Thursday, March 27, 2014
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Vagabonds and Gypsies
Over my seven plus decades, I and we have live in a whole lot of different places. Most people live in three or four in the course of a lifetime, but not me. Fifteen so far and who knows how many others will follow. Most of those moves came with Georgie. We both love real estate, change and the chance to improve our living space. Some folks think we're nuts. We know thaat for a fact. I have a list of every home and place I ever lived in. a total of 15 places in 72 years, with three of that number being childhood homes. I liked every one.
1941-1946
7303 Waldo
6943 Mercier
1946 -1962
5812 Lonyo. Det
7303 Waldo 1962 $60 mo
41860 Quince Novi 19,900
New home Meadowbrook and nine mile 99,000
apartment in Northville on center $275/mo
Apartment st Silver Springs in Northville $400/mo
cottage on Sugden Lake Union Lake 50,000
11221 Sugden Lk Rd Union Lake 88,000
6061 Whispering Meadows White Lake 169,000
Edgewood Park Court Commerce 220,000
Forest Glen West Bloomfield $60,000
Pine Island Cove $100,000
Rose Garden Villa Cape Coral Condo $107,000
1941-1946
7303 Waldo
6943 Mercier
1946 -1962
5812 Lonyo. Det
7303 Waldo 1962 $60 mo
41860 Quince Novi 19,900
New home Meadowbrook and nine mile 99,000
apartment in Northville on center $275/mo
Apartment st Silver Springs in Northville $400/mo
cottage on Sugden Lake Union Lake 50,000
11221 Sugden Lk Rd Union Lake 88,000
6061 Whispering Meadows White Lake 169,000
Edgewood Park Court Commerce 220,000
Forest Glen West Bloomfield $60,000
Pine Island Cove $100,000
Rose Garden Villa Cape Coral Condo $107,000
Cars Cars and More Cars
i always loved cars and from the age of 15 I owned quite a few. These are the ones I remember. I got that love from my father.
'53 Ford
55 Ford Convertible
'54 Oldsmobile 98
'59 Chevy Impala convertible
62 Chevy Monza
63 mercury comet
64 Chevy 2
'68 Dodge Charger
70 chevrolet impala
72 Olds Station Wagon
72 Olds Cutlass
80 Cadillac diesel
82 Pontiac lemans
85 Ford Bronco 2
Ford Taurus
Ford taurus
82 Ford Pick up
85 Ford pick up
GMC Van
GMC Van
2006 Toyota Avalon
2010Chrysler Mini Van
'53 Ford
55 Ford Convertible
'54 Oldsmobile 98
'59 Chevy Impala convertible
62 Chevy Monza
63 mercury comet
64 Chevy 2
'68 Dodge Charger
70 chevrolet impala
72 Olds Station Wagon
72 Olds Cutlass
80 Cadillac diesel
82 Pontiac lemans
85 Ford Bronco 2
Ford Taurus
Ford taurus
82 Ford Pick up
85 Ford pick up
GMC Van
GMC Van
2006 Toyota Avalon
2010Chrysler Mini Van
Monday, March 24, 2014
D'Unkals
One thing the family was well endowed with were a great cast of uncles who were all a treat to be around in their time. I was lucky because when I was growing up in post WW2 Detroit, I saw a lot of them. Our family was close so much of our social interaction we enjoyed were inter-family get- togethers. That usually meant at our house. Dad had the basement on Lonyo made into a recreation room. It had knotty pine wall paneling, a tiled floor, finished ceiling and a glass block bar that seated six with a bar sink, refrigerator and a back bar stocked with high end booze and exotic liqueurs that were selected because of their unique bottle shapes and colors. It was as well stocked as any high end joint in town. The glassware was all imprinted and the walls and shelves were adorned with neon beer and liquor signs. The glass walls of the bar were back lit in a rainbow of colorful lights. Real revolving bar stools and an authentic cash register finished the look. If prohibition were to ever be re introduced, the K family was set for business.
