Previous stories:
Jimena de la Frontera
The train in Spain; and Roman roads
I want Lithuanian wife

D During the depression era there was lot of free time and little free entertainment, one thing that was free and worth seeing was the Palm Sunday processional at a local Polish church.

I was about 5 years old when I was taken by my dad and uncle in my uncle's car (a big deal in itself) to a local Polish church that put on an exceptionally good processional.

It started after everyone was seated and proceeded down the main aisle with music and people dressed in a variety of realistic regalia of the Roman period.

Long green palms were carried by people wearing robes, the costumes were realistic to the smallest detail. I stared in awe, I had never seen such a display and I was completely taken by the scene. The Roman soldiers with spears and swords dressed in dark red with shiny silver armor and red brush topped helmets really caught my attention. I thought it was great and I didn't know if it was real or not.

The Mass began and later to my amazement the soldiers put down their spears
and picked up collection baskets. I was seated about three in from the aisle with my uncle next to me and then my dad next to him. What I didn't know was that my uncle was a practical joker who could improvise on the spot. As the centurion approached closer to the center of the church where we were seated I asked my uncle what would happen if one were not to donate as I had no money.

Sensing a small joke he replied that the soldier would chop you up on the spot with his sword.
This got my attention and I asked him to give me a nickel to drop in the collection basket, children normally did not donate.

He replied that he only had a coin for himself and none for me. My father was totally unaware of what was transpiring at this moment. I watched in increasing horror as the centurion approached with the pole basket in one hand, an easy task for a strong miner.

When he got to our aisle and shoved the basket down the aisle to me I didn't drop anything in, I swore that he paused and that his other hand went for his sword.

I started to move and my uncle, also a miner, grabbed my wrist in a vice like grip. I couldn't move my hand but I still could move my body, in mortal fear I flopped around like a fish on a line climbing up and standing on the seat, on the back of the seat and up on the seat back in front of us. At the same time I let out a loud wild animal blood curdling shriek that resounded in the church and gave the whole congregation pause.

Everything stopped, the music, the mass, the us hers, everything. The Centurions eyes and mouth opened wide in shock at my antics, and even he stepped back. That was all the opening I needed, my uncle also had enough. With him in tow I pushed out of the aisle and headed down the main aisle out of the church running, we paused on the front steps outside the church, my uncle would not let me go any further.

My astonished father followed us out at a slower pace and found my uncle with a bright face flushed red, choking and crying, unable to talk, seated on the church steps.

My dad grabbed me as I was going to make off down the street and demanded to know what the hell was going on. He then realized that my uncle was laughing so hard he was gasping for air and tears were rolling down his face, I kept screaming that we should get out of there before the soldiers came outto kill me.

My dad was furious at both of us and we immediately got into the car and drove home with my uncle laughing, crying and having difficulty driving all the way back. It was just as well because wild horses could not drag me back into that church.

But that was not the end of it, my uncles Polish drinking buddies, fellow miners who were in church, told people that it was a Lithuanian kid that went mad and took a fit, and that he was a nephew of the person who was with him and also known to be insane.

The powers that be were quietly notified that this was not a Lithuanian plot to disrupt their grand procession nor an act on my part, it was real. The Polish people who were present also verified that this was not an act and that apparently both my uncle and I suffered some sort of seizure at the same time.

The local kids were told that if I started acting strangely that they should come home immediately. Older women would cluck their tongues and waggle their fingers at me. One kind hearted elderly woman told me that if I felt a seizure coming on I should exit the church immediately and not cause a such a scene. She further went on to say that it was a shame that this happened in a Catholic church but at least it was in a Polish church and thank God it wasn't in the Lithuanian church.

I was told by my family to keep my mouth shut about the incident and out of fear of further embarrassment and what might happen to me if the Poles found out, I did.

It wasn't till later that I finally figured the whole thing out.

My Dad wouldn't speak to my uncle for about six months and I was never again taken to the Polish church. I wouldn't have gone anyway, I had the feeling they would be waiting for me.

It was not that unusual for people at that time to have seizures, St.Vitas Dance and Conniption fits were not uncommon. I do believe that this was brought about by the poor diet that many of us were exposed to at that time.

Comments requested???
Regards ..... Ronald Gillen Sunday, March 14, 1999, 18:34:25

Previous stories:
The train in Spain; and Roman roads
Jimena de la Frontera
I want Lithuanian wife

Prompt for your messages

You just read one of commonplace stories. Everyday you are amazed by a plenty of small events around you. Share them with all of us, please. They can be very interesting to many of our visitors. Your messages will be placed directly on this page!

Editor, info@lithuanian.net

   Your name: 
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emily the hippie Friday, January 12, 2001, 01:37:38
i have anidea for one that takes place in the time of the crusades. it's about a teen girl who wants to prove herself to her father. her father is her only survivng parent because her mother died after giving birth to her. the girl's father almost hates her for the mother's death. the girl joins in the crusades under her father's rank to prove herself. then the father is seriously wounded...

Joe Saturday, November 25, 2000, 06:33:00
I am currently looking for Iinformation about the 16th Lithuanuan Rifle Division during the second world war. Any help at all would be very welcomed!

