Younger

Kaunas, Lithuania, about 1940. This is my Dad's older cousin Vytas.

Identification

*     *     *     *     *

*     *     *     *     *

Near Schweinfurt, Germany, February 26, 1949. Dad received this card shortly before he emigrated to the United States.

Exchanging Portraits (Part 58)

Seligenstadt, Germany, about 1949. My Mom's friend has a passport photo, and she is ready to emigrate.

Resettled

Brooklyn, New York, about 1954. This is the photo my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, used for her first American passport.

A Young Immigrant

Seligenstadt, Germany, about 1949. Here's the passport photo of my Mom's goddaughter. Her mother wrote, "This is the photo we had taken to include with her documents."

Nice, smocked sweater!

Young and Tired

Schweinfurt (or Stuttgart), Germany, about 1947. This is how my Dad looked at about the time he enrolled at Hohenheim University.

Still unsettled.

Schweinfurt, Germany, about 1946. Dad was still in transition when he sat for this portrait. The image is another photo from about the time Dad started his studies at Hohenheim University.

Transition

Schweinfurt, Germany, probably 1945. Dad used this photo for his Displaced-Persons documents. The image captures his appearance at about the time he and other refugees fled Lithuania. During the six years Dad was a Displaced Person, he "grew into" his face.

Identification

Kaunas, Lithuania, about 1938. This is one photo Mom used for her internal passport.

Where will this take you?

Lithuania, about 1939. This is Kadis, the husband of my Dad's twin sister, Jonė. It's a passport photo—the edge of the image has the "Republic of Lithuania" stamp. I don't know whether Kadis used it for his internal passport or whether he planned to travel abroad. At this time, however, he likely didn't imagine that he soon would land in Salzburg, Austria as a Displaced Person.

Resettled

Kaunas, Lithuania, about 1921. This is how my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, looked after she fled Russia.

Stamped

Kaunas, Lithuania, 1943. This is the passport photo of Ron's Dad. You may have seen Ron's Dad earlier here; he's the fellow on the left, wearing the eye glasses.

Thanks to my friend Ron for making this photo available to us.

"We will take care to keep this Booklet clean!"

After my Mom graduated from high school, she selected this photo for both her internal passport and for her medical-school identification at Vytautas Magnus University.

Kaunas, Lithuania, 1941. Mom still wears her high-school uniform in this photo.

*     *     *     *     *

Here is the photo, in context, as part of Mom's medical-school "Studijų Knygelė," or "Studies Booklet." The Booklet acted as both a form of identification and as a report card. After the inside cover, reproduced below, establishes the student's identity, the remaining twenty or so pages consist of a record of the courses the student took, the professors who taught the courses, the date the student completed coursework, and the grades the students earned in each class.

Kaunas, Lithuania, 1941. When the Germans closed the university, many professors continued teaching classes on an "audit" basis. Occasionally, the professors conducted these "auditing" classes in their homes; later, they sometimes secured permission to use classrooms. Eventually, the Germans reopened the medical school.

Evidence of these developments appears on Mom's Booklet. The word "studentas" is crossed out in black ink and replaced with the word "hospitantė," or "auditor." Mom became an auditor when the school closed. Later, the red-inked "studentė" (the feminine form of "student") replaced "hospitantė," indicating that the school had reopened, and Mom reenrolled as a regular student.

The Booklet also shows a glimmer of the authoritarian nature of those times. At the bottom of the inside cover appears an admonishment: "Šią Knygelė išsaugokime švarią!" In English, that reads, "We will take care to keep this Booklet clean!"

Easy to Read

My paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, sat for this passport photo at around the time her husband, Vytautas, traveled to Belgium. I don't know whether this image was part of an internal passport or whether it identified Tatjana for foreign travel.

Kaunas, Lithuania, 1936. Here's how Tatjana looked ten years later, and here she was, ready to emigrate to the United States. Tatjana's face wore the weariness of hard times throughout her life.

Identifications

Many old photos that we have are passport pictures and identification snapshots. This image of Zigmas, the younger brother of my maternal Grandfather, Jake, likely was taken for his work at the "Spaudos Fondas," or Press Foundation.

Pre-war Lithuanians, like most Europeans, carried "national identity," or internal, passports. Zigmas alternatively may have had the photo taken for such an internal passport.

Kaunas, Lithuania, about 1930. Zigmas always looks happy.

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

Transition

Schweinfurt, Germany, about 1946 or 1947. I believe this photo captures my Dad's twin sister, Jonė, just before she emigrated to Canada.

Passport Photos

I realized that I'd let my passport expire. I used to travel often, but in the last twenty years, I've not ventured overseas. Now that we can't cross into Canada with just a driver's license, I'll have to get an updated passport.

Our old photo stash contains multiple versions of passport photos for each member of the family. Why did Lithuanians regularly keep valid passports? When one lives in a small country that historically has been subject to frequent occupations, it's a good idea to have a passport: you never know when you'll have to leave.

Seligenstadt, Germany, 1947 or 1948. This is the passport photo my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, used when she emigrated to the United States.

Shades of Gray

The death of Svetlana Alliluyeva prompted me to think again about the Stalinist era and how it resonated through my family's layers.

My Mom's maternal Aunt, Dora, for example, stayed behind in Lithuania after my Mom and my maternal Grandfather, Jake, fled in 1944.

Although the bewitching Dora naturally aged during the years of Soviet occupation, later photos of her also reflect a profound sadness. She looked preoccupied even when she shared a happy moment.

Kaunas, Lithuanian Soviet Socialist Republic, April 1956. This is Dora's passport photo. "Passport" is a misnomer: the Soviets restricted foreign travel. It's better called a "National ID" because one couldn't move about anywhere in the city or country—let alone ride a bus—without it.

Another Brother ...

... appears in another passport photo:

Soviet Union, 1922. This is Lev, another of the younger brothers of my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana. I erroneously had assumed that Lev died during the Russian Revolution. I found out recently that, like Volodia, he had made it. We don't know what became of him later.

Facing Revolution

This is how my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, looked around the time she attended the St. Petersburg university. She was the first woman to graduate from the institution with a degree in Chemical Engineering:

Tambov, Russia, 1916. My Grandmother, Tatjana, poses for a passport photograph.

*     *     *     *     *

This is how Tatjana looked three years later, after she watched the Russian Revolution unfold, witnessed the execution of her father, searched for his remains, feared deportation to Siberia, and fled to Lithuania:

Russia, 1919. Tatjana wears the locket in which she kept the portraits of her Grandparents.