It was a perfect place for all my uncles to congregate almost every weekend for night of pinochle, food and free booze. They each gd their favorite spot at the bar, at which they sat until the card games began. The longer they spent at the bar, the louder the card games got.
the pinochle games were intended in the beginning to be held in turn at all the homes. It ended up that dad hosted the weekend get togethers for a number of years. He had the bar, the space, the store and the money, but the games eventually ended when Ed realized that reciprocity was not a virtue. In fact, the uncles seemed to believe that it was my father's responsibility to share his good fortune with the family and not expect any reciprocity. It was fun while it lasted
The cast of uncles, lovable characters all.
John Dziedzic (Deeds)
Uncle John was a good guy. I loved to visit him at his store then later at his little bar and spend time talking to him. He was a very unorthodox binge drinker. He alternated his binges between beer and Pepsi. He could drink a case or more of either almost every evening. His weight would balloon when he binged on either. John was a grocer who collected silver coins (coins were all silver before they were made from alloys) He had amassed a small fortune in silver dimes, half dollars and quarters and made a nice profit when the price of silver rose to many times more than face value.
Johnie Misa
Dad's partner and best friend. Uncle Johnie married my father's sister, Bernice. He was a very smart and gifted man who made a lot of money in the stock market. He was a favorite of mine. One afternoon during a family picnic, I was disappointed that I couldn't catch a fish. Johnie had caught a dozen or more. When I wsn't looking, he sneaked into the lake and put a fish on my limp line. Then came to shore and laughed as I fought hard to bring the monster fish I had caught to shore. I bought Uncle John the shirt he was buried in, an expensive one, just because he deserved it. I miss him.
Benny Zdyr.
Uncle Ben woke up every morning and stuck a big wad of Lieberman chewing tobacco in his mouth. He kept a cheek full there all day, even when he drank his many beers, Uncle Ben was a quiet soul who maintained an even buzz all day. As a young man, he was part of the notorious Mercier Gang, a group of tough Polish kids who protected their turf and the young Polish girls from the advances of the Italians and other non Polish (hillbillies) and pagan hordes who surrounded the neighborhood.
Uncle Ben once came home badly beaten and bloodied-- but he had a smile on his face. He had taken a prize from his opponent-- the guy's upper false teeth. Benny never owned or drove a car until he got to be 30. A year or so after he bought his car a '53 Chevy, he totaled it and almost killed himself and Aunt Irene
Rudy Adams (adamowicz)
Rudy was the playboy. He married my mother's younger sister, Adele, who died suddenly at about age 60. He was a good looking Russian-Ukrainian-Polish guy who was younger than the other uncles by ten years. He and I were good buddies, We still are as Rudy is alive and kicking at the age of 90. He has a occasional live in girl friend and still likes to party.
It was a perfect place for all my uncles to congregate almost every weekend for night of pinochle, food and free booze. They each gd their favorite spot at the bar, at which they sat until the card games began. The longer they spent at the bar, the louder the card games got.
the pinochle games were intended in the beginning to be held in turn at all the homes. It ended up that dad hosted the weekend get togethers for a number of years. He had the bar, the space, the store and the money, but the games eventually ended when Ed realized that reciprocity was not a virtue. In fact, the uncles seemed to believe that it was my father's responsibility to share his good fortune with the family and not expect any reciprocity. It was fun while it lasted
The cast of uncles, lovable characters all.
John Dziedzic (Deeds)
Uncle John was a good guy. I loved to visit him at his store then later at his little bar and spend time talking to him. He was a very unorthodox binge drinker. He alternated his binges between beer and Pepsi. He could drink a case or more of either almost every evening. His weight would balloon when he binged on either. John was a grocer who collected silver coins (coins were all silver before they were made from alloys) He had amassed a small fortune in silver dimes, half dollars and quarters and made a nice profit when the price of silver rose to many times more than face value.
Johnie Misa
Dad's partner and best friend. Uncle Johnie married my father's sister, Bernice. He was a very smart and gifted man who made a lot of money in the stock market. He was a favorite of mine. One afternoon during a family picnic, I was disappointed that I couldn't catch a fish. Johnie had caught a dozen or more. When I wsn't looking, he sneaked into the lake and put a fish on my limp line. Then came to shore and laughed as I fought hard to bring the monster fish I had caught to shore. I bought Uncle John the shirt he was buried in, an expensive one, just because he deserved it. I miss him.
Benny Zdyr.
