A Closer Look (Part 71)

Tauragė, Lithuania, about 1905. This is my Mom's paternal Grandmother, Wanda. Mom remembers Wanda always wore gold-hoop earrings.

Here's the original post.

Josephine, a Mystery

My Mom's maternal Aunt Dora—whom you may remember as an intriguing figure—sent many family photos to my Mom. Dora stayed in Lithuania after the second Soviet occupation, and she lived in the house my maternal Grandparents had built. In that house, Dora found many snapshots my Mom and her Dad, Jake, had left behind when they fled Lithuania in 1944. Beginning in the late 1950s—after Stalin died—Dora started mailing those photos to my Mom. By now, I've posted most of the images on this blog.

Dora was very good about providing written descriptions on the back of photos, especially when she sent an image from a family plot. So this photo, of a headstone and its family bench, is a mystery because Dora wrote nothing on its back. The inscription tells me that the decedent was Josephine, and Josephine was related to the family of my maternal Grandfather, Jake.

Josephine was 32 years old when she died on November 19, 1927. Was she a sister of Jake and his other siblings, Mary, Cody Jr., Zigmas, and the younger brother who died in a shooting accident? My Mom doesn't recall a Josephine or whether a Josephine was a sibling of Jake's or a cousin. Mom does have a foggy memory—from her childhood—of a relative who delivered a still-born baby and then died after she contracted sepsis.

"Rest in peace, our beloved Josephinette, while you wait for us."

UPDATE: Last year, I wondered, "Whose portrait hangs on that wall?" I now see that it's a portrait of Josephine, and I think it's the same portrait that's on her headstone. The placement of Josephine's portrait in a public part of the house—the dining room—tells me that Josephine probably was the deceased daughter of my Mom's paternal Grandparents, Cody Sr. and Wanda. Josphine was a sister of my paternal Grandfather, Jake.

I was searching that "Customs" post just now for some information I had written last year about Kūčios, and there she was, staring at me from the wall, about an hour after this post published.

The Decision to Leave

During the Summer of 1944, the Soviet Union pushed west and launched its "annexation occupation" of the Baltic States. By mid-July of that year, my Mom and my paternal Grandfather, Jake, could hear the bomb blasts approaching their home town of Kaunas.

Mom and Jake packed two suitcases and decided to wait out the Soviet invasion—which they believed would be brief—in the border city of Tauragė. They gathered a few belongings. Mom bartered a bicycle in exchange for a wagon. They then hitchiked to Tauragė, where Jake's Parents, Cody Sr. and Wanda, had lived.

Mom and Jake remained in Tauragė during the last two weeks of July 1944, hoping that the Soviet Army would retreat. The two stayed with the family of Jake's cousin, who lived on the second floor of the old, Cody Sr., house. They buried most valuables they had in the countryside. When the Russians continued to move westward, the families—Mom, Jake, and Jake's cousin's brood—decided to leave Lithuania. They headed together to the train station and began their lives as refugees.

Notably, in the ensuing year, Tauragė became the precise region in which in Soviet Army would claim victory over the Germans.

Tauragė, Lithuania, between July 14 and July 31, 1944. My Mom poses with the wife of Jake's cousin. This is one of the last three photos taken of Mom while she was still on Lithuanian soil.

Death and Funerals

I am not a cultural historian. I have, however, spent most of my life straddling two—and sometimes three—cultures. I've naturally made all sorts of observations. One of the ways in which Lithuanian culture differs from American culture is in its approach to death.

Although funerals are somber occasions in Lithuania, Lithuanians don't find funerals "creepy." They are occasions—passages—deserving documentation. For example, I grew up surrounded by people who took photographs at funerals. There are open-casket, wake snapshots of most of my Grandparents. When my Mom's maternal Aunt, Dora, died in 1992, Mom received a stack of color photos of Dora resting in her coffin, dressed in baby-blue satin and graced with an opulent jabot.

Lithuanians still visit graves and take snapshots of themselves standing next to family headstones.

I've mentioned this pattern of photographing the dead (and buried) to several friends. Some compare the custom to the early creation of death masks. Others speculate that people photographed the dead because of economics: photographs were expensive, and a burial photo might be the only snapshot that would commemorate a person's life. Still others assumed that a death photo was reasonable in an era when photographic technology was primitive: it was difficult for subjects to sit still through a photograph, and a corpse wouldn't even twinge during that prolonged process.

I was sifting these thoughts when I debated whether to publish the photograph of the funeral of my Mom's paternal Grandfather, Cody Sr. I decided to write this post after discussing the subject with my Toronto Cousin. She thought the photo underscores the different ways we approach death.

