Notes for a family History (2). Deducing a coherent narrative of immigration from recollection and record (i)

Exactly 85 years ago, on 25 November 1924, the White Star Line steamship “Majestic” arrived in the Port of New York; on it were a 32 year old self-confessed housewife, Melanie Klein Grünberger Paktorovits, and the first four of her five children, Josef, Jolán, Alexander, and Edith. They had come all the way from Užhorod, in Carpathian Ruthenia, then the easternmost region of the young nation-state of Czechoslovakia, to join Melanie’s husband Salamon, who had arrived in the US four years earlier, and was living in the Roxbury area of Boston, Massachusetts (for an earlier take on the story, see my previous post in this series, "What's in a business card?"). Jolán, who was 8 years old at the time, was my mother. In the photograph below, which I believe was taken within a year before the family left Czechoslovakia, she is in the center; Josef and Alex are on the left, and Edith is on the right, her head resting on my grandmother’s left shoulder. The family was not quite complete until a fifth child, Rosalind, was born to my grandmother in the US, in 1927.

My grandmother, Melanie Paktorovits, with the first four of her five children: (from the left) Josef, Alexander, Jolán (my mother), and (on the right) Edith. This photograph was taken some time around 1923-1924, just prior to their emigration from what had formerly been the city of Ungvár, Hungary, but was by that time Užhorod, Czechoslovakia [1].

About the journey, I have the following fragments of my mother’s recollections, as I rather dimly remember them. One thing I recall my mother telling me is that their voyage was delayed when her sister Edith initially failed to pass a pre-immigration medical exam. In the story as I remember it, Edith had presented with some skin condition that was curable, but precluded the family’s immediate immigration to the US. A second related fragment I remember is that they spent time in England while they were waiting. A third fragment of the story is that they had to make the train trip from Užhorod twice before finally getting on the boat to the US. The second and third fragments don’t necessarily contradict each other; they could have journeyed twice from Užhorod and also spent time in England. On the other hand, it seems like doing both would have made for a rather complicated contingency plan. After all, it’s not like they were on a sightseeing holiday. In any case, I attribute any inconsistencies or inaccuracies in this fragmentary story to my imperfect recall, not my mother’s.

Another story related to the journey came from my Uncle Alex, who was 7 years old at the time. In this case I have the conversation on tape from a “phone interview phase” I went through in the late 1990s. When I asked him about his earliest memory, he said that he could recall standing next his older sister, my mother, on the deck of the ship as it left Cherbourg, waving goodbye to his grandparents, who were standing on the dock to see them off; these would have to have been my grandmother’s adoptive parents, Elek Grünberger and Regina Berkovits Grünberger [2]. Alex remembered that he had continued to wave at them as they grew smaller and smaller and finally disappeared from sight.

At one time or another my mother described many more details about her childhood and the journey out of Užhorod, but I’ve forgotten almost everything she related to me from that time. Realizing this years ago, I had begun to question her more closely, trying to pay more attention, even recording our conversations; I made a resolution to go over with her again, at the earliest opportunity, the earliest photos in her albums, making sure I knew who everyone was, and what she could remember of their stories. When she died suddenly in 1998, that phase was over; there would be no more chances to revisit her past in the more organized, systematic fashion I had planned. At the same time my brother Philip and I found ourselves in possession of her cache of family documents, of whose existence we had been completely unaware. Since I had already nominated myself the family historian, and was particularly interested in the tasks of preservation and research, my brother generously agreed to let me take full possession of all the documents and photo albums [3].

The documents we inherited included some amazing items, such as records of pre-emigration medical exams for our grandmother and her children in Svatobořice, Moravia, that were issued on 20 August 1924; and the White Star Line steamship ticket my grandmother bought for the trip the very next day in Prague. More recently, I acquired access [4] to pages of the “List or Manifest of Alien Passengers for the United States Immigration Officer at Port of Arrival” for the relevant voyage of the SS Majestic, which sailed from Southampton, England, on 19 November 1924, stopped at Cherbourg to pick up passengers on the Continent, and arrived at the Port of New York six days later.

The examination certificates and steamship ticket, along with the early photos from my mother’s albums, and her laconic, sometimes cryptic, occasionally incorrect annotations, brought a wealth of new questions concomitant with the loss of the person best able to answer them. One of the first things I noticed was that among the original medical examination reports, issued at the “Government Emigration Station in Svatobořice, near Kyjov (Moravia)” on 20 August 1924, there was one for my grandmother (reproduced below) and one each for three of her children, Josef, Alexander, and Jolán, but there was none for Edith. Why is that? I asked myself at the time.

A pre-emigration medical examination and vaccination certificate, signed on 20 August 1924 at the “Government Emigration Station in Svatobořice, near Kyjov (Moravia)" (the city of Kyjova is in South Moravia, in the modern Czech Republic). This particular document was issued for my grandmother, Melanie Paktorovič; I have similar certifications issued on the same day for three of her children, Josef, "Julie," and Alex Paktorovič, all born and last residing in Užhorod, Podkarpatská Rus (a version of the name of the semi-autonomous region of eastern Czechoslovakia at the time).

Second, their steamship ticket, issued on 21 August 1924, specified their departure from Cherbourg, on 26 August, yet the Manifest of Alien Passengers shows their actual point of departure as Southampton and the embarkation date as 19 November (the sections listing their names, ages, and genders are reproduced below). For over ten years, before I gained access to the Manifest, I had only the ticket specifying the date and place of departure, and had no reason to assume anything other than that represented their actual itinerary on the way to the US. Now I had new questions. Why did they miss the 26 August voyage out of Cherbourg? What were they doing from then until 19 November? And why is the family listed on the Manifest as sailing from Southampton?

Passenger name section of the steamship ticket to the US for my grandmother and her children, made out on 21 August 1924. The document lists Melanie Paktorovits, 32 years of age, and her children, Josef (9), Jolan (8), Alexander (7 — he was actually a month short of that age), and Edith (4). The Czech headings are easily interpreted without need of a dictionary: Surname (Příjmení); given name (Jméno); age (Věk); sex (Pohlaví); male (muži); female (žena). They were scheduled to sail from Cherbourg (Cherbruken) to New York City (Newyorken) aboard the White Star Line ship Majestic II [5], departing from Quai Alexandre 3 on 26 August 1924.