Uncle Ben woke up every morning and stuck a big wad of Lieberman chewing tobacco in his mouth. He kept a cheek full there all day, even when he drank his many beers, Uncle Ben was a quiet soul who maintained an even buzz all day. As a young man, he was part of the notorious Mercier Gang, a group of tough Polish kids who protected their turf and the young Polish girls from the advances of the Italians and other non Polish (hillbillies) and pagan hordes who surrounded the neighborhood.
Uncle Ben once came home badly beaten and bloodied-- but he had a smile on his face. He had taken a prize from his opponent-- the guy's upper false teeth. Benny never owned or drove a car until he got to be 30. A year or so after he bought his car a '53 Chevy, he totaled it and almost killed himself and Aunt Irene
Rudy Adams (adamowicz)
Rudy was the playboy. He married my mother's younger sister, Adele, who died suddenly at about age 60. He was a good looking Russian-Ukrainian-Polish guy who was younger than the other uncles by ten years. He and I were good buddies, We still are as Rudy is alive and kicking at the age of 90. He has a occasional live in girl friend and still likes to party.
Make a word from RZDY
Josef Zdyr, patriarch of the Zdyr family, was the man who gave my grandmother, her son and daughters, my cousins, the all consonant, impossible to pronounce last name -- ZDYR. Fortunately a Polish Y can be pronounced as an i, hence the name was pronounced something like Zdere or Zee-der.
As did most Polish men of his era (1890-1948), Joe had a short lifespan. He only lived until age 58. He had a stroke and died on the floor of the Ford Rouge plant in 1948. He was a soft spoken, gentle guy who I was able to enjoy until I reached the age of 7.
My dziadek died of the Irish disease that was known to jump nationalities and afflict a great number of men of the Slavic race. His particular strain of the disease was the Four Roses variety that was particularly deadly when accompanied with a warm 12 oz. wash of the Stroh's strain elixir.
Nazdrowie, the traditional Polish toast meant, "to your health" It didn't help his. His only form of pleasure after a hard day's work was to stop at the tiny beer garden that stood almost directly across the street of his Mercier Street home. The bar was always full of local men, most of them Ford workers. Women were not welcome. It was a man's domain, until one week day evening, after Grandpa Josef stayed too late, Busia crossed the barrier.
She walked into the bar, broom in hand and literally swept Josef off his feet with a couple of hard swipes of the broom. He fell to the floor and withstood a barrage of cussing and screaming that would make a Polish sailor blush. It was Busia Z at her ferocious best.
She chased him back home across the street in full view and hearing of half the block, swinging the broom at him all the way home. Poor Josef. It took a month before she spoke to him again. She was so pissed that she cut his face off the only formal photo they had of each other. The picture is still around somewhere. I think Margo has it. So if you ever see it, you have the rest of the story. I witnessed the event and will never forget it.
When he died, the custom of the day was to bring the body to the family home, where friends could pay their respects and offer toasts to Josef's memory. He stayed for three days in the small front living room of the home he built in 1914.
My cousin Butch and I slept in a tiny bedroom just a few feet from the casket. It was difficult to fall asleep with a dead body sharing our space, especially when we were certain that the whole house was full of ghosts, monsters and other scary creatures that went bump in the night.
As much as we loved our grandfather, we were glad they finally carried him out to the hearse for his ride to the church and finally to the cemetery. As they began to close the open casket, the family filed by and planted a kiss on Jozef's waxy white cheek. When it was my turn, i refused and upset my mother. There was no way I was going to kiss ol dead Joe, even though I loved him. That was too much for a 7 tear oid to bear.
As did most Polish men of his era (1890-1948), Joe had a short lifespan. He only lived until age 58. He had a stroke and died on the floor of the Ford Rouge plant in 1948. He was a soft spoken, gentle guy who I was able to enjoy until I reached the age of 7.
My dziadek died of the Irish disease that was known to jump nationalities and afflict a great number of men of the Slavic race. His particular strain of the disease was the Four Roses variety that was particularly deadly when accompanied with a warm 12 oz. wash of the Stroh's strain elixir.
