The World of Jeffery Eisenmesser
"Stories My Grandparents Told Me"
Student Writings
I. Lindsey Gurin - A D-Day Story, (France, Germany)
II. Aswathy Somarajan - The Lesson, (India)
III. Victoria Snitko - SMGTM (Ukraine)
IV. Julia Xiao, SMGTM, (China)
V. Michael Salkin, SMGTM, (Russia, Sheepshead Bay)
VI. Jon Schaeffer, SMGTM, (Lewiston, PA)
VII. Joby Josekekutty, - My Grandfather & the Snake (India)
VIII. Robert Tsigler, - SMGTM (Hungary/Poland/Germany)
IX. Adrianna Mateo - Tricked! (Philippines)
X. Norine Chan - Portfolio Project #2
XI. Cal Mullan - SMGTM (Ireland)
XII. Monica Burnett- Living at the Army Base(Brooklyn/Oklahoma)
XIII. Samira Siddique - An Anecdote from My Grandfather’s Life (Bangladesh)
XIV. Adam Dore- Young - A Tale of Civil Rights (Chicago)
XV. Gina Cocchiola - St. Rocco Statue (Frigento, Italy)
XVI. Liz Lang - The Summer of the Circus - (Ozone Park, Queens)
XVII. Kyle Brandt-Lubart, SMGTM (American Army in Germany)
XVIII. Jessica irizarri, Why Do They Hate Us?, (Paris < France)
XIX. Dmitry Petrov - The Leningrad Blockade, (Besieged Leningrad, Ukraine)
XX. Chiara Mingione = The Diaper Rash That Made A Difference (New Haven, CT)
XXI. Rita Kirzhner - A Tale of My Great Grandmother (Russia)
_________________________________________________________________________________________
I was fortunate and privileged to teach at Mark Twain Intermediate School for the Gifted & Talented (& Me)/I.S. 239 from ‘92 - ‘07. I taught English, Holocaust & Human Rights Education. What made Twain a great school? The students.
Though I usually didn't get involved with class-wide writing contests, I made an exception: Stories My Grandparents Told Me. It was run by the Police Athletic League (PAL) and directed by Kitty Kirby, the longest-serving NYPD employee (blessed-be-her-memory). Initially, only 10 submissions were allowed from participating New York City schools (grades 6 - 12). As the years went on, I was able to persuade Ms. Kirby to accept more than 10 stories from Twain. I think she may have done this because eventually almost all the 6th Grade winners were from Twain. (Actually, almost all of the latter were from my 6th Grade cluster students. Truth-to-tell, I did not share the details of the contest with my English colleagues. My bad!)
The award ceremonies were memorable. They were held at McGraw Hill’s headquarters in Manhattan. The joy and pride of students & family made me qvell every time. Plaques were distributed, hugs and laughter abundant. Then many families walked to the nearby Rockefeller Xmas tree and posed for pictures and more celebration. Still, I always -always - felt terrible about the necessity of informing the majority of my 150+ students that they didn’t “win.” There were so many wonderful family stories from all over the world. Oy. When teachers say they learn more from their students than their students learn from them, it is oft cliche. This was/is not the case with me. Recently, I discovered the Ziploc bags where I had stored the stories upon my retirement. I began to reread them and was/am verklempt. Thank you to all my students and your families. You reveal the Lie that the enemies of Modernity have been spouting for so many years, especially during the toxic era of Der Trump. Your compassion, decency, humor, love of family, intelligence, talent and menschlichkeit (humanity) are evident and overwhelming. I hope you enjoy. More, hopefully, to come.
I also hope you will contact me. I miss you, Twain & teaching.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
A D-Day Story - by Lindsey Gurin
My grandfather, Murray Rosenthal, was a member of the Army Air Corps during WWII. He was trained as a “radio man.” His job was to transmit, receive and translate messages via Morse Code. The radio man always sat in the cockpit with the pilot and co-pilot so that they could send and receive important messages and information very quickly. After completing his training, he was assigned to a crew that flew the “C-47” transport.” These planes were used to supply various materials (food, arms, ammunition, clothing, etc.) to the American troops located in the battlefields of Europe.
Soldiers were assigned to a plane and went on the same one each time, unless it had been seriously damaged or destroyed. The crew of my grandfather’s plane had decided to name it “Squirrely. In fact, my mother has Grandpa’s original bomber jacket with the Squirrely insignia on the back.) On June 6, 1944, which has now come to be known as “D-Day,” the Squirrely was assigned to do a “milk run,” to drop food supplies over Normandy, France.
The “milk run” was launched and the Squirrely took off into the air. Suddenly, as the plane was flying over Normandy, an artillery attack was launched, by the Germans, from the ground. My grandfather’s plane was hit badly and he looked, from the cockpit, into the back of the plane. What he saw then was horrible: the rear of the plane, including the whole crew, was engulfed in flames. My grandfather knew that his only chance of surviving would be to evacuate the plane. Grabbing his parachute and quickly throwing it on, he told the two pilots that they had to jump. What happened next was both terrifying and sad at the same time: neither pilot responded to my grandfather’s shouting. The two young men were literally FROZEN to and at their respective wheels. They were frozen with fear, and no amount of yelling and shouting and pushing and pulling from Grandpa could make them “snap out of it.” My grandfather tried desperately to get the pilots out of their seats, but it was totally impossible and he knew, as well, that time was running out. Finally, he gave up, grabbed the cord of
his parachute, and jumped out of the plane.