Passenger name section (colums 1-7) of the List or Manifest of Alien Passengers for the United States Immigration Officer at Port of Arrival showing entries 21-25 for my grandmother and her children, made out for the Port of New York arrival of the SS Majestic on 25 November 1924. The document lists Melania Paktorovits, 32 years of age (she was actually 33 by this time), and her children, Josef (10), Jolan (8), “Alexanfra” (7), and Edith (4). The name and gender for my Uncle Alex are plainly incorrect. The listing of the older children’s “Calling or Occupation” (column 7) as “Scholar” rather than “Student” looks odd, considering they were still of elementary school age, while the corresponding entry for 4 year old Edith as “Child” seems unintentionally comic.

I reasoned that the answers might lie in the old stories about my Aunt Edith’s failure to pass her medical examination. This could explain why there was no certificate for her in the bundle I inherited. Assuming she passed a subsequent exam, perhaps the paperwork ended up in a different place. The 3 month delay would be consistent with a layover necessitated by some contingency; so, unable to board the Majestic on 26 August, they had gone back home, or to England, and were simply waiting for Edith’s condition to clear up before finally getting on the boat to the US in November. But were they waiting in England or Užhorod?

As mentioned above, the usual itinerary for the Majestic’s trans-Atlantic run called for a stop at Cherbourg to pick up passengers on the European mainland before setting out for New York. It occurred to me at first that perhaps all the passengers were listed collectively according to the Majestic’s point of origin in Southampton, regardless of their actual point of embarkation, but a quick check of the rest of the Manifest for the voyage showed that passengers who got on in Cherbourg were listed on separate pages (as were those in other cabin classes, as well as shiphands and other employees). Either version of the family's itinerary raises questions, but the fact that they are all listed explicitly among passengers who boarded the Majestic in Southampton confirms that the final leg of their journey began in England [6].

Then again, if it is true that Edith had no medical certificate on 20 August, did my grandmother realize, when she purchased the steamship ticket the next day in Prague, that they would not be allowed to board the ship bound for New York on 26 August? Was she hoping that somehow it wouldn’t be considered a serious problem if they got as far as Cherbourg, and was their failure to get past the emigration authorities a rude surprise that called for working out a reasonable plan B on the spot?

Fitting Alex’s story into the narrative raises some additional questions. Clearly, it means that my grandmother’s parents accompanied her and her children on the trip to Cherbourg. But if they had to go from Užhorod to Cherbourg twice, did the Grünbergers also go with them both times? Or, if the family went to England instead to wait for the next opportunity to emigrate after 26 August, did the Grünbergers go there with them? And if the Grünbergers only went as far as Cherbourg, was my Uncle Alex then waving goodbye to them on a deck not of the Majestic but of some other vessel, a ferry perhaps, that was simply making its way across the Channel to England and not immediately to America? On the other hand, if he was really waving a final goodbye to them from the deck of the Majestic, as he seemed to remember, doesn’t this imply that the Grünbergers were at the time standing on a dock at Southampton, not Cherbourg? Either one of the two versions would be consistent with Southampton, rather than Cherbourg, as their actual point of departure on 19 November. But where does that leave my mother's story of two trips from Užhorod? And if they all spent nearly three months in England, where were they living, and how did that work? Again, I have no idea.

By way of reconciliation, I offer a third narrative summing up what could be consistent with most of the memories as well as the essential chronology given by the documents. At the first attempt, after Edith fails to pass the medical exam, my grandmother buys the ticket to the US anyway, still hopeful that perhaps they can talk their way onto the Majestic on its scheduled 26 August departure. On the way to Cherbourg, she and her parents develop some contingency plan if it doesn’t work out, which is what happens. Rather than subject her daughter to the more stessful train ride back to Užhorod, my grandmother takes Edith with her to England on a tourist visa. Perhaps they also feel that Edith can receive better (or at least very good) medical treatment in a more modern city in England. The Grünbergers are not poor, and can pay for this, but's not practical for them all to stay in England, so they take the older children, Josef, Jolán, and Alexander, back home. Then, when Edith recovers and is able to pass a medical exam, in November, they bring their grandchildren to England, where they can rejoin their mother and Edith. This is the second trip my mother remembers. On 19 November, Elek and Regina Grünberger now board the Majestic with their daughter and grandchildren in Southampton, disembarking at Cherbourg, where my Uncle Alex can now stand forever beside his sister, my mother, waving to their grandparents from the deck of the Majestic as it sails away to America.

Notes

[1] The area, which had been Hungarian territory for around a millenium, was made part of the newly formed country of Czechoslovakia by the Treaty of Saint Germain (1919) and the Treaty of Trianon (1920), a result of Hungary's alliance with the losing side in World War I. Under the Czechoslovak government, Subcarpathian Rus, as it was called (in Czech or Slovak, Podkarpatská Rus) retained a significant degree of autonomy. In November 1938, the southern part was re-occupied by the Hungarians as a result of the Munich Agreement and the First Vienna Award; in March 1939, they occupied most of the remainder. Towards the end of World War II, Hungary, including its re-acquired territories, was occupied by the Germans. Before being overrun by the Red Army, the German SS and cooperating Hungarian units managed to wipe out most of the Jewish population of Subcarpathia. (In terms of pure numbers, Hungary as whole had the third most Shoah victims, after Poland and the Soviet Union; unlike the Jewish communities of Budapest and many other European cities, which have experienced remarkable resurgences, the Jewish presence in Subcarpathia has not only not recovered, it has actually declined since 1945.) The area has been since the end of World War II part of the westernmost province (Zakarpat'ska Oblast) of the Ukrainian SSR and, since 1991, of the independent state of Ukraine. If that sounds complicated enough, it's actually an oversimplification of the region's history, which has included several brief periods of interim governance and self-declared independence.

