago, 1927. Aunt M (Martha) poses with her younger brother, Benny. He died three years later.