Ronald Gillen Sunday, October 10, 1999, 09:14:42
Lithuanian boy experiences terror in a Chinese resturant, circa 1940


I lived with my Grandmother and Grandfather in an apartment on the third
floor of a brownstone tenement near the Williamsburgh Bridge in
Brooklyn, NY.

Their daughter, my aunt, would come to visit us occasionally and bring
along her three children, my cousins, two of which were older than I
was. I looked forward to these visits as my cousins were full of stories
about their schools and had interesting hobbies. But the best part was
going out to buy small food items if it was a short visit, like coffee
cake or crumb cake from our excellent German bakery or bulk ice-cream
and bottled cream or coco-cream soda.

If the visit was longer, like staying for supper, and my Grandma didn't
cook then I would usually be sent out to pick up Chinese food. I loved
that as Chinese (Cantonese) food was one of my very favorites. I would
commit to memory the exact order and entrusted with two dollars I would
run off to accomplish my mission.

This singular event is emblazoned in my memory forever.
It was late in a summer afternoon prior to the supper hour when I
arrived at the rather large (to me) restaurant which seemed deserted.
The only thing moving was the large slowly rotating ceiling fans. I rang
the bellhop bell on the glass cash register table and shortly a black
tuxedo clad chinese waiter appeared from the kitchen and trotted up
front to take my order.

I told him what we wanted and he went back to the kitchen, I took a seat
in a booth near the front door to wait. I really didn't have to wait
very long before the action began, I could see down the isle into the
kitchen in the rear as both kitchen swinging doors were wide open due to
the heat. I could see the large center island cook's table piled high
with white chinaware and an overhead steel hanging rack with all types
of pots, pans and cooking implements hanging from it.

Some shouting ensued almost immediately from the kitchen and it soon
turned to loud shrieking in chinese. I saw my waiter pick up a small
soup bowl and he popped the white clad cook on the head with it. The
shouting and shrieking increased and the cook reached above his head
and grasped a large meat cleaver that was hanging from a hook on the
overhead rack.

He took a swing at the waiter and missed, the shrieking intensified with
the waiter running out of the double doors and down the isle towards me
headed for the front door with the shouting cook hard on his heels,
terrified I shrunk back to the wall in the booth as they both passed me
out the front door onto the sidewalk outside and they soon vanished down
the block.

Not waiting for any further cues I ran out the door and flew home. I
told the whole story to the astonished and disbelieving family waiting
at my Grandmothers for their evening meal. They talked it over among
themselves and decided that I had forgotten the order and concocted this
story to get myself off the hook, I did have a very vivid imagination
which had caused problems in the past and the type of violence I
described was unheard of in our neighborhood, a totally unbelievable
story.

I refused to return alone to the restaurant and my older cousin Marie,
affectionately known as Sissy Ree (from the baby talk word for Sister
Marie) was directed to accompany me as they were determined now to have
chinese food at any cost.

Enroute back to the restaurant my story did not change and Marie and I
entered the still deserted restaurant with great trepidation with me
close behind in her shadow. The only noise was from the buzzing
flickering green neon sign that read "Chop Suey".

Again I rang the bell and this time a different waiter came from the
rear through the now closed kitc

Ronald Gillen Sunday, October 10, 1999, 09:09:08
A Lithuanian boy growing up with things that go 'Boom' during WWII in
Tamaqua, PA (USA)

I remember a lot of guns and stuff when I was growing up during the
summers at the end of WWII in Tamaqua, PA, stuff we never saw in
Brooklyn, NY.
When I got back to the city from my summers in PA and told the kids what
I saw and did they loved the stories and would stare in disbelief.

One thing I remember was that the manual laborers a the Breaker where my
dad worked were a rough lot to put it mildly. These were able bodied men
who did not get drafted into the service mainly because many had
criminal records. The co-owner of the company and workforce
superintendent carried a loaded pistol around in the glove compartment
of his coupe, I used to peek in to see if it was still there when I
would have to wait for him in the car, it always was.
He also taught me to shoot a 22 cal rifle in his back yard, bullets were
hard to get in WWII but we had farmers in the family that could get
some. During WWII I think that farmers could get most anything except
chocolate bars, for those you needed someone in the service.
I was given a box of 24 Hershey almond chocolate bars by a serviceman
who was a friend of the family, what a windfall!
I promptly started eating the whole box, sharing was out of
the question. I ate the wholebox in about two and a half days and was
sick as a dog the rest of the week.

Many of the women in town were employed by the Atlas Powder Co. which
had an explosives plant in the South Tamaqua area. They had to wear one
piece coveralls with no pockets for matches or cigarettes and they
became quite adept at using various areas in their undergarments to
secrete items. I remember most of the workers being large, strong and
attractive women. I loved their stories of men they knew who
'disappeared' while working with nitroglycerine 'soup' in remote
areas of the
plant grounds in small tin shacks located in depressions in the
topography called moraines. They said the white flash was blinding and
loud, the person, tin shed and equipment would just vanish. The
surrounding trees would be bare of any leaves

The plant made 'Bangalore Torpedoes' for the Army, these devices were
explosives in sections of long steel pipe, sections which were screwed
together into a long arrangement and snaked forward along the ground
under barbed wire and other obstacles to destroy the wire during combat.
Many of the women eventually developed dark chestnut
red hair from the chemicals
they worked with, many also had bowel problems from adsorption of the
nitro through the skin, apparently it can be laxative.
After the war many of these women who were laid off
promptly developed heart problems and had
to be put on medical prescriptions for nitroglycerine and then gradually
weaned off the chemical. I loved the stories that they told and they
were more than willing to relate them to a small kid who was an eager
listener.