[2] My grandmother's biological mother, Yetta Moskovits Klein, died around 1894, when she was around 3 years old. Though her father, Zigmund Klein, was still living, she was adopted by Elek and Regina Grünberger (Elek was probably a relative of Yetta's mother, Rose Grünberger). Since my grandfather's mother, Hana Moskovovits, died in 1918, only the Grünberger's could have been present as a couple in 1924. My grandfather referred only to them in his writing, while my mother referred to them exclusively as her grandparents. With the exception of one picture of Yetta Moskovits, the only pictures in my mother's albums labeled as "grandparents" are of the Grünbergers.

[3] Except for our father's burial record. He planned to visit the gravesite, which neither of us could recall ever seeing.

[4] Through Ancestry.com.

[5] This was actually was the second ship christened "Majestic" (see, e.g., http://www.titanic-whitestarships.com/WSL_2nd%20Majestic-Bismarck.htm).

[6] This shows there is some additional value in being able to access all the pages of a document, such a ship manifest, not just the ones with the names of family members on them.

Random views of København (2)

Gammel Kongevej at the corner of Stenosgade in København V, viewed diagonally across Sankt Jørgens Sø from Svineryggen

The steeple centered in the background is of Jesu Hjerte Kirke (Jesus Heart Church), located at Stenosgade 4A. The building to the left houses the Mariendal Friskole (Mariendal Free School), at Stenosgade 4C.

A closer view of Stenosgade, viewed south from Gammel Kongevej

A slightly better view of the Church complex on Stenosgade

The building just south of the church on Stenosgade, at the corner of Vesterbrogade, seems to be an apartment house with street level shops and impressive cylindrical corner towers. I wouldn't mind owning an upper floor apartment, facing the narrow street, with a tower room to read in. Fat chance.

All photos taken 23 August 2009.

Nosing around Nørrebro (13). "This Way Up"

Sometimes nosing takes me underground, in analogy to the truffle pig, which earns its keep sniffing out highly prized genera of the family Tuberaceae, those delicious edible fungal symbiotes found buried in the soil of forests and countrysides around the world, growing in close association with the roots of a variety of tree species. Of course I'm not looking for anything in particular, and I don't generally use my nose to direct my search. More likely, I just stumble across something that happens to be in my path, and find it interesting or amusing for reasons that can sometimes be difficult to explain, like these boxes I noticed occupying a long corridor in one of the basements of the Panum Institute, where I work. There's always construction and renovation going on somewhere in the building, so it's no surprise to see a lot of boxes stacked on palettes. What caught my eye were the rather generic looking labels, like the cans of "FOOD" in Otto's parents' house in "Repo Man" (1984). The majority were marked "SLAVE"; after some searching, I found a couple of palettes with boxes marked "MASTER". The scene kind of reminded me of a song from the 1970s, by the Akron, Ohio band Tin Huey, "I Could Rule the World, If I Could Only Get the Parts" (Contents Dislodged During Shipment, 1979).

"Slave" boxes (The Panum Institute, København)

"Slave" boxes, closeup

"Master" boxes (The Panum Insitute, København)

"Master" boxes, closeup

A further source of amusement (for me, and that's what matters most) was the trilingual sticker indicating the proper orientation of the boxes for moving and storage. The Danish version, Denne Side Op, which I would have translated as "This Side Up", looked sensible, being exactly what I would have expected to see back home; but the translation given, "This Way Up", accompanied by a pair of bold red arrows, as if you might not fucking know, was just another absurdity. Sorry, people, this is how I keep myself amused in a foreign country where I am still out of the native conversation after 19 months.

Oh yeah, the actual contents of the boxes? Fluorescent light fixtures.

All photos taken 12 August 2009.

Edward M. Kennedy, 1932 - 2009

Just read that Senator Kennedy died last night. There's a 7 web-page obit in the NYT, and there will be plenty of well-earned tribute and commentary to come—with doubtless a few jars of vitriol flung from some quarters—so there's no need for me to say much. A few moments of silence and a virtual tip of the hat would be more like it. Although he lacked the blinding flash of his charismatic brothers, John and Robert, I think one could make an appropriately understated epitaph for Edward out of Kevin Costner's line in Field of Dreams: "The man's done enough."

Futurist Centennial

Umberto Boccioni, "Forme uniche della continuità nello spazio" (Unique forms of continuity in space, 1913, cast in 1931). Photo taken 25 July 2009.

One of my favorite sculptures, on permanent exhibit at MOMA, my favorite art museum, to which I feel compelled to make a pilgrimage every time I'm in NY. This year BTW is the centennial of Futurism, launched officially by the Italian writer Filippo Tommaso Marinetti with publication of his "Futurist Manifesto" on 5 February 1909 in La gazzetta dell'Emilia. A French version was subsequently published in the Paris newspaper Le Figaro on 20 February 1909 (an English translation of "The Founding and Manifesto of Futurism" by F. T. Marinetti can be found here). Of course it's mostly rubbish, but poetic rubbish, which has some merit—and within scarcely more than a decade the movement produced a body of truly compelling visual art (Futurism died "officially" with Marinetti in 1944, but in Italy it had petered out well before then). Marinetti and other Futurists also associated themselves early with Fascism, and with Musollini, but the relationship was complicated, and there were leftist and anti-Fascist adherents. There was also a strong Futurist movement in Russia, but it didn't survive much beyond the Revolution of 1917. Boccioni himself checked out in WW I, on 17 August 1916, at age 34—thrown from his horse and trampled during a cavalry training exercise (another tragic waste in an idiotic war).

If you don't know about Futurism and the Futurists, you could start by checking out the Wiki entry; (there is also an entry for "Unique forms of continuity in space"—no, I didn't know its image now graces the obverse of the Italian 20 cent euro coin). A good web resource with links to writings by and about the Futurists, and a plethora of additional info and images, can be found here. An excellent Italian resource with a multitude of links to current events, exhibitions, and scholarship on Futurism is here. Of course you can also see a number of great Futurist works in the MOMA collection any time you're in NY; or, if you're going to be in London in the next couple of weeks, check out the centenary Futurist exhibit at the Tate Modern before it ends on 20 September (Tate Modern has its own copy of this Boccioni work, cast in 1972, and a number of other works; unique pieces on loan from other collections are also featured). I could almost go myself; London isn't that far away from Copenhagen, and flights are pretty cheap.