Grandpa had no sooner bailed out when he was shot in the leg by the
Germans. Luckily (!) for him, the bullet passed into and out of his thigh without damaging any muscle or tissue in his leg. In addition, the flames from the plane “licked” his leg, which actually cauterized the wound. Now, thinking quickly, he tore his dog tags from his neck, so that the “H”, which stands for Hebrew (Jew), would not condemn him to immediate death if he were discovered by a German after landing.
It was a good thing that my grandfather had taken off those dog tags, because as soon as he landed, a German soldier came up from behind, stuck a rifle in his back,and told him to “get up and start moving. Schnell!”
Since my grandparents only spoke Yiddish in the house while he was growing up, he was able to understand the German and even speak it with finesse. This helped him, he thought, to keep his captor calm. Although he couldn’t see him, my grandfather sensed, from the youthful sound of his voice and his small shadow, that he was being taken prisoner by a mere youth of about fifteen!
Grandpa was walked to a German prison camp (a “Stalag”), all the while watching the young man’s shadow. He hoped by doing so he could anticipate any sudden moves from the soldier. Fortunately, none of that happened. He was placed in a cell with other American soldiers after being questioned. He was asked, much to his surprise, what his father’s trade was. When Grandpa replied, “Baker,” theory presented him with sawdust and water and said,”Here, go bake some bread.” They thought this was very funny.
Life was hard in Stalag 8172, buth the Russians came through within a few weeks and liberated the prison camps in the area. Once he was free, Grandpa said that utter terror of being shot down and seeing all his comrades die was something he’d never forget. And he never did. He used to have dreams all the time about falling. He also said he'd never forget “how everything goes out the window when you’re in a prison camp; you don’t think about girls, or playing ball, or even your family. You just think about food, because you’re barely fed and you’re starving all the time. Just food.”
My grandfather went on to lead a very productive life. He never forgot these stories, however, which he told to my mother all the time.
Willliam Styron in his great novel, Sophie’s Choice, writes about the Holocaust & simultaneity. The protagonist thinks about American Jews leading their American lives while their People were being murdered in the killing fields of Europe. What would have happened if Germany had been victorious?. Lindsey Guriin’s story leaves no doubt, a remarkable and chilling story. Thanks to Lindsey and her G.I. grandfather.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
The Lesson - by Aswathy Somarajan, 1998
My great-grandmother told me many stories, but this is unlike any other. It all happened when she was a child and lived in India. Her school was at the border of a jungle. A jungle where people cut down trees, and where animals lived. So many boys and girls went to her school.
In her classroom, a boy named Ramu, was a big troublemaker. He was very naughty, all the students liked him. One day, as the teacher was asking a question, Ramu talked to other students around him. The teacher got angry with him. There was an extra room in this school, where they kept broken furniture and things like that. So to punish Ramu, the teacher put him in that room.
Then the teacher asked the students not to open the door. He wanted to teach Ramu a lesson. He locked the room and continued with the lesson. After a while, they heard Ramu running and screaming. The teacher paid no attention to him. But Ramu started crying and screaming in pain. The teacher continued to ignore him. But these painful cries made the students in this class nervous. They asked the teacher to be merciful and let him out. The teacher just said it was just a trick, and continued with the lesson.
A few minutes later, it got quiet. The teacher thought Ramu had learned his lesson, so he opened the door. But inside was a frightening sight. Ramu was inside the mouth of a python.Only his feet were sticking out. All the students screamed when they saw this sight. Ramu’s parents came and fainted when they saw this. Doctors pulled him out, but it was too late for Ramu. The rest of his body was in the python’s stomach.
The teacher was suspended from the school, but after many court cases, he was set free. Hee worked in another school, but was upset and very sorry for what happened. This story is true. My great-grandmother was there to see it.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
Stories My Grandparents Told Me - Victoria Snitko, 6M4
My great-grandfather, Alex Klimenko, lived in Kiev, Ukraine.
It was the time of World War II in 1943. My great-grandfather was the captain of the soccer team called “Dinamo Kiev.”
The territory was controlled by the German Army. The Germans arrested the team and demanded to play soccer with them. They said, “If you win the match, we will shoot you all, but if you lose, we will let you go.”
After a very tough game, the Dinamo team won, because they wanted to stand up for their country and what they believed in. So the Germans did what they had promised.
Ever since, the match has been called the “Match of Death.”
Now in my hometown, Kiev, stands a statue of my great-grandfather, Alex Klimenko, in the Dinamo Stadium along with statues of three other players.
Every year, my family brings flowers on May 9th to the statue to remember him always.
This is the story of my great-grandfather, and I hope someday I will be able to tell this story to my children.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
The Story My Grandparents Told Me - Julia Xiao (China)
This is a story about my great-grandmother. Her name was Ying Ying Wang. She was born in China a long, long time ago. When she was young, there weren’t any public schools for all children. Schools at that time were very far away from home and the classrooms were small and usually inside a temple. Only the rich families could send their children to private schools and only a few girls had a chance to study. My great-grandmother wasn’t one of them. She was only told to carry books and the lunch for a young lady attending the school. When the lady went inside, my great-grandmother would sit by the window and listen to what the master taught.
