Gathered

Suburban, Chicago, October 1967. There's a reception under way.

Some dance in the modern style.

Chicago, Illinois, August 1975. Guests at an anniversary party hit the dance floor. I believe this event took place at "JC's."

This was a time when women often wore wigs and floor-length dresses to parties.

Mistletoe Elf watches as friends gather.

Suburban Chicago, December 31, 1969. My Mom's best friend, Donna (right), and her husband Vytenis take their turn hosting the New Year's Eve gathering for our suburban enclave.

A Sunday Table

Suburban Chicago, 1967. My Mom sits with Jadzė D and Jadzė D's husband. Mom sewed her dress; it was crafted from yellow, Shantung silk (covered buttons!). Jadzė D knitted her dress.

Millinery Model

Cicero, Illinois, April 1966. Jadzė D was a skilled knitter and seamstress. Here, Mom tries on one of the hats Jadzė D crafted. (Mom's also wearing one of her own knitted suits.)

I meant that as a compliment.

Suburban Chicago, January 1970. My Mom and Lily chat with Jadzė D's husband. The fellow had "had a wicked sense of humor and was the master of the backhanded compliment." When he took me out for a dance at our wedding reception, he observed—in mid tango—how relieved everyone was that I was a pretty bride because I had been such a pathetically homely child.

 

The trio here sits in the Rec Room of my friend Kris's childhood home.

A Serious Toast

Suburban Chicago, December 31, 1969. Everyone gathers in Donna's living room to hear our enclave's patriarch deliver the toast.

My friend Kris—Donna's daughter—and I have noisemakers in our mouths.

Toast the friendships.

Suburban Chicago, December 1971. We're celebrating at the home of my Mom's friend, Donna, and her husband, Vytenis. It's after dinner: there's a bottle of cognac on the table, and it looks like folks are enjoying some cherry liqueur.

The New Year's Eve Table

I wrote last year about some of the rigid food customs Lithuanians observe. Although the Kūčios traditions are the least flexible, other rules govern the every-day and holiday tables.

We observed some New Year's Eve guidelines. Guests usually arrived later in the evening—say between 8:00 and 9:00. The hostess served food at around 10:00 pm. The idea here was to keep people dining until midnight arrived so that the party wouldn't drag on and people wouldn't drink too much.

The New Year's Eve meal consisted of cold foods. This wasn't an attempt to lessen the hostess's load—like it was on the day of Kūčios. Instead, the cold meal acknowledged that the guests were eating a late-night "snack," not a substitute for dinner. The meal therefore focused on "užkandžiai," or what the Russians would call "zakuski" or "first courses."

My Mom and my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, always prepared "New Year's Eggs" when it was our turn to host the party. Tatjana also made her "Babos Vinegretas." Because it was New Year's Eve, Tatjana decorated that salad with lump crabmeat. Sliced hams, roast beef, and lingonberries joined the table. We often also served "Košeliena," or pork head cheese (we served it, but I never ate it). Sometimes we had "Amerikoniškas Shrimp Cocktail;" I didn't like horseradish then, so I would not eat the cocktail sauce.

A day or so before New Year's Eve, Dad drove down to one of the Lithuanian bakeries in Marquette Park to buy sweets for the party. He'd pick up Poppy Seed Strudel, a Nut Strudel, perhaps a torte—if Tatjana didn't make her Nut Torte or her Pavlova Torte—and some chocolates. If we were feeling especially festive, Dad would head up to the North Side and bring back goodies from Lutz's Pastry Shop. A sweets table from Lutz's signaled good taste.

Suburban Chicago, December 31, 1968. Mom's coordinating the dessert course while Vytenis, the husband of Mom's best friend Donna, makes a clever toast.

Most people have some wacky photos from the 1970s.

In the early to mid-1970s, it became customary for women to wear wigs. My Mom had a couple of wigs and a hairpiece. For many years, she stopped cutting her hair. She instead pulled it back and snapped on the bun-like hairpiece in the back. It was fashionable, and it looked nice.

During that same era, women often wore long dresses. The trend started, of course, with the "maxi dresses" that the cool set popularized. The square-because-they're-over-thirty crowd imitated the style. Sometimes all the women invited to a house party agreed to wear "long dresses."

Here are three snapshots from a party hosted by my Mom's best friend, Donna and her husband, Vytenis. We socialized at their home often. It's unlikely that the three women bought the "long dresses" for this occasion. They probably purchased them for some other purpose and decided to get another "wear" out of them. My Mom, for example, had selected the two-piece brown number for a rehersal dinner.