Nazdrowie, the traditional Polish toast meant, "to your health" It didn't help his. His only form of pleasure after a hard day's work was to stop at the tiny beer garden that stood almost directly across the street of his Mercier Street home. The bar was always full of local men, most of them Ford workers. Women were not welcome. It was a man's domain, until one week day evening, after Grandpa Josef stayed too late, Busia crossed the barrier.
She walked into the bar, broom in hand and literally swept Josef off his feet with a couple of hard swipes of the broom. He fell to the floor and withstood a barrage of cussing and screaming that would make a Polish sailor blush. It was Busia Z at her ferocious best.
She chased him back home across the street in full view and hearing of half the block, swinging the broom at him all the way home. Poor Josef. It took a month before she spoke to him again. She was so pissed that she cut his face off the only formal photo they had of each other. The picture is still around somewhere. I think Margo has it. So if you ever see it, you have the rest of the story. I witnessed the event and will never forget it.
When he died, the custom of the day was to bring the body to the family home, where friends could pay their respects and offer toasts to Josef's memory. He stayed for three days in the small front living room of the home he built in 1914.
My cousin Butch and I slept in a tiny bedroom just a few feet from the casket. It was difficult to fall asleep with a dead body sharing our space, especially when we were certain that the whole house was full of ghosts, monsters and other scary creatures that went bump in the night.
As much as we loved our grandfather, we were glad they finally carried him out to the hearse for his ride to the church and finally to the cemetery. As they began to close the open casket, the family filed by and planted a kiss on Jozef's waxy white cheek. When it was my turn, i refused and upset my mother. There was no way I was going to kiss ol dead Joe, even though I loved him. That was too much for a 7 tear oid to bear.
Grandma (Busia)Sofia Zdyr, one tough little Polish Lady
I know very little about Busia's family except that her father was half Ukrainian and half Polish. She was born in Galicia, Poland which was part of the Austria-Hungary Empire. Galicia came to be after after Poland was divided up between the Russians and Germans. That technically made her an Austrian citizen.
Sophia or Zofia was my Mother's mother. This tough little lady was born in 1892 in a village near Lwow, Poland -- now Lviv Ukraine. She came to the U.S. to Glenville, Connecticut where a number of Polish ex pats from her region settled. She came alone as a young teenager around 1908 -1910. Her father, whose last name was Szkarbaluk came to the States in the early 1900s with the intent of getting a job and saving enough to bring the entire family over.
He never reached that goal. His loneliness, the looming war and civil unrest back home sent him back to be with his family. He had saved only enough to send one of his children to the safety of the U. S. Legend says he chose the brightest of his children ... little zofia.
This is not verified, but it is quite possible he also put together a small dowry for his daughter and offered it to her soon to be husband, Josef Zdyr in an arranged marriage a few short years after she arrived in the Polish community in Glenvill CT.
The Bolshevik Revolution was in full force and the family lost at least one members who fought against the communist "Reds". The province of Galicia was taken from the Austrian Empire by the Russians and the history becomes confused at that point. Borders changed between the first and second world war. the country and the world was a mess.
She did tie up with cousins in Connecticut who had immigrated before her. After a time, during which she worked in New York City as a domestic for a well to do Jewish family in the city, a marriage was arranged with Grandfather Josef Zdyr, who had left Connecticut for Detroit and the promise of Henry Ford's $5 per day paycheck before returning to meet his new bride-to-be for the first time.
The wedding took place at St. Paul Church in Grenwich Connecticut on May 23 1915. A short time later, the young couple came to Detroit, where Josef had moved to earlier attracted by the generous $5 per day pay at the Ford factory. Her new husband had already built a house there.at 6943 Mercier.
Jozef had earned enough to build the home in Detroit's southwest side. The house is still inhabited by my Aunt Irene Zdyr, (until her death (in 2015) busia's daughter-in-law. It played a big role in the family's history. During the war years of 1943-1945, I lived there with my mother, grandfather, and my uncle Ben and Aunt Irene and my best friend at the time Cousin Butch and his sister Patsy. My earliest and happiest childhood memories come from those years... more about Zofia and the house on Mercier later.