In the old days, the master was usually very strict. Every day a student had to memorize 20 pages of notes and if he or she didn’t, the master would hit the student on the palm and make the student stand in the corner. But my great-grandmother was very interested in studying and everyday she sat by the window and listened to the lesson. When the lady couldn’t do the homework, my great-grandmother helped her and even did her homework. The master was very proud of what she did but didn’t know anything about it. Often he would read them aloud to the whole class. One day, he gave a surprise test. The young lady couldn’t write well. And when she got a low score, the master wanted to know what happened to her. She had no other way but to tell the truth. From then on, my great-grandmother was allowed to study with other students and to sit in the classroom and listen to the lesson the master taught every day.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
Stories My Grandparents Told Me - Michael Salkin, 6M1
When many people think of the name “Rose Salkin,” they probably think of the bridal store. My grandparents had that store for a long time and they are proud of the success it has become. Things were not always as comfortable as they are today.
My Grandpa was born in America in 1920 and was born two years later in a small town in Russia. She left Russia when she was nine years old and went with her mom, dad and younger sister on a boat to America. The reason they left was because there was a lot of chaos and poverty in the old country.
Both my Grandma and Grandpa lived on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, but they never met during that time. The neighborhoods in which they lived were friendly, but they were also very crowded. There were not many recreational areas, so the young people had to be creative. Instead of ballfields, the streets were used for stickball. The boys also played stoopball on the steps of their buildings and played cards when they could find a table. The girls liked to jump rope using an old clothesline. Most of the boys and girls spent their summers at home, traveling to the beach by subway to cool off.
My Grandpa went to Stuyvesant High School and he was the class comedian. He was about to go to college, but his mother died and he had to go to work to support the family. My Grandma Rose also went to school and wanted to become a bookkeeper.
During those years, the young people held big parties at Coney Island. It was during one of these that Grandpa and Grandma finally met. They both took the subway to get to Coney Island because it was far from Manhattan. They both went on the Wonderwheel at the same time and that is how they met each other. After that, they became good friends and eventually fell in love.
Once, my Grandma was working at a chicken market where it was her job to break the chickens’ necks or else she would be fired. She tried to break them but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Along came Grandpa to pick her up and saw a chicken running around with a crooked neck. He caught the bird and finished the job that Grandma was not able to do. Sol, my Grandpa, saved the day, but not the poor chicken.
My grandparents have been married to each other for more than fifty years and still love each other as much as they did in the late 1940's.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
Stories My Grandparents Told Me - Jon Schaeffer, 6M4
My grandmother told me a story which occurred in the late summer of 1931. My grandmother’s family lived on a farm not far from Lewiston, Pennsylvania, the home of Penn State. This was during the time of the Great Depression. Her brother, my great-uncle Mike, went to do his chores around the farm. It had just stopped raining, and he heard a noise in the barn. When he went to see what it was, he found a man sleeping in a pile of hay in the barn. He ran back to the house to tell his father, my great-grandfather, Ralph Sigler, about the man sleeping in the barn.
My great-grandfather returned to the barn with my great-uncle Mike. My great-grandpa asked the man why he was in the barn. The man explained that he lived about thirty miles away and was looking for work. He said he had a wife and two children, and was out of work because of the Depression. He had ducked into the barn to get shelter from the rain and had fallen asleep. He asked my great-grandfather if there was any work he could do around the farm.
My great-grandfather took the man back to the house, and my great-grandmother Ella gave him some food. Great-grandpa explained to the man that he could not pay him with money, but that he could pay him with food. Since my great-grandmother was blind, he couldn’t do the repairs on the barn that needed to be done. The man stayed on the farm for a day and a half and did the repairs. My great-grandparents gave the man a chicken , some fruits and vegetables, and some food that my great-grandmother had canned. My grandmother also gave the man a dress she had outgrown for his daughter.
The man left the farm of my great-grandparents. Before he left, my great-father helped him get some work on neighboring farms. Those farmers had to pay the man with food also, but at least his family was able to eat.
My grandmother told me that the Depression years were very difficult for everyone. Her parents bought the farms after they had to sell a bakery they owned in Lewiston. During the Depression, no one had money to buy extra things like cakes and cookies. My great-grandfather bought the farm because he thought they would have both a house and a place to raise food so they wouldn’t go hungry. Grandma also said that during the Depression everyone helped each other and people weren't afraid of the homeless as many people are today.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
My Grandfather & the Snake - Joby Josekekutty, 6M3
My grandfather was born in the year 1910. His name is Joseph Karakulam. My grandmother’s name is Miriamma Karikulam. My great-grandfather's name is Varghese Karikulam. My great-grandmother’s name is Aleyamma Karikulam.
My grandfather lived in a village in India called Kaduthuruthy. He was a farmer. At that time he was at the age of 30. One night before supper, my grandfather was feeding the animals grass. Suddenly my grandfather heard a hissing and slithering noise. Out of nowhere a snake came and bit my grandfather on his hand. My grandfather took a cloth, put it over the snake, bit the snake and threw it really far.
When my grandfather bit the snake, he gave the poison back to the snake. That is what my grandfather believed and all of India believed. My grandfather told his father (my great-grandfather) and mother what had happened. They decided to make sure he was really alright.
My great grandfather and great grandmother took him to a specialist. This specialist was one of a group of people that only treat people if they were bitten by a snake. When they had reached their destination, the specialist gave him medication. They told him he had to stay there until morning. He could not eat or sleep until morning because if he did the little poison would have spread throughout his body. He had a hard time going without food or sleep. I definitely could not do that, especially on a school night. He almost fell asleep but was awakened by the thought of what might happen to him. The next day he was safe to go home.