What's in a business card? Notes for a family history

Business card printed for my grandfather, Samuel Pactovis—born Salamon "Samu" Paktorovics—some time between 1920 and 1927.

I was born and raised in Queens, New York, where my grandparents and their children settled some time after their immigration to the US. Although some of my grandfather’s siblings had settled before him in the Boston area, I never thought of my immediate family, including my grandparents, as anything other than New Yorkers from day one. This image persisted long after my grandparents, who co-owned with my mother our three-story wood-frame house on 91st Place [1] in Elmhurst, migrated to Los Angeles; my brother, and later my mother, moved to Glen Burnie, MD; and I wandered off to Boston, then Seattle, San Francisco, Athens, GA, and Durham, NH. But one day a few years ago, as I looked through the earliest of my mother’s photo albums, I was struck by the realization that the first pictures of her and her family in the US, which I had probably seen many times before, were taken in the back yard of a house somewhere in Dorchester, an incorporated neighborhood of Boston. Mom had marked them with the caption, “A New World! Dorchester, Mass. U.S.A. 1924-1925.” In the photo below, they were almost literally right off the boat, having left Uzhorod, Czechoslovakia (formerly Ungvár, Hungary), only a few months earlier (additional photos and documents concerning their emigration can be found elsewhere). Except for the youngest child, Edith, grinning in the foreground, they all appear pretty solemn and weary. The Star-of-David locket my mother is wearing gives away their Jewishness.

My grandmother, Melanie Pactovis (Melán Klein Paktorovics), with her first four children, (from the left) Jolán (my mother), Edith, Alexander, and Josef, soon after their arrival in the US.

In fact, the ship that brought my grandmother and the first four of her five children to America had clearly landed in New York City; I have the original passenger ticket showing she'd purchased a single second class cabin on the White Star Line steamship “Majestic (II)” on its regular Southampton-Cherbourg-New York run during August-September 1924 (my grandfather, shown in the photo below, had already immigrated four years earlier, in 1920) [2]. The photographs, with my mother's note, showed that they hadn’t stayed in New York, but had migrated immediately to Boston, where my grandfather was established (more or less) and waiting for them [3].

My grandfather, ca 1920, just prior to his emigration from Czechoslovakia. The photograph is signed "Paktorovits Salamon" [4]—in the Hungarian manner, with his surname first—and was evidently affixed to some official document, such as an identity card, visa, or passport.

I don’t know precisely where my grandfather entered the US, but that he would have gone to the Boston area upon arrival makes sense, since two of his brothers, Daniel and Morris, were already living in the vicinity with their families [5]. That this was the case is further evidenced by the business card reproduced above, which I found on the same page as the Dorchester photos; it credits him as the "proprietor" of a “Beauty Parlor and Bobbing Shop” on 345a Blue Hill Avenue in Roxbury, the Boston area neighborhood immediately west of Dorchester. My first reaction on seeing the card was, like, WTF, I can’t believe this! This couldn’t be the man I had known—not that there’s anything wrong with the beauty business, but I just couldn’t picture him involved in the activities listed on the card. Facial massage and manicuring? Marcel waving? Had he gone to beauty school on his arrival in the US? Well, I knew he had held a number of different jobs in his life, but I guess the man would have tried just about any profession in his youth [6].

I don't have any evidence that my grandfather's La Fontaine Beauty Parlor was successful; in any case, he soon left it behind and headed for New York, and by 1928 his children were enrolled at P.S. 102 in Elmhurst, Queens. The 1930 US Census record shows him living with his family (there were 5 children, now, including my Aunt Rosalind, born in 1927) at 93-14 Corona Avenue, in Elmhurst, Queens, NY, and lists his profession as "Conductor, Rail-road ".

Historically, at the time my grandfather lived with his family in Roxbury, it had a substantial Jewish population; according to the Wikipedia entry for Roxbury, Boston, “[a] thriving Jewish community developed around Grove Hall, along Blue Hill Avenue, Seaver Street and into Dorchester along Columbia Road. A large Irish population also developed, with many activities centered around Dudley Square, which just before and following annexation into Boston, became a central location for Roxbury commerce. Following a massive migration from the South to northern cities in the 1940s and 1950s, Roxbury became the center of the African-American community in Boston.” The latter is the way I remember it from the time I lived in Boston, from 1966 to 1979, but at that time I had no idea my mother's family had lived there before me. At least I don't remember her ever mentioning it, even though I knew a number of our relatives in the area.

The Crawford Street Synagogue (congregation Beth Hamidrash Hagadol), completed in 1915, was just down the street from where my grandfather was living when his family joined him (#97 Crawford Street, according to their entry on the "Manifest of Alien Passengers" of the Majestic II, scheduled to arrive at The Port of New York on 25 November 1924 [2]). Also nearby were the Blue Hill Avenue Synagogue (built in 1905 by congregation Adath Jeshurun) at 397 Blue Hill Avenue; Temple Mishkan Tefilah, built on the corner of Elm Hill Avenue and Seaver Street in 1925; and what is now the Charles Street African Methodist Episcopal Church on 551 Warren Street (corner of Elm Hill Avenue), which was built in 1888 and is still there, having been added to the National Historic Register in 1983 (the Charles Street A.M.E. congregation acquired the building in 1939). The building that once housed the Crawford Street congregation is no longer used as a synagogue, but the adjacent Crawford Street Memorial Park Cemetery, established in 1925, is still there [7]. Whatever building my grandfather had his shop in is gone. The latest Google Maps Street View for the location shows what appears to be an open concrete foundation, either from an old building torn down or a new structure about to be erected, on the corner where #345 probably stood.

Additional notes:

[1] It's still there at 48-30 91st Place, 3 houses in from the corner of 50th Avenue, on the left (west) side of the street.

