This last time I visited my parents, I rescued some photos from an old rotting box shoved onto a shelf in their garage. Above is my grandmother’s family, or most of it. Her oldest sister was already married and living in Canada by the time this was taken. Baubi, in the middle with the braids, was fifteen– the youngest and yes, the tallest. She and her two other sisters were flaming redheads. Her father and mother, Wolf and Clara, emigrated from a small farm at the foot of the Carpathian Mountains in Transylvania. They journeyed to the western end of the Union Pacific Railroad and there they stopped and opened a general store.
Gorgeous wedding photo. Wish I had that dress.
My Zaida’s family – above. My French great-grandfather, seated, with my great-grandmother, Mary, the dark-kinky-haired woman on his left and her half-sister on the right. I suspect this is a wedding photo. The bottom corner of the photograph says – Baltimore. I don’t know much about my great-grandfather. He ran off when my grandfather was eight years old. I have no memory of Mary although she was alive for the first year of my life. I once asked my grandmother, Baubi, where Mary had been born. Baubi said, “She wasn’t born. She crawled out from under a rock. She was a mean woman.” That’s as much as I know of her origins.
Zaida, before he met Baubi, after he was released from the Home for Wayward Boys. He arrested for delinquency at the age of twelve and was sentenced to remain incarcerated for six years. It was because he ran away repeatedly, hopping freight cars, heading back to Baltimore to try and find his missing father. The warden took an interest in him, allowed him to attend school with his own children, and taught him music.
Oooh, see if you can find me! My father and youngest sister are in this one too–
Tomorrow – my mother’s family.