He was so hungry and sleepy. But he was happy to be alive and well. When he got home, my grandfather ate a huge breakfast and took a very long nap.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
Stories My Grandparents Told Me - Robert Tsigler, 6M4
It was April 1944, the middle of World War Two. My Grandma was 21 years old, and she lived in a small town in Hungary. At that time, Hungary was already taken over by the German Army. The soldiers invaded the town, seized all the Jewish families from their homes and kept all of them as prisoners in a big brick factory. People had only water and practically no food. They lived in these conditions for six weeks. After the grueling six weeks were over, all the prisoners were rounded up and put on a train to Poland. The trip was unbearable. There wasn’t room to move, people were standing and pressed together like sardines. Many people did not survive the five day agonizing trip.
The prisoners arrived in a concentration camp in Poland called Auschwitz . As soon as they stepped off the train, they were met by armed SS soldiers. These guards literally chose whether you lived or died. They pointed to the right and to the left. All the old, sick people, and pregnant women were sent to the left, which meant the gas chambers. All the healthy people were sent to the right, which meant labor. Unfortunately, my grandmother had to watch her whole family get sent to the gas chamber. One by one, her mother, father and all her brothers and sisters were killed. But luckily my grandma was sent to work. All the people who were sent to work must have gone through what the Germans called “disinfection”; their hair had to be shaved off, they had to wear a prisoner uniform, and receive a tattoo-number on their forearm. All the prisoners slept in barracks in inhuman conditions. They had to wake up at 3:00 A.M. and line up outside in front of the barracks, like troops to be counted.
One day, a young woman was missing. Because of that the whole labor crew was lined up outside for ten hours in freezing temperatures while the search was going on. Finally, they found the woman. When she was questioned, she slapped the German officer. As a punishment she was burned alive in a huge oven.
My grandmother thought that nothing could ever be as terrifying as Auschwitz. But she was wrong. After a horrifying eight months, my grandma was transferred to another concentration camp called Bergen-Belsen in Germany. Now this was really hell. This camp had absolutely no food or water. It was a lucky day when a prisoner could find such food as potato peels or dead animal. Most people died of starvation and poisoning. The fact is that out of 1600 people in my grandma’s barrack only 40 survived when the British soldiers freed them on May 9, 1945.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
Tricked! - Andrianna Mateo, 6M3 (2001)
Celebrating our heritage is a natural thing in our family. I particularly enjoy my grandmother’s stories, especially the ones about World War II. Some of them are funny, some of them are sad, but thankfully, all of them have happy endings. This is my favorite one.
My grandmother was living in the Philippines with her mother, her older sister, and her older brother. They lived on a farm in Barac Bac, Tagudin, in the province of Ilocos, the northern part of the Philippines. When the Japanese soldiers came to their town, they forced her family to give up most of their livestock and food. At the same time, my great-grandparents secretly supplied some food to the Filipino and American Army.
One day, in February, 1944, my great-grandma dressed up her daughter, my grandmother (who was in third grade at the time). She gave her a bath, dressed her up in a cute dress, and tied her hair in pigtails with ribbons. Afterwards, my great grandfather asked her to sing and dance to the tune of, “You Are My Sunshine”. My grandmother happily obeyed, but she didn’t see the several baskets of food in the corner.
When my grandma was finished, she asked why she was doing this. Her parents answered quietly, “You are going to deliver two baskets of food to the Filipino prisoners inside the Japanese garrison. Sing and dance the Japanese folk songs to the soldiers. When you see that the soldiers are singing with you and enjoying your dance, ask permission to bring the baskets inside to the prisoners. After that, go back outside and keep on singing Japanese songs and dancing to the soldiers until they are worn out..” (Even though my grandmother’s family was Filipino, her family mostly spoke English. That’s why her father asked my grandma to sing an American song. My grandmother was the only person who knew the Japanese language, so that’s why she sang Japanese songs to please the soldiers.)
So off my grandmother went, singing and skipping along with the baskets. She soon reached their camps and did exactly what she was told. The soldiers sang along and applauded her after every performance. After she dropped off the baskets where the prisoners were kept, she started to sing and dance once more. Wasn’t she surprised when she saw her parents and the farmers sneaking with food baskets to the prisoners. The farmers motioned her to keep quiet, so she kept on singing and dancing while they fed and released the prisoners.
The soldiers were engrossed with this child, singing and dancing her heart out. When she saw them tiring, she said goodbye to them. She was very tired herself. They begged for more entertainment, but my grandma went home. Just when she opened the door to her house, she heard the yells and cries of the Japanese soldiers. “The prisoners escaped! Call for backup!” My grandmother, tired as she was, laughed and laughed till she fell asleep.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
Portfolio Project #2 - Norine Chan, 6L4, 2006
No, this isn’t a story about my ancestors going through a war, the Great Depression, or the Holocaust. No, it’s not even a story my grandparents told me. In fact, this is a story, told to me by my dad, about the many hardships my father and grandparents had to go through, just to live a happy life in America. If you think moving to another state is hard, try moving to another country.
My grandparents, Kai Tai Chan, and my father, Clarence Chan, lived in Hong Kong, China before they emigrated. Like most other immigrants at that time, they expected to live a better life in America, so they decided to emigrate there. In 1979, when my father was just a teenager, he and my grandparents took a plane to America. Not one of them could speak a word of English. Everything was supposed to be planned out when they arrived, but it wasn’t.
See, the thing is my great-aunt, my grandpa’s sister, informed my father and grandparents that she would have a home prepared for them when they arrived. But, were they surprised, because there was NOTHING ready for them! Instead, they were forced to live in the basement of my great-aunt’s restaurant. And to make things worse, they became slaves to her and her family. My dad and his parents had to work in the restaurant without pay. They had no shower, a nasty bathroom, and shared sleeping quarters with rats! Soon, they decided they couldn’t take it anymore!