Sophia or Zofia was my Mother's mother. This tough little lady was born in 1892 in a village near Lwow, Poland -- now Lviv Ukraine. She came to the U.S. to Glenville, Connecticut where a number of Polish ex pats from her region settled. She came alone as a young teenager around 1908 -1910. Her father, whose last name was Szkarbaluk came to the States in the early 1900s with the intent of getting a job and saving enough to bring the entire family over.
He never reached that goal. His loneliness, the looming war and civil unrest back home sent him back to be with his family. He had saved only enough to send one of his children to the safety of the U. S. Legend says he chose the brightest of his children ... little zofia.
This is not verified, but it is quite possible he also put together a small dowry for his daughter and offered it to her soon to be husband, Josef Zdyr in an arranged marriage a few short years after she arrived in the Polish community in Glenvill CT.
The Bolshevik Revolution was in full force and the family lost at least one members who fought against the communist "Reds". The province of Galicia was taken from the Austrian Empire by the Russians and the history becomes confused at that point. Borders changed between the first and second world war. the country and the world was a mess.
She did tie up with cousins in Connecticut who had immigrated before her. After a time, during which she worked in New York City as a domestic for a well to do Jewish family in the city, a marriage was arranged with Grandfather Josef Zdyr, who had left Connecticut for Detroit and the promise of Henry Ford's $5 per day paycheck before returning to meet his new bride-to-be for the first time.
The wedding took place at St. Paul Church in Grenwich Connecticut on May 23 1915. A short time later, the young couple came to Detroit, where Josef had moved to earlier attracted by the generous $5 per day pay at the Ford factory. Her new husband had already built a house there.at 6943 Mercier.
Jozef had earned enough to build the home in Detroit's southwest side. The house is still inhabited by my Aunt Irene Zdyr, (until her death (in 2015) busia's daughter-in-law. It played a big role in the family's history. During the war years of 1943-1945, I lived there with my mother, grandfather, and my uncle Ben and Aunt Irene and my best friend at the time Cousin Butch and his sister Patsy. My earliest and happiest childhood memories come from those years... more about Zofia and the house on Mercier later.
Sunday, March 23, 2014
Mariana Sarna Kramarczyk b. 1892 ---Born to Hug and ....
I can't come close to remembering how many times Busia (grandmother) K, aka Marianna, my saintly, loving, kind, sweet, grandmother almost hugged me to death. She was a formidable woman, all 5 feet of her. When she got anywhere close to her favorite, and for a time only grandson (me), it was a matter of survival. She was an ardent hugger and squeezer extraordinaire.
Busia K was my dad's mother. She was the epitome of pure love. It was unthinkable that this bundle of loving energy could have hooked up with the notorious John Kramarczyk. The two worked together at the family store and after his premature death in 1936, she heroically ran the family business, raised her family and worked her fanny off.
No one will ever know how many customers she helped survive the Great Depression by extending credit, much of it never recovered. Her hard work, resolve and strong faith pulled the family through the depression. She ended up with decent savings that was passed on to her children over the years. I have nothing but great memories of her. I was lucky to have her until I turned 30 or so. She died at 75, a fairly long lifespan for those early hard working Polish ladies.
The women tended to live longer than their husbands, but I remember that the old southwest side neighborhood was full of 60 year old widows. The men folk worked and drank hard and faced an early death. Most of them were dead by the age of 60. Those who survived longer looked twenty years older than they really were. It was a tragedy of the times which left many grandsons of my age, without the pleasure and luxury of enjoying their grandfathers for any length of time. As it was, i knew only one of my grandfathers, but only for 5 years before his death. I still remember him -Josef Zdyr.
She would have smothered her 4 great grandsons, I'm sure, Those boys will never know what they missed.
Busia K was my dad's mother. She was the epitome of pure love. It was unthinkable that this bundle of loving energy could have hooked up with the notorious John Kramarczyk. The two worked together at the family store and after his premature death in 1936, she heroically ran the family business, raised her family and worked her fanny off.
No one will ever know how many customers she helped survive the Great Depression by extending credit, much of it never recovered. Her hard work, resolve and strong faith pulled the family through the depression. She ended up with decent savings that was passed on to her children over the years. I have nothing but great memories of her. I was lucky to have her until I turned 30 or so. She died at 75, a fairly long lifespan for those early hard working Polish ladies.