Consider that a reliable resource for Lithuanian Customs and Traditions lists funerals in the category of "Family Celebrations." It's customary in Lithuania, for instance, to bring children to a funeral. Whereas we "celebrate" Halloween in the States, the Festival of All Saints—November 1—is the real holiday in Europe. My Mom recalls how families gathered in the cemeteries on that day, covering the graves of loved ones with chrysanthemums. People lit candles, and by the end of the day, the cemetery would look like a rock concert awaiting an encore. When I lived in Venice, families traveled to the cemetery island of San Michele to remember the dead. In Venice, the holiday of All Saints consumed nearly a week.

The cemetery in Lithuania is a comfortable place. My paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, once fell asleep behind the locked gates of one. Upon her exit the next morning, she reported that she felt very comfortable, as though "in her own skin," while there. My Mom and my maternal Grandfather, Jake, spent a number of nights in a mausoleum when they were refugees.

There are two versions of how Cody Sr. died. My Mom's account explains that Cody left his Tauragė home and hid from the advancing Soviet forces in a country location. Because he was a prominent, middle-class government worker , Cody rightly feared that if stayed in Tauragė, he would be deported to Siberia. When the appendicitis struck, Cody's remote, primitive hideaway made it difficult for him to get medical help.

The other account maintains that Cody Sr. did not leave Tauragė. Instead, a competent doctor came to treat Cody. The doctor, a family friend, saw Cody's condition and decided he'd be better off dead than see his country unravel under Communist rule.

The twists between the two narratives make little difference to me. In both versions, Cody Sr. died because of untreated appendicitis, and in both accounts, he failed to receive life-saving surgery because the Soviets had just occupied Lithuania.

And so here is Cody Sr., surrounded by his family, his friends and colleagues, his servants, and the people of Tauragė. His wife, Wanda, clutches her hands in disbelief. She would be dead sixteen weeks later.

Tauragė, Lithuania, October 1940. Churchgoers ready to follow Cody Sr.'s casket to its burial place. My maternal Grandfather, Jake, stands to the left of the grieving Wanda.  Cody's daughter, Mary, is to the right of Wanda, and next to her is her brother, Zigmas. My Mom stands directly behind Mary, partially concealed by Mary's hat.

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Thanks to my Toronto Cousin, and, of course, to my "New" Cousin, for providing the reflections and narratives that made this post possible.

The Delta of the Nemunas River

My Mom's paternal Grandfather, Cody Sr., worked in the Customs House in the city of Tauragė, Lithuania. His children often visited Cody and his wife, Wanda, at their home in the border town.

Mom frequently summered near that house, in the small city of Panemunė. Cody Sr. kept a rowboat in Panemunė along the banks of the Nemunas River. My maternal Grandmother, Jadzė, enjoyed taking my Mom out on the river in that little boat. Jadzė packed a lunch, and she and Mom would row out to a sandbar, where they swam, tossed a ball in the water, and picnicked.

Nemunas Delta Region, Panemunė, Lithuania, about 1927. Jadzė and my Mom get ready to row out onto the river. 

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Whenever I hear this story, I think of the Wisconsin River, the sandbars along it near Spring Green, and the dangerous undertow of the current!

I have always had a visceral fear of bodies of water, so this does not seem like "fun" to me.

 Nemunas Delta Region, Panemunė, Lithuania, about 1927. Mom enjoys the river.

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Mom still marvels at the beauty of that part of Lithuania. I learned recently that it makes up the delta of the Nemunas River.

Today, the area lies within the Nemunas Delta Regional Park, and it is a destination for eco-tourists.

The Things Around You

When we look at old photos, the first things we usually notice are the fashions. We check out the clothing people wore, we recognize hairstyles, and we pay attention to furniture.

Consider the fashion of photography itself. Today it's trendy to do a photoshoot on train tracks. It's cool to "trash the dress." It's adorable to dress dogs as though they were babies.

We know that at the turn of the century, photographers had velvet chairs and tassled props in their studios. Photos taken in those environments have appeared here.

But looking back through our old photos, I see a trend in the family snapshots. People took photographs on front steps, back steps, porches, landings, entry areas, and in doorways.

Was this scene creation a contrived memorialization designed to show that the subjects were homeowners who had arrived at their place in the world? Or was it less conscious, instead illustrating the subjects' attachments to their homes and surroundings?

Tauragė, Lithuania, about 1938. My maternal Grandfather, Jake (in uniform), stands next to his sister, Mary (in the white-fringed shawl), and his Parents, Cody Sr. and Wanda. Mary's Husband and son lean against the railing.