Luckily, my grandpa’s friend was visiting N.Y. He couldn’t believe that my father and grandparents could live in such terrible conditions. In an act of extreme kindness, their friend helped them find a better home. The new home had to be near a train that could take them to and from Chinatown. The new home was an apartment on Church Avenue, near Prospect Park. My father said the most important thing they needed to do, after buying a house, was to learn how to take the subway. Slowly, after many, many years here, the horrible memories of the restaurant were drifting away. Things were finally looking up for the family.
Today, even though my grandfather is in heaven, I know that he, my dad and my grandma were glad they took a stand for what was right. I think this story teaches you to stand up for what you believe in, not what someone thinks you should do. You need to be strong and think for yourself. For my grandparents and dad, that one act of strong will and determination probably changed their lives for the better.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
Stories My Grandparents Told Me - Calum Mulan, 2007
During the 1930’s, my great-grandad was a farmer in Ireland and owned a lot of land. He and my great-grandmother lived in a big house in the middle of the Irish countryside, in a town called Carlow. Every time my family and I go to Ireland, we visit my great aunt and uncle who live in the house now. Even though my great-grandparents were pretty wealthy, most people in the area in those days were pretty poor. Life was tough for people in the village and there was no electricity and very few cars. The poor people could not afford to visit doctors, so they would come to my grandmother’s house when they needed help. My great-granddad employed a lot of people from the town on his farm, so they depended on him to help them sort out their problems.
My grandmother tells me a lot of stories about growing up on that farm and how her parents always made sure that the local children were taken care of. At Christmas my great-grandmother would make my grandmother and her brothers and sisters choose only a free presents to keep, and they would all wrap up the rest to give to the workmen to give to their children. My grandmother says that it was probably the only present they got. She remembers children coming up tp the house to see their Christmas tree, since they were too poor to have a tree of their own.
Around that time in Ireland, families were very big and having a baby was not a really big deal. Some families were huge. For example, my great grandfather’s sister, Aunt Lal, gave birth to 20 children! Women hardly ever went to a hospital to give birth and most babies were born at home. A midwife came to to their house. One day, my great-grandad was home alone in the house, when he heard a knock at the back door. It was a young girl from a nearby cottage who was about to have a baby. My great-grandad told her to go home while he got help. Unfortunately, my great-grandmother had taken the car for the day, so he had to use a bike he found in the barn. He peddled for over 3 miles to get a woman who delivered babies in the neighborhood. When he got there, her daughter said she was at a neighbor’s house, which was another mile down the road. Luckily on the way there, he stopped a car and had the driver help him and they got back to the woman just in time for her to give birth to a healthy baby.
My grandmother says she was very fortunate to grow up the way she did. Even though her parents had money, they always helped others who didn’t. She said that when the village was in need, everyone would pinch in to help each other just like a family. Her family passed down a lesson to her that she passed down to me – which is to lend a hand to people less fortunate than you.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
Living at the Army Base - Monica Burnett, 6M1
You could see the stress on my Grandmother Harriet’s face right before she boarded the train. Her heart was beating hard and a fake smile was pasted on her face. “I’ll be fine,” Harriet assured her mother as she kissed her goodbye. But really she was nowhere near “fine”. Not near at all . . .
Going to Oklahoma without her family to marry my Grandfather Herbie was a big deal for her. ”I was attached to my mother’s apron strings,” my grandmother later told me. “I was always at her side.” The year was 1944. Only twenty-one, my grandmother, a young lady with chocolate colored eyes and dark brown hair, was making the biggest decision of her life. She was scared to pieces! Her fiance was on an army base training to be a soldier in World War II. He was supposed to get a furlough to go home to get married in Brooklyn, but his furlough was denied.
“All aboard!” the conductor yelled at the top of his lungs. Harriet looked out the train window to get one last glimpse of her family before she left them. They were waving and by their sad expressions she could tell they would miss her as much as she would miss them. A high pitched whistle blew and then the train lurched forward. The train was gray and melancholy. It seemed as if all the energy and happiness was sucked out of it. Beaten-down and old, the train scorned its passengers. The ride took several days and they were the longest of her life. The further away from home Harriet was, the more homesick she got. She cried every night before going to sleep. Finally, tear-faced Harriet arrived in Oklahoma.
Harriet remembered that unlike Brooklyn, Oklahoma was very rural. There weren’t any high buildings, and farms dominated the area, Grandpa
and Grandma got married at the army base by a justice of the peace, not by the rabbi in a synagogue under a canopy as Harriet had always dreamed of. They lived at the army base for the first year of their marriage,
Although my grandma was very happy to be with her newly wedded husband, things at the army base were very different than what she was used to in the average kosher home in Brooklyn. My grandmother and grandfather lived in a one-room apartment with only one window!! There was hardly any furniture and the few pieces that they had were very dull. “We had only the bare necessities and nothing more,” Harriet later remarked. But that was not the only thing different on the army base. Sausages and other non-kosher style food were regularly on the menu. Sometimes people on the base showed prejudice towards my grandparents for being of the Jewish religion. “Many times the food was so strange that I didn’t eat. I got so skinny that one day, when I was taking a walk with Herbie, I fainted from hunger,” Harriet remembers.
Harriet started her first job to help with the expenses. “Even though I missed my family, every day felt like a new adventure. I felt really mature,” Harriet said fondly. “When I entered our new shabby apartment, I realized it wasn’t just given to me. I was paying the rent! The food that I put on the table, I was working for that, too. I just wasn’t ‘Mama's baby” anymore!”