[2] Their actual itinerary must have been more complicated, because the ticket specified their departure from Cherbourg, on 26 August, but the “List or Manifest of Alien Passengers for the United States Immigration Officer at Port of Arrival” (which I found while researching this essay earlier today), shows their actual point of departure as Southampton, the embarcation date as 19 November, and their scheduled arrival date at the Port of New York was 25 November. I believe the explanation lies in a story I recall my mother telling me, that their voyage was delayed when her sister Edith initially failed to pass a pre-immigration medical exam.

[3] The “Manifest of Alien Passengers” entry for the Paktorovits family is actually quite confusing with respect to their intended destination, and the process of deciphering it is almost worth an essay in its own right. In the "final destination" column on the left page, "N.Y., New York" is given; then, on the right hand facing page, it’s clearly typed that they are to join my grandmother's “Husband—Mr. S. Paktorovits”, but his address is given as “97 Crawford Street, Roseburry, Mann.” Underneath this, the initials “NY” had been handwritten in pen or pencil. Of course this makes no sense whatsoever; there is no US State that would have been abbreviated as “Mann” (someone may have surmised that this referred to Manhattan, hence the “NY” appended underneath); and there is no town or neighborhood of "Roseburry" anywhere in New York State (or anywhere else in the US, as far as I can tell). There are places called "Roxbury" in NY, but one is a section of Breezy Point adjacent to Fort Tilden and Jacob Riis Park, and the other is a town upstate in Delaware County. There is no evidence that my grandmoher knew anyone in those places. What does make sense is that there was and still is a Crawford Street in Roxbury, Mass., and that #97 is three blocks from the corner with Hollander Street, on which Samuel Paktorovits’s younger brother Daniel was living at #54 with his family (at least at the time of the 1930 US Census). From 97 Crawford Street, it would have been a walk of about 3/4 mile or less to my grandfather's shop on Blue Hill Avenue.

It also makes sense that my grandmother's lack of English (not to mention US geography) at the time could have led to some confusion about their actual destination. She may have given NY as the "final" destination simply because that's where the ship was going to land. It's also relevant, perhaps, that she did have at least one relative, her sister-in-law, Regina, in NYC, and she may have taken her children to stay temporarily with Regina's family before heading up to Boston. It's quite conceivable she didn't know precisely where she was going to end up.

Interestingly, the Manifest entry contains an additional error, inexplicably rendering the name of her youngest son, Alexander, as "Alexanfra", and his sex as "F". The only explanation I can think of is that the clerk who typed the record somehow got the idea that my Uncle Alex was a 7 year old girl named Alexandra, and then compounded the mistake by mis-typing "f" in place of "d" (the two letters are adjacent on my keyboard, at least). I think it's clear one has to interpret such documents with a critical eye; it helps especially to have complementary sources, such as photos and other documents, and some knowledge (either personal or researched) of local geography and history. In this case, some concrete knowledge about my grandfather’s closest relatives provided additional context.

4] The spellings of the family surname as "Paktorovics" or "Paktorovits" were equivalent and used interchangably, and would have sounded essentially the same in Hungarian (i.e., cs or ts in Hungarian = ch or tch or tsh in English). In Czech/Slovak, the equivalent rendering would have been Paktorovič, as can be found on my grandfather's post-WWI Czech passport; omitting the inverted carat (haček) over the "c" converts its sound to an English ts instead of ch. Such omissions are common occurrences in transcription, either through neglect or lack of the proper symbol on the keyboard, and can lead to some confusion about the original pronunciation of a surname.

[5] All three Paktorovics brothers who came to the US, Morris, Daniel, and Salamon (Samuel), changed their surname to Pactovis upon their arrival.

[6] I thought about titling this essay "Views of My Grandfather Waving" (with apologies to the late great Donald Barthelme). It's possible the primary skill he brought to the shop was supervision, since he'd been a Reserve Feldwebel (a rank roughly equivalent to Sergeant Major) in the Austro-Hungarian infantry during WWI. His company was dedicated to construction (baukomagnie), assigned to a medical unit (sanitätsanstalten), and possibly responsible for building field hospitals. Whatever he did, he was apparently good at it, since he received at least two awards for meritorious service, although these were not for combat. I've written about this in more detail elsewhere.

[7] The Blue Hill Avenue Synagogue was sold in 1967, then later acquired by the First Haitian Baptist Church in 1978 and restored; it is now also on the National Historic Register. The Mishkan Tefilah congregation moved out of its synagogue on Seaver Street in the 1950s, and the building was later owned by the Elma Lewis School for the Performing Arts; it was acquired in 1997 and restored as a church by the United House of Prayer.

100th Post

A major milestone. Uhhh...might as well get it over with.

Gate, somewhere in Hellerup (05 April 2009)

Waiting for the Lion King

Street Vendor, New York City, SW corner of West 53rd Street & 6th Avenue (24 July 2009)

I haven't been to NY for a while, and the image of people of all ethnicities and walks of life waiting in a long line for some halal rice and chicken at lunch hour struck me as emblematic. A Google search clued me in that this food cart is quite a bit more famous than the pair of rather impressive statues right nearby, one of which is pictured below. At least on the Internet, it was more straightforward to find information (and arguments) about the vendor. Anyone wants to clue me in about the sculptures, feel free....

Statue, New York City, SW corner of West 53rd Street & 6th Avenue (24 July 2009)

Franken, finally....

The long recount in Minnesota is over. The Democrats now control, at least in principle, the 60 vote majority necessary to end filibusters ("Franken’s victory bolsters Democratic grip in Senate", by Monica Davey and Carl Hulse, NYT, 30 June, 2009). That could change in a heartbeat (or failure of one, given the poor health of Democratic Senators Byrd and Kennedy), but for the moment I got particular enjoyment out of this quote from Texas Senator John Cornyn: “With their supermajority, the era of excuses and finger-pointing is now over.” Except by Republicans, of course.

Random views of København (1)

"Fadl" building, SE side of Blegdamsvej, near Tagensvej, Nørrebro

Peaked roofs in Frederiksberg, viewed across Sankt Jørgens Sø from pathway off Vester Søgade

The actual buildings are on either side of Danasvej, between Vodroffsvej and Danas Plads. Definitely worth a closer look.