Thanks to my "New" Cousin for making this photo available to me in digital format.

Wanda



Tauragė, Lithuania, 1905. This is my Mom's paternal Grandmother, Wanda. Wanda had four children: Cody Jr., my maternal Grandfather Jake, Zigmas, and Mary.

Thanks to my "New" Cousin for making this photo available to me in digital format.

UPDATE: I omitted one son from Wanda's offspring. She had a fifth child who, as a young boy, died in a shooting accident.

I fill in a missing link.

I  don't have many images of my Great-Grandparents, and I've posted most of them here. Early on, I talked about photos of my Mom's maternal Grandparents and her paternal Grandparents.

I also introduced my Dad's maternal Grandparents.

Here is my Dad's paternal Grandfather, Ambrose. He was born in 1838, and I think this photo dates from the late 1870s: 

 

Ambrose, like his son, Vytautas , served in the Russian Imperial Army during the years when Lithuania was part of the Russian Empire. I have two modern-day relatives who are dead ringers for Ambrose.

Here is Ambrose's wife, my Dad's paternal Grandmother, Salomea. She was much younger than Ambrose; she was born in 1859. I believe she sat for this photo in about 1905:

 

When I first saw Salomea's photo, I said, "Check out that fur vest." Next, I thought, "Wow! What an exotic name." I then looked up its meaning. It's a Polish name that means "peace." My name, "Irene," means "peace" in Greek. That's a connection that never came to mind.

I wish my name were "Salomea" instead of "Irene."

Customs

When I was growing up, I learned about holiday customs. Lithuanians, for example, celebrate Christmas on the night of Christmas Eve ("Kūčios"). The Kūčios meal consists of twelve meatless dishes, one to represent each of the Apostles. All of the foods are cold dishes so that the hostess does not have to cook on such a solemn day. On Christmas Eve, we primarily eat vegetable salads, gefilte fish, and marinated herrings. Lots of herring: herring is served at least four ways.

Enforcement of these traditions is inflexible. During one memorable Christmas Eve, we had a guest who did not eat fish. Cold fish therefore was out of the question. My Mom roasted and served a duck. My Dad spit bullets about the breach of Kūčios protocol. Even now, over thirty years later, my Mom usually says on Kūčios, "Do you remember when I roasted a duck on Kūčios?!!" as if that were a really screwball, Lucille Ball-like, thing to do.

Today, rigid food-pairing rules still affect daily meals. For example, if one is serving meatloaf ("Zuikis"), it's not appropriate to offer peas or carrots alongside it. The traditional side dish for meatloaf is a bowl of hot, shredded beets spiked with vinegar and macerated in sour cream. Roast duck is stuffed with apples and served with hot, braised sauerkraut. Roast turkey is stuffed not with stuffing but with prunes—or as they say today, "dried plums." A sauté of cabbage, bacon, and onions must be served with potatoes; never rice. Cold Beet Soup arrives with a side of a hot, peeled, boiled potato sprinkled with fresh dill.

There are also unbending seasonal rules. A "winter salad" consisting of navy beans and beets would never include a spring or summer ingredient, like peas, carrots, or dill. A "spring salad"—similar to the Italian Insalata Russa or the Russian Salat Olivier—would not feature a winter ingredient, like a dill pickle, an apple, or beans.

Strict food rules make the timing of this photo easy to identify. The food on the table tells me that this is an image of Easter dinner. Cooked young birds, veal, and a "Tree Cake" ("Šakotis" or, in parts of Lithuania, "Baumkuchenas") all say "Spring."

The clock in the photo reads 9:00. It looks like it is dark outside. Can the family be eating late? Or is it morning? Mr. Irene thinks it's a mid-day meal for a family that might have attended a Resurrection Mass. Or is the clock broken?

Whose portrait hangs on the wall?

It must have been a rather warm spring day because a window is open.

Some things in this image are familiar. The curtains mimic the sleeves of Lithuanian folkdress blouses: linen with woven, decorative sashes running in horizontal lines. Even though the photo is black and white, the potted primroses on the table might as well be fuchsia with yellow eyes. I look at the edge of the tablecloth and think that it, too, is certainly linen because it looks like someone had trouble ironing it.

Thanks to my "New" Cousin for making this photo available to me in digital format.

Tauragė, Lithuania, probably about 1935 or so. This is the family of my paternal Grandfather, Jake. Jake sits, in uniform, on the far right. To his right is his mother (my Great-Grandmother, Wanda), and behind him are his brother and sister. Jake's niece and brother-in-law stand next to his sister. Seated on the left are Jake's nephew and his father (my Great-Grandfather, Cody Sr.).