Suburban Chicago, December 1974. My Mom, Donna, and Jadzė D relax in a corner of Donna's living room. You recently saw this threesome knitting at our house. Mom is wearing her "bun-like" hairpiece. Donna is au naturel. Jadzė D often wore wigs.

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Suburban Chicago, December 1974. They always have more fun when we're not around. Left to right are Jadzė D, Vytenis, Jadzė D's husband, my Mom, and Donna. My Dad is taking the photo.

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Suburban Chicago, December 1974. My Dad loved to flirt. It was a running family joke. Dad was harmless, and Mom didn't mind: she's the one who is snapping this photo.

It's good to spend a Sunday afternoon knitting.

Suburban Chicago, January 1967. Donna, Jadzė D (who appears in the last photo here), and my Mom gather to knit in the living room. Mom's dressier knitting bag is at her feet.

I'll bet the women are knitting suits.

The Independence Day "Minejimas"

Today, February 16, is Lithuanian Independence Day. The children from our Lithuanian School prepared for the annual "minejemas," or commemoration, every year. Although we participated in many cultural programs, the Independence Day "minejimas"was our most important "programa."

The Displaced Persons who made up the Lithuanian population in our suburban enclave sometimes organized the event at the hall of the local park district. (It's now called "Bulger Park," but boomers will remember it as Veterans Park.)

Often, the Independence Day celebration intersected with a more formal occasion, the "Balius" ("ball") that the local Lithuanians annually hosted. The Balius was a formal occasion, and it was one of the few adult parties that the children attended.

The locals rented a large, then-attractive hall operated by the Melrose Park Fraternal Order of Eagles. The hall stood on the second story of the village's main shopping district, near the intersection of Broadway and Lake Street. The hall was a large space, with a stage, a dance floor, and an annex in the back with a bar. The lighting and acoustics were decent. We felt familiar with and comfortable in the hall especially because one of the nice Lithuanian families in our community owned the store that stood on the first floor of the same building.

As children, we looked forward to the Balius because we got to fool around at the party as soon as our performances ended. We ate Lithuanian sausage, braised sauerkraut, boiled Russet potatoes, and rye bread. Usually, the younger set hung around in the back annex, where, after dinner, we danced and drank 50/50 or Canada Dry Gingerale.

The adults conducted a "loterija," or raffle, at the end of the evening. In 1967, I was declared one of the winners. I learned I could choose one of several prizes. I remember standing at the prize table with my Mom, deciding what to take home. Mom saw a Napoleonas torte among the options, but I was unmoved. I wanted a record album. The only LP on the table was "Tubby Chess and His Candy Stripe Twisters do the TWIST," which of course spoke again to the Lithuanian immigrant community's branding paralysis: whoever selected the prize as a lure for the "young people" could not distinguish Chubby Checker from an imitator.

The organizers felt badly for me and Mom, and I took home both the torte and the faker LP.

I went back to the Balius several times when I was in high school and college. The event was a good chance to recycle prom dresses.

The Fraternal Order of Eagles Hall burned in 1989; I don't know whether it still stands.

Melrose Park, Illinois, February 1965. I take a bow after finishing my poetry recitation. This was my first performance at an Independence Day event. Look! My lifelong friend Kris sits on the far left.

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Melrose Park, Illinois, February 1965. The children from our Lithuanian School sang folk songs. I stand in the first row, on the far right, and Kris is directly behind me.

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Melrose Park, Illinois, February 1966. After the children sang, we danced. Kris and I are in the center, holding hands. The adults watch patiently. There's the back annex.

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Melrose Park, Illinois, February 1965. We are having fun! You can see the "FOE" letters suspended above the stage.

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Melrose Park, Illinois, February 1966. Our Lithuanian School sometimes had more girls than boys enrolled.  

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Melrose Park, Illinois, February 1966. After our successful performance, we show our gratitude to our Lithuanian-School teachers.

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Melrose Park, Illinois, February 1966. It's the end of our segment of the "programa."

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Melrose Park, Illinois, February 1965. We then sit and wait, oh my, during the rest of the performance. Usually some soprano sang Lithuanian tunes. Kris is behind me, again.

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Melrose Park, Illinois, February 1967. I give a bouquet to the soprano, too.

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Melrose Park, Illinois, February 1967. Ha ha! There's my Mom, holding the Napoleonas torte prize. I hadn't noticed the torte until I posted the photo. I instead was focused on the Lithuanian sausage in the front, on the right. There's my Mom's best friend, Donna, smiling beautifully on the far left.

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Melrose Park, Illinois, February 1967.  There's the rye bread.

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Melrose Park, Illinois, February 1966. It's the end of the night because I've taken off my folkdress crown. Mom and her friend, Jadzė D, are keeping an eye on it. Both women wear knitted dresses.