Willows, Sankt Jørgens Sø, corner of Kampmannsgade and pathway off Vester Søgade

All photos taken 11 and 12 April 2009.

Speaking of shameless promotion...

I recommend viewing the following video of "Goodnight Romeo" by Dan King KBMG featuring Kathy Aptt and homespun footage of Gloucester MA locals—hi Sieglinde* hi Anne Marie!—and locales (that's Gloucester's own Rhumb Line Bar & Restaurant the band is performing in):

*Disclaimer: Of course it's a great tune, but in the interest of full disclosure I have to mention I have a rooting interest in Dan's success—Sieglinde is my daughter and Dan is her boyfriend. So buy the CD already!

...and shameless name-dropping...

BTW it took me a couple of seconds to figure out that KBMG stands for King, David Brown, Dave Mattacks, and Wolf Ginandes, respectively. People with decent memories for musical "heritage" might recognize Dave Mattacks as the much-traveled former drummer of English-Electric-Folk luminaries Fairport Convention. Fairport's seminal 1969 album, "Liege & Lief", blew me away when it first came out, and it hasn't worn out its welcome in my listening repertoire 40 years later. So when I heard that KBMG would be playing a gig at the Rhumb Line while I was visiting my daughter in Gloucester last year, I was all set to use my "connection" with the band to pounce on Mattacks like a 16 year-old groupie in high heat.

Okay, that's an exaggeration, and would've been pretty impossible since Mattacks, who now lives in Marblehead MA, is a pretty down-to-earth individual; he seemed simply, genuinely pleased to meet his band-mate's girlfriend's father, who just happens to remember with great fondness and respect some incredible music he helped make several decades ago. Unlike yours truly, Mattacks projects the straightforward, unpretentious persona of a guy who is secure, in constant demand for his talents, and has no need to look back at his past with retrospective envy. Trying to curry favor, I mentioned how much I had enjoyed a Fairport concert in Boston around 1972-73. Unfortunately, he averred, he wasn't with the band for that tour. Just my luck! While I mentally shot myself in the head, he continued talking like just another guy in a bar getting ready to go back to work.

Family Values

Ahoy, a flash story of mine has just been published on-line at Everyday Weirdness ("Family Values", 11 May 2009). It's a familiar trope if you know classic science fiction themes, but it may be just entertaining enough for a 3 minute read. Cheers!

Nosing around Nørrebro (12)

"Spyo"

Truck parked on east side of Blegdamsvej, just south of Tagensvej

House on northeast corner of Ewaldsgade and Åboulevard

Building front, west side of Sortedam Dossering

Delikatesy Polskie Storefront—Åboulevard 36

Delikatesy Polskie Storefront—Åboulevard 36

Yeah, they have their own pictures on their website, http://www.delikatesypolskie.dk/, but I just love this trompe l'oeil storefront window too much not to take my own shot at it.

All photos taken 11 April 2009.

Not exactly the Easter Bunny

Half-mast Danish flag on Dronning Louises Bro—View northwest towards Nørrebro (09 April 2009)

It's Easter vacation time, and the weather is beautiful, so not many Danes are working unless they have to. Among the "not many" are myself and a few insane co-workers trying to get a couple of extra experiments in before the weekend. Of course we do try to get outdoors for lunch, at least. Yesterday a colleague and I ended up getting our lunch from Non Solo Pizza (Nørrebrogade 18b), a nice Italian takeout place not far from work. While we were waiting for our pizzas to bake, we walked out along Nørrebrogade and over Dronning Louises Bro, the bridge over Peblingesø that connects on the other side with Frederiksborggade, which continues on towards Nørreport Station and København K. On the way, Katrine noticed that Danish flags were flying half-mast on the Fredriksborggade side of the bridge but—strangely—all the way up on the Nørrebrogade side. We thought at first it had something to do with Easter, and tried to come up with some rationale why they were at half-mast only on one side of the bridge.

The photo above, taken from the Frederiksborggade side, documents the situation. Just about 2 minutes after I took it, two city workers showed up and started to raise the flag all the way up. When Katrine asked one of them what this was about, he explained that it had nothing to do with with Easter; the flags were at half-mast to mark Danmarks besættelse, the day the Germans invaded Denmark in 1940. Last year I noted Danmarks befrielse, the day the German occupation ended in 1945; well, you can't have a befrielse (liberation) without a besættelse (occupation). Sure enough, my Danish desk calendar shows 09 May as a day to fly the flag at half-mast until 12:00. We now guessed that the guys must have just finished raising the flags on the Nørrebrogade side before we got there; maybe they had a smoke before raising the other pair on the Frederiksborggade side.

But why are the flags flown at half-mast only until noon, Katrine asked the worker. "We wouldn't want to spend a whole day on this," was his reply.

A squad of Danish troops on the morning of the German invasion, 09 April 1940, photographed near Bredevad in Southern Jutland. Two of these men were killed later that day.*

*This image file is a work in the public domain, obtained from Wikimedia Commons (File:Danish soldiers on 9 April 1940.jpg). Original source: C. Næsh Hendriksen: Den danske Kamp i Billeder og Ord, Odense: Bogforlaget Dana, 1945, p. 18.

Kitchen Summit, 1979

(excerpted from an ongoing longer work....)

Liam is at it again, and Eric is wondering if it isn’t time to say something. Sitting at the kitchen table, staring into a small mirror propped up against a coffee cup, Liam is removing every whisker on his face, one by one, with a pair of tweezers. A miniature gooseneck lamp provides high intensity illumination. He's going about this daunting project systematically, having mentally divided the total surface area of his face into approximately one inch square sectors, each of which he defoliates completely before going on to the next. Liam has spent most of the last the three days at it, with interruptions only for brief meals, bathroom breaks, televised NBA games, and sleep. He finished the right side of his face last night, and has now started on the left. He shows admirable dexterity, considering the evidence of recent extreme violence to his right hand—scabbed over scrapes and dark bruising of the knuckles—whose origin Eric is curious about.