While Harriet was busy with her job, Herbie was working hard at the army base. He was never sent overseas because he had high blood pressure. Harriet waited until Herbie’s tour of duty was over. After that, they settled down in Brooklyn to start a family of their own.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
An Anecdote from My Grandfather’s Life - Samira Siddique, 6M4, 2004
My grandfather, Tozammel Haque Joarder, was born on December 2, 1924, in a village called Panti in a district of Kushtia, Bangladesh. His village didn’t have a school, so he and his friends would have to walk two and a half miles to a tin shed building where classes were held. My grandfather would sometimes wake up even before the dew was on the leaves. It was a very difficult journey. He would have to walk through mud, and since there were no good roads, it was easy for him to lose his way. The trees would tower above him, like friendly strangers; they seemed to be following him wherever he went. This would make him walk faster to school. Since my grandfather and his friends were coming from far away, they would often be late to school.
One day in 1938, when my grandfather was in the eighth grade, he and his friends made a bet to see who would get to school first. He and his best friend, Makhan, wanted to start walking to school very early to get there first, so they got out before dawn. However, they didn’t realize what trouble was coming. As they were walking, they saw some jackals roaming on the crossroads ahead. They had never seen jackals in the morning before. My grandfather and Makhan were very frightened. They climbed a nearby mango tree for protection and decided to wait until it got lighter.
Minutes passed, and they expected the sun to rise soon. After wandering around a little bit, the jackals got bored and went back into the forest. The two boys sighed in relief and prepared to climb down, but they were ready too soon. Just then, they saw a man with a bag in his left arm, his head covered, and something in his right hand. Makhan coughed in fear. The man suddenly looked around to see what the noise was and stretched his right hand, which they could see was holding a sword that shone in the early sunlight. My grandfather held the tree branch and started to shout, “Chor! Chor! (Thief! Thief!)” to get attention from someone that might have been nearby. The people who lived in a house close to the tree woke up in alarm and began to shout, “Chor! chor!” as well. House after house woke up and started adding to the uproar. The man started to run, but all the young people of the village gad left their houses and started chasing after him. After a short chase they finally got him and it turned out that the man really was a burglar, caught red-handed. He was arrested and put in jail. Needless to say, my grandfather’s friends forgot about the bet, and for weeks after that incident, they jokingly called him a detective.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
A Tale of Civil Rights - Adam Dore-Young, 6M2, 2004
Back in 1967, in the time of the Civil Rights Movement, my grandfather, Quentin, was a member of the M.C.H.R. (Medical Committee for Human Rights) where he worked hard protesting Jim Crow laws and treating hurt or sick protestors with his fellow doctors. He was a public health doctor in Chicago, Illinois, and cared very much about health care for the poor.
He was the chairman for the committee meeting in Chicago where Dr. Martin Luther King, Junior was going to speak. King was and still is well known for his eloquence, and his speech there was no exception. As my grandfather recalled, King said that, “Of all kinds of discrimination, discrimination in health care is the most inhumane.”
After the meeting, Quentin and his colleagues were standing on the balcony. King was about to leave for his plane to Paris, France, when a college-age man started talking to him. Quentin, only having a bird’s-eye view, could still tell that they were arguing. Eventually, King and the young man shook hands, and then King left.
Quentin, the inquisitive man that he was, later found out that the young men were from S.N.C.C. (Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee) and were trying to get King to take a stand against the Vietnam War. King was worried that taking such a political stand against the war would lose him supporters, but he agreed to do it.
King later announced his decision in his historic speech at Riverside Church in New York City. “I am a minister of the gospel,” he said, “and I must speak out against this war. I must speak truth to justice and power.”
My grandfather is proud to have been a part of that historic event.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
St. Rocco Statue - Gina Cocchiola, 6M1, 2004
One day in Italy, my Great-Grandma Lucia’s dad saved a wooden statue from a burning church. On August 16, 1902, in Frigento, Italy. St. Rocco’s church caught fire. There was a statue in the church. My Great-Grandpa, Nicolangelo Filippone, ran into the church and saved the statue of St. Rocco, which was made of wood. When he came out of the church with the statue, everybody cheered. He was considered a true hero to the people of the town.
At that time, his family was very poor and he was worried that hee couldn’t feed them through the winter. The priest told him to get a bag and go to the storage room which was filled with food that people in the town had given the priests. He got wheat, proscuitto, apples, chestnuts, oil, and potatoes. With this food he was able to feed his family through the winter.
My Great-Grandma Lucia used to tell this story to her children and her children have told it to their children. She used to tell this story because she believed that there was a reason for everything that happens. She believed that the courage to run in and get the statue out of the church, and because of that, his courage rewarded with food.
In August of 2002, the village of Frigento celebrated the 100th anniversary of the fire. To reenact the events that took place that day in 1902, my father’s second cousin, Tonino, ran into a smoke filled St. Rocco’s church, just like his great-grandfather did when he saved the statue. When he came out of the church with the statue that his great-grandfather had saved, the crowd cheered just like they did 100 years ago.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
The Summer of the Circus - Liz Lang, 6L3, 2000
In 1950, my grandparents and great-grandmother moved to a house in Ozone Park, Queens. There they raised four children, my Dad and his three sisters. They lived a few blocks away from Aqueduct Race Track. In the summer, however, the family lived in a bungalow in Breezy Point, all except my great-grandmother who preferred to stay in Ozone Park.