The women tended to live longer than their husbands, but I remember that the old southwest side neighborhood was full of 60 year old widows. The men folk worked and drank hard and faced an early death. Most of them were dead by the age of 60. Those who survived longer looked twenty years older than they really were. It was a tragedy of the times which left many grandsons of my age, without the pleasure and luxury of enjoying their grandfathers for any length of time. As it was, i knew only one of my grandfathers, but only for 5 years before his death. I still remember him -Josef Zdyr.
She would have smothered her 4 great grandsons, I'm sure, Those boys will never know what they missed.
Grandpa John the Horse Thief
Polish Folk of the peasant class (non schlacta) like my family, kept few records. At least that was the case in my clan.
The earliest recorded name I ever encountered was the mysterious Wojciech. He would have been my great- grandfather. He came hereabout 1900 by my calculations, then left, apparently homesick. My grandfather Jan, (John) was born back in that place the old timers referred to as "the old country" in a city named Sczeczen, in a region near Galicia.
Getting back to Wojciech -- when he went back to "Kraju" (the other name the old folks used for Poland), he and my Grandfather got into a serious altercation over a horse grandfather Jan stole (uhh ... borrowed ) from a neighbor. Apparently, young Jan rode the beast to death. Horse thievery was regarded in Poland much the same as it was here in the States. They hung horse thieves from the nearest tree. To preserve the family's name, and the life of his son, Wojciech slipped young Jan a few hundred Zloty and ordered him to get out of Dodge. My horse thieving gramps headed for Germany, where he booked passage on a ship bound for New York.
He ended up in Chicago and found work in a marble quarry south of the city. Jan eventually met my grandmother who had recently left a convent after a couple year tryout. It was an unlikely matchup ... saintly Marianna Sarna and the hard driving, hard drinking horse thief, Jan John K.
This is where I found evidence of Wojciech. Apparently he returned briefly to America and attended his son's Chicago wedding in 1913. Three years later the lure of Henry Ford's $5 day was enough to entice the young couple to move to Detroit and set down roots.
Why oh why didn't Mr. Ford start his company in LA or Miami?
The couple saved their money, traded the home Jan built with his Ford savings for a grocery store on the west side. The couple raised 3 kids, and were a success until the banks closed. He lost the family's life savings. Did a bit of bootlegging and proceeded to drink himself to death by the age of 44. He was brutal towards my father az a young boy and his two daughters feared him. I regret that I never met the old horse thief as I was born 5 years after his demise.
The earliest recorded name I ever encountered was the mysterious Wojciech. He would have been my great- grandfather. He came hereabout 1900 by my calculations, then left, apparently homesick. My grandfather Jan, (John) was born back in that place the old timers referred to as "the old country" in a city named Sczeczen, in a region near Galicia.
Getting back to Wojciech -- when he went back to "Kraju" (the other name the old folks used for Poland), he and my Grandfather got into a serious altercation over a horse grandfather Jan stole (uhh ... borrowed ) from a neighbor. Apparently, young Jan rode the beast to death. Horse thievery was regarded in Poland much the same as it was here in the States. They hung horse thieves from the nearest tree. To preserve the family's name, and the life of his son, Wojciech slipped young Jan a few hundred Zloty and ordered him to get out of Dodge. My horse thieving gramps headed for Germany, where he booked passage on a ship bound for New York.
He ended up in Chicago and found work in a marble quarry south of the city. Jan eventually met my grandmother who had recently left a convent after a couple year tryout. It was an unlikely matchup ... saintly Marianna Sarna and the hard driving, hard drinking horse thief, Jan John K.
This is where I found evidence of Wojciech. Apparently he returned briefly to America and attended his son's Chicago wedding in 1913. Three years later the lure of Henry Ford's $5 day was enough to entice the young couple to move to Detroit and set down roots.
Why oh why didn't Mr. Ford start his company in LA or Miami?
The couple saved their money, traded the home Jan built with his Ford savings for a grocery store on the west side. The couple raised 3 kids, and were a success until the banks closed. He lost the family's life savings. Did a bit of bootlegging and proceeded to drink himself to death by the age of 44. He was brutal towards my father az a young boy and his two daughters feared him. I regret that I never met the old horse thief as I was born 5 years after his demise.
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