"Have you thought about electrolysis?" Eric asks. He's picked up the half used loaf of Pepperidge Farm 7-Grain on the table, and started to extract a slice from the wrapper, when he notices he's disturbing a rather large roach that seems to have made itself a home inside. The roach is very agitated about the interruption of its late afternoon siesta, and is squirming uncomfortably in the suddenly tight and unstable space between the plastic and bread. Eric reseals the package, throws it into the microwave, sets the timer for 1 minute, and turns the power on with the setting at "High."

"Yeah," says Liam, "I looked into it, but it's expensive."

"It might be affordable if you had a job," says Eric. The bell goes off on the microwave. He takes the loaf out and tosses it, without further inspection, into the garbage can under the sink. "I'm just trying to be helpful, of course...I mean...the point is that your beard will eventually grow back, right? Not much different from shaving, right?" The line of Liam's gaze doesn't wander a single degree from the mirror in front of him.

"Well, this is better than shaving, because it takes a while for the hair to re-emerge from the follicle." Eric starts to say something like, yeah, but shaving only takes five minutes, and by the time you're completely done with this, it will be just about the time you have to start over, but thinks the better of it. He is actually more interested in an answer to his other question, anyway.

"By the way, Liam, what happened to your hand?"

"I punched a door."

"Not our door...."

"No, the back door...to the building."

"Jesus Christ, Liam, why?"

"I was angry."

"What were you angry about?"

"I don't know." This answer makes a few hairs stand up on the back of Eric's neck. Liam is not a small guy; he's six feet tall, athletic and muscular, ruggedly handsome. He was a running back on his high school football team, but never displayed any violent tendencies off the field. He was gregarious, down-to-earth, and popular. Eric starts wondering if it's time he and his roommate, George, put their foot down and ask Liam to find another place to crash. The thought makes him feel guilty because, although he co-signed the lease on their Jamaica Plain apartment, he hasn't paid his share of the rent in months. His plan of driving a cab for the summer has been a bust, barely providing enough income to cover his meals. On top of that, he was robbed last night, by his last fare before putting up, and lost his entire evening's take. He can still feel the point of the knife on the left side of his throat, still hear the words "It's not worth your life" the thief had spoken plainly, truthfully, into his right ear. The fact is, George is the only one living there with a real job, having just started his first year as an Assistant Professor at Northeastern, and he has been singlehandedly supporting Eric for the most part, along with Liam and their other unemployed houseguest, Sam.

Right on cue, Sam comes in to make his dinner. The kitchen is small, so Eric sits down at the table opposite Liam to get out of his way. Sam is short, slight of build and, Eric notices, beginning to stoop over like an old man; Eric thinks of Franz Kafka, photos of concentration camp survivors. The thought makes him feel even more guilty, because he knows very well that Sam's parents had both been in Auschwitz. Sam boils plain white rice, microwaves some frozen peas, throws them together on a plate without butter, oil, or seasoning. He draws a six ounce glass of lukewarm water and sits down.

"That's a pathetic meal," says Eric.

"I eat what I can digest," says Sam. "I eat what doesn't make me sick."

"Sorry. Sorry, Sam."

"Where's the bread?" Sam asks.

"It's under the sink."

"Why would it be...never mind, don't bother!" He whispers an Orthodox b'rucha, a brief Hebrew grace, over his meal.

"Is that kosher?" Liam asks. "The green and white mixed on the same plate...?"

"Here's a kosher answer for you, Liam," says Sam, holding up his middle finger. "Fuck you!" He opens up the employment section of the Globe, takes his fork in hand, and starts to eat. Eric wants to ask for the newspaper after Sam is done, to look at the Help Wanted ads himself, but he's distracted by hunger. He goes to the refrigerator to see what's left. The refrigerator that comes with the apartment is old, the kind with a knuckle closure and a freezer that's just a small metal box suspended inside the main compartment, with its own little plastic door on a spring, and a tray underneath to keep water from dripping on the food below when it's defrosted. Which it hasn't been for quite some time. There is so much ice accumulated that there's room enough only for two of George's frozen pot pies and the remainder of Sam's peas. Weeks ago the plastic door broke off its hinges because the ice prevented it from closing properly. It's now just propped up on the front edge of the drip tray. As soon as Eric opens the refrigerator, the freezer door drops off its perch; Eric catches it and puts it back.

"Isn't it time to defrost?" he asks. "This glacier has been here since the Little Ice Age."

"That would put it around 1850 or so," says Liam. Well, he's crazy, Eric thinks, but he knows a hawk from a handsaw, doesn't he? The freezer door falls into his hands again, and he tries to put it back, but it won't stay in position, it keeps falling off, falling off. Goddamn thing! He grabs it and swings it down on the top edge of the open refrigerator door.

"Fuck!" he shouts, "Fuck! Fuck!" He hammers down the plastic door in time to his expletives. On the third curse it breaks in half; the half not in his hand flies through the air, executes a perfect somersault, and lands squarely in Sam's dinner. The glass of water is shattered, the shards forming a triple medley with his rice and peas. Sam sits there for a moment, fork suspended halfway to his open mouth. His gaze moves up slowly to include Eric.

"Sorry, Sam."

"You crazy fuck!" Eric notices a trace of blood on Sam's right cheek, where a minute fragment of glass must have grazed him.

"Sorry, sorry! I'll clean it up...."

Sam leaves the kitchen without another word. Liam looks up at Eric, grinning, his eyes bright and mad.

"Go-rilla dunk!" he exclaims.

"What?" says Eric. He stands there with half the freezer door still in his hand.

"You saw it last night, didn't you? Against Kansas City? Go-rilla dunk! Chocolate Thunder, backboard-shattering, in-your-face throwdown!" Eric realizes that Liam's talking about Darryl Dawkins, the Sixers' drafted-right-out-of-high-school Center who calls himself Chocolate Thunder, claims to be from the planet Lovetron, and gives his dunks colorful names. Last night, against the Kings, Dawkins dunked so hard he brought the backboard down, shattering the glass. The game was delayed for hours while they cleaned up the court, found and installed another backboard. "You did him a favor," Liam says. "That really was a pathetic dinner."