In 1964, my grandfather, a recently retired New York City policeman, had started a new job at the Aqueduct Race Track. My grandfather was not a tall man, he was not a short man. He was not a rich man nor a poor man. He was quite ordinary except for his big heart. He was a very kind and generous man, who deeply cared for people. He never liked to see people struggle.
One summer around 1965, there was a traveling circus at the track. They were trapeze artists. That summer was very rainy and cold. My grandfather felt sorry for them and invited them to spend the summer month with his mother-in-law at the house in Ozone Park.
My Grandmother, not knowing these people, was a little nervous. I would be, too. They were, after all, complete strangers. She was concerned because they spoke little English and it would be hard for her mother, my great-grandmother, to communicate with them. But nevertheless, the Romanian people, because of my grandmother’s generous ways, moved into the Ozone Park house for the summer.
The Romanian people were very grateful and became good friends with the family. They stayed in touch for many years. My Dad remembers going back to Ozone Park at the end of the summer and meeting the trapeze artists. He remembers seeing animals in the yard and sausages hanging from a bird cage. His grandmother told him what a great summer she had. She told him how she would watch the Romanians practice some of their routines in the yard and that she enjoyed the family’s company. My great-grandmother, who spoke a little German, taught the visitors some basic English. It must have been an interesting summer for my great-grandmother and her unusual guests.
My grandfather passed away in January 1999. This story and others were told to me by my family. It shows what a nice person my grandfather was. Without him the Romanian family would not have had a home for the summer and my great-grandmother would have been lonely. Because of my grandfather everyone had a summer to remember. You never know what can happen when you open up your heart.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
Stories My Grandparents Told Me - Kyle Brandt-Lubart, 2000, 6L4
My grandfather, Alan Brandt, was a Jewish teenager of 18 when he shipped out to Europe to fight in World War II. He was a sergeant assigned to the Intelligence Corps, decoding Nazi German messages. In the years he spent in combat, he was shot at, bombed, and witnessed thee liberation of concentrations camps Dachau and Auschwitz. Yet of all the war stories my grandfather has told me, the one that means the most has nothing to do with courage under enemy fire. Instead, it was the courage that arose in him when he was tested in a way that he least expected.
10:00 P.M., October, 1945. The war had just ended, and my grandfather was on patrol in the town of Scheyern, Germany, as Sergeant of the Guard. Suddenly, through the foggy night, he spotted a boy of about ten years running towards him. “Help!” the boy cried in German. “Some American men are bothering my mother! They say they’re going to rape her.”
The young boy led my grandfather to a small, rural house. Inside were three men. A burly sergeant was eating eggs which he had just forced the boy’s mother to prepare for him. Two other Americans were standing by him looking pleased with themselves.
As my grandfather burst in the door, the men gave him a leering smile. A German woman – the boy’s mother – stood in the corner looking terrified. My grandfather took the three men outside. “I’ll have to arrest you for threatening that woman,” he informed them. The lieutenant sneered. My grandfather continued. “We have witnesses.” The lieutenant smiled. “Let me get back in, he said. “I’ll get rid of the witnesses.”
As my grandfather moved to stop him, the lieutenant took out a 45 caliber pistol and pointed it straight at him. My grandfather had survived the entire war and now his life was at risk because of a fellow American. He stood to lose everything defending someone from the enemy’s side, a German.
The gun pointed at his chest, my grandfather heard the lieutenant’s friend cry out, “Don’t kill him, Lieutenant!” Slowly, the lieutenant put away the gun, smiled, and held out his hand. “Shake hands,” he offered in a friendly voice, as if nothing had happened. My grandfather shook with anger. “First you threaten to kill me. Now you want to shake my hand?” he exclaimed. The lieutenant then raised his fist and punched my grandfather in the jaw.
My grandfather didn’t move. “Take off,” he ordered softly, and the three men took their leave. With that he headed back to camp alone.
When my grandfather tells me this story today, he says, “Not in any moment could I think of this German woman as the enemy. She was just a fellow sufferer.”
My grandfather’s story fills me with pride, and makes me determined that if I am ever faced with a similar challenge, no matter what, I’ll never lose the most important thing I have – my humanity.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
Why Do They Hate Us? – Jessica Iriizarri, 2005, 6K2
My great-grandmother, Evelyne, lived through some terrible times during the World War II era. She was seven years of age when it began. War is terrible, but for a young European girl born of Jewish descent, this particular war was a nightmare.
A normal seven-year-old’s life should be going to school , playing with friends, and spending time with family. Her life was anything but normal. By the time she was nine, her family had been ripped apart, leaving her nearly orphaned.
The Jewish people in Paris, as with everywhere else in Europe, were forced to work for the Germans, brought to concentration camps, or were hidden by non-Jewish families and given a new identity. Fortunately for my great-grandmother, she fell under the last category,
In the dead of night, German soldiers took her mother and grandmother away. Knowing that her father and brother were tailors, they were given a choice to work for the Germans making suits, in place of their lives. To this they agreed. The soldiers left the house not knowing my great-grandmother was there.
My great-great-grandfather worked very hard at trying to get his only child out of Paris to safety. He had some Christian friends, and with planning, he managed to get her hidden in the countryside of France. She had to wear a wig, and had her name changed on her birth certificate. Everything went as planned. My great-grandmother lived with her new family for three years. The new family was very nice, but she still missed her mom and dad.