Eric hears a key rattling in the front door of the apartment.

"Poppa's home!" says Liam, eyes now bright and cheerful. The door opens and closes, and then George is standing in the entrance to the kitchen, tie loosened, briefcase in hand.

"What the fuck!" he says. "What the fuck just happened in here?"

—Steven Levery

International Landmine Awareness Day

The weather is impossibly brilliant today in København, and I intend to enjoy it. However, today is also the UN's designated "International Day for Mine Awareness and Assistance in Mine Action 2009", as I was reminded by creatively conceived graffiti drawn on the sidewalks around Sankt Hans Torv:

International LandMineDag—Sidewalk graffito at corner of Elmegade and Guldbergsgade (04 April 2009)

Is there something you can do? As the UN designation suggests, you could simply begin with awareness, perhaps by checking out the Mine Action website. There is information there about the seriousness of the problem, and ample suggestions how one can provide actual help, including links to organizations like The International Campaign to Ban Landmines (further info and suggestions). The campaigns have had a positive effect, which should not provide an excuse for complacency. Note that, according to the Wikipedia entry on the Ottawa Mine Ban Treaty, which "bans completely all anti-personnel landmines (AP-mines),...[a]s of February 2009, 156 countries have ratified the treaty and two states have signed but not ratified it. Thirty-seven states, including the People's Republic of China, India, Russia and the United States, are not party to the Convention [italics mine]." Note also, if it means anything to you, that "the Ottawa Treaty was championed by Diana, Princess of Wales...[h]er work with landmines focused mostly on the injuries caused by them, particularly to children...her death in August 1997 sparked the Government of the United Kingdom and other nations to sign and ratify the Ottawa Treaty...." Way to go Brits!

Of course various forms of landmines, such as IEDs, are favored weapons of terrorists and insurgents the world over, so it isn't reasonable to lay the blame for their continued use solely on the major non-signatories of the Ottawa Treaty. However, these are not the weapons stockpiled and left around the countryside of various nations by the hundreds of thousands. It's worth wondering what vital interest prevents the governments of China, India, Russia, and the US, which have more than ample arsenals of other weapons, from signing on. Again, according to Wiki, "[t]he United States refuses to sign the treaty because it does not offer a 'Korean exception', as landmines are said to be a crucial component of the U.S. military strategy in South Korea. According to the US government, the one million mines [italics mine] along the DMZ between North and South help maintain the delicate peace by deterring a North Korean attack. India has not signed the treaty because it deems landmines necessary to prevent infiltration of Pakistani trained Islamic extremists into Jammu and Kashmir state." Maybe this makes sense, and maybe it doesn't. Just think about it. And have a nice day!

Touristy Pictures of København K (1)

Crocuses blooming in Kongens Have—View northwest towards Rosenborg Slot (29 March 2009)

It was reasonably sunny yesterday, so it was a good day to play the domestic tourist at one of København's most popular (and often photographed) destinations, Kongens Have (The King's Garden) and Rosenborg Slot (Rosenborg Castle), located in the central København. In the picturesque garden, also known as Rosenborg Have (Rosenborg Castle Garden), an expansive swath of violet and white Dutch crocuses (Crocus vernus vernus and Crocus vernus albiflorus, respectively) was in bloom. The castle, off in the distance here, is no longer a royal residence, but a historic artifact housing a museum of Danish (royal) culture. On a weekend day like this, even one with intermittent clouds, rest assured most Danes would rather be outside in the Have taking in fresh air and sunlight, not coooped up in the Slot looking at paintings and crown jewels. A good day to explore the Slot—from the outside.

Rosenbog Slot, a couple more views (29 March 2009)

Nosing around Nørrebro (11)

"Guldskat" by Ejgil Westergaard (1990)—View northeast on Sjællandsgade (22 March 2009)

Same sculpture—View southwest on Sjællandsgade (22 March 2009)

The subject and title of "Guldskat" (Golden Treasure, 1990), by Ejgil Westergaard, come from a fairy tale of Hans Christian Andersen. The granite sculpture can be found in front of the Københavns Kommune Sundhedsforvaltningens kontoret (Health Care Administration offices) at Sjællandsgade 40 (Krakskort: 138 C 7).

By the way, an extensive compilation of Andersen's works, including Guldskat, translated into English by Jean Hersholt, can be found at The Complete Andersen; this is just a part of the scholarly and attractive Hans Christian Andersen Center web site maintained by the Faculty of Humanities at the University of Southern Denmark. In addition to the works, an extensive, searchable library of research papers, many in English or English translation, can be accessed on-line, as well as related images and other material.

Also, a nice web site with a list of Copenhagen "monumenter" is located at http://www.vejpark2.kk.dk/apps/monumenter/. Non-Danish readers can get the site in English.

Nosing around Nørrebro (10)

Mural on Møllegade—View northeast along east side of Møllegade (22 March 2009)

This is one of an ensemble of three abstract blue and white murals facing each other on buildings adjacent to the Jewish cemetery on Møllegade, which occupies most of the east side block between Nørrebrogade and Guldbergsgade. This is the only one with a clear southern aspect, hence the one best positioned to be enhanced by direct sunlight this time of year.

Nosing around Nørrebro (9)

Cyclist mural overlooking Fakta store on corner of Ravnsborggade and Nørrebrogade—View east along north side of Nørrebrogade (22 March 2009)

Typical København weather: after 4 sunny workdays in a row, a chill overcast had set in by Saturday morning, and I had to wait through most of the weekend for some sunlight to fall on this whimsical exterior wall painting I'd been planning to photograph for weeks. Although one has to adapt to a certain degree to the prevailing atmosphere here, I really felt this piece would look better (in my unskilled hands) with some direct light on it. Finally, around 2 PM on Sunday afternoon, most of the clouds went away for an hour or so, the sun angled sufficiently to the west, and I got busy with my camera.

Cyclist mural, a bit closer (22 March 2009)