My great-grandmother told me that even as a little girl, she knew her life was different from what it should be. The only way she could stay alive and get her life back was to follow instructions, not question anything, and stay very strong. She would ask her new family, “When are my mom and dad coming?” They would reply, “Soon, but they are working right now.” My great-grandmother understood.
My great-grandmother believes her father escaped one day when no one was watching, but Evelyne was young at the time and did not know much of the details. To add to the fact, he is not around today for questioning. So when he escaped, he found his daughter and reunited with her. After many hugs and kisses, he sadly told her that her mother and grandmother were never coming back. My great-grandmother told me she felt a lump in her chest and was sad for many days. The only thing left that still made her happy was the fact that she still had her dad.
My great-grandmother grew up to lead a productive life. She is married and is the proud mother of four children. She is living out her life in France, where she grew up. If you were to meet her, you would say she is a well-adjusted person. However, deep down inside, she is still burdened by the scars of her childhood.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
The Leningrad Blockade – Dmitry Petrov, 2005, 6K3
My grandpa Olesky Petrov, was born in 1941 in Leningrad, Russia. His father, my great-grandpa, Vladimir, was an officer in the Soviet Army. In 1942, Leingrad was under a blockade of the German forces. Nobody was allowed to come in or get out. People were running short of food since the food delivery trucks were destroyed upon entering the blockade. Since it was winter, the weather was incredibly cold but there were no supplies to heat the city. Disease spread and there was no medicine to cure them. People were dying every day.
However, since my great-grandpa Vladimir was an officer, he was one of the few who was allowed to leave by the Soviet Forces. He was only allowed to take his closest family and leave others behind. So he took his wife and three children, including my grandpa Oleksiy who was 1 year old. Unfortunately, he had to leave his sister behind. But the escape was not easy and very, very risky. They had to cross the lake Ladoga, which was frozen, in a car. At any time, the ice could have broken and they would have perished. Also, there was a risk of Germans spotting them. However, they took the chance. After all, it was better to have a chance of surviving than know that you will die in a horrible place.
They set out at night so the Germans would not spot them, but they were wrong. The Germans started shooting at the small car with their powerful weapons. Somee bullets hit the ice and it broke. The car started falling into the icy depths of Ladoga, but Vladimir got out of the car and pushed it back. He succeeded but was heavily wounded. The Germans did not follow them, so Vladimir drove his family on. The car was also damaged, so it did not run for long. It was enough to get them out of the view of the Germans. They left the car behind and started walking. Because of Vladimir’s wounds it took them long to walk. By dawn, they reached a village where the villagers let them stay and cured Vladimir’s wounds.
That was a hard journey and the Petrov family was thankful that they made it. Vladimir continued working in the Soviet Arm. He and his family moved to a lot of places, including Asia and Hungary. When the war was over, they moved back to their original birthplace of Leningrad where my grandpa Olesky grew up. He then moved to Kiev, Ukraine, where he met my grandma and they had my dad, Sergiy.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
The Diaper Rash That Made a Difference - Chiara Mingione, 2005, 6K4
How many children can claim to have a grandmother that changed a law? They say the pen is mightier than the sword and my grandmother used her pen to write a letter about her poor son’s bright red bottom, which actually changed a tax law. Luxury taxes made my grandma so mad, instead of complaining she fought back.
In the winter of 1949, my grandmother was a young mother with a one-year-old son, Louis Mingione, Jr. Most babies go through one thing, and that’s diaper rash. Lillian Mingione went to the neighborhood drugstore in New Haven, Connecticut to buy baby ointment and was charged an extra 10 cents for luxury taxes. This was a time when everything was cheaper than they are now, so a tax of 10 cents was a lot of money. She wrote to the senator of Connecticut and said, “Since when has it been considered a luxury for a baby to have a sore bottom?” Trying to raise a family in America was hard at the time, cooking, caring for the children, and buying things you needed. Luxury taxes were something people shouldn’t have had to worry about. Her actual letter said:
“It is hard enough trying to raise a family and give America future sons, daughters and voters she needs without these additional burdens such as luxury taxes on essential baby items.”
On January 30, 1949, friends and family started calling her up to tell her that she changed the law and the story about her letter in the newspaper. ‘’Everybody has their fifteen minutes of fame, and that was mine,” my grandma said
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
A Tale of My Great-Grandmother - Rita Kirzhner, 2004, 6M2
My great-grandmother was living in Ukraine in a small town named Batta. She lived with her brothers and sisters. It was around 1922, during the Russian Civil War. The Russian Army was stationed in her town. One of the soldiers saw my Great–Grandmother Rosa and it was love at first sight. He even asked her to marry him! My great-grandma Rosa was only 14 at the time, and she said yes! It turned out, the soldier was only sixteen, and very handsome. He was wearing a Russian army uniform and was mounted on a horse.
Rosa thought anyone who owned a horse was rich, and hoped that he might help her and her siblings. Her parents had been killed in a pogrom. Rosa was the oldest out of all her brothers and sisters. She had to take care of them by herself, do many chores, and work long hours earning little money to buy food.
So the soldier, my great-grandfather, put her on the horse, and that was their way of getting married. After that Rosa found out that the horse my Great-Grandfather Michael rode belonged to the army! She knew he was in the army, but at that time some soldiers joined the army with their own horses. My great-grandfather was not rich, either.
Even though he was not exactly what she expected, she still loved him. They stayed with each other for 50 years! That is a pretty long time when you think about it. Rosa and Michael had two children and one of them is my grandmother today.
My Great-Grandmother Rosa and my Great-Grandfather Michael were happy together, and everything worked out, even if he didn’t own a horse.