In another incident a miner who was a 'blaster' had an electrical
blasting cap in his rear pocket in a local diner, a waitress wearing a
nylon uniform brushed up against him and apparently touched the exposed
wires. The device went off with very serious and permanent injury to
both.

The office that my dad worked in was remote from the breaker itself
(thank God) and part of his job was to weigh the trucks on a large
outdoor truck scale. As a result the office had a large basement to
access the truck weighing mechanism located below the ground.
This basement housed all sort of high value items
on storage shelves that they
couldn't keep at the breaker lest it get stolen. Cigars, a fridge with
soda and to my amazement cases and cases of explosives were stored
there, if I remember correctly th

Sergio Siliunas Sunday, September 19, 1999, 21:22:26
Estoy buscando familia que aun viva en Balandzio.Mi padre vino de esa ciudad en 1938.

Gintautas Kaminskas Tuesday, April 27, 1999, 22:52:15
David Zincavage wrote: "Run into one of those awful prejudiced Polish priests down under, did you? poor lad!"

**************

Now that you mention it, no, not Down Under. But as it happens
I spent my early childhood (age 1 - 12) in Fort William, Ontario
(now known as Thunder Bay). The Lithuanian priest visited only
every few months, and that's the only time we went to Mass.
I didn't go to a Catholic school either. My mother taught
me my prayers - in Lithuanian of course. (Took me a decade
to work out that "Sveika Marija" doesn't mean "healthy Mary"
- it's just a translation of the Latin "Ave Marija"!) Anyway,
when it came to First Communion age someone told my parents
that there was a "Lithuanian" priest at St Casimir's parish
in the neighbouring town, Port Arthur. So for a few weeks
there I had to catch two buses (overhead electric trolley
lines in those days - like they still have in Lietuva)
to that place for First Communion lessons. Turns out
the "Lithuanian" priest (obviously sulenkejes Vilniaus
lietuvis)couldn't speak Lithuanian (or didn't want to).
He was pleased that I knew my prayers, but much to my
amazement, he was dismayed that I only knew them in
Lithuanian. When he said "You should pray in Polish."
I was flabbergasted. I asked my parents why he said that;
they just told me to ignore him.

Only when I became a teenager (Down Under) and started
to read Lietuvos Istorija did I realise that this poor
misguided priest was the last remnant of a bygone age,
a centuries-long tradition of Polish-speaking priests
acting as agents of polonisation.

Gintautas Kaminskas
Canberra, Australia

Gintautas Kaminskas Monday, April 26, 1999, 02:04:29
ANZAC DAY

This morning I got up at 4.30, because I wanted to attend
the ANZAC Day ceremony by the War Memorial here in Canberra.
This service always takes place at dawn. It commemorates
an event from the Dardanelles Campaign of the First World War,
when soldiers of the Australia and New Zealand Army Corps
(ANZAC)were helping the British fight against the Turks.
One might ask – what were Australian troops doing so far
from home? Well, even though Australia has theoretically
been an independent nation since 1 January 1901, in reality
it was still subservient to Great Britain for a long while
after that. Only now, after 98 years, is Australia preparing
a referendum to ask Australians whether they finally wish
to dispense with the pretence that the Queen of England
is still Australia’s Head of State.

Anyway, back to the dawn service. It was very impressive.
The temperature hovered around 0° C (32° F) – it’s autumn
here, the classical lines of the War Memorial building formed
an interesting silhouette against the gradually lightening
eastern sky, and as the speakers spoke the magpies began to
carol in the gum trees (eucalyptus) overhead. Most people
had come with candles, they twinkled beautifully as we observed
a minute’s silence for those fallen in all wars. The service
ended with the laying of wreaths, and by then it was light:
the beginning of a sunny, warm (about 20° C or 70° F)
Canberra autumn day.

When I got home I had some breakfast and went out into
the garden. I picked four nice big Queensland blue
pumpkins and pulled out the vines, putting them in the
compost heap. I sowed some broad bean seeds. They will
grow during the winter (frost resistant!) and when I get
back from Lithuania at the beginning of September (spring),
the plants will be nearly 2 metres tall, with the bean pods
developing nicely. So that was my ANZAC Day holiday weekend
in Canberra: autumn, dawn service, pumpkin picking and
bean sowing!

Gintautas Kaminskas
Canberra, Australia

Mykolas Tuesday, April 20, 1999, 20:57:43
During the later years of existance of the Soviet Union I was serving
on board a United States Navy warship. Can't say exactly where we were
or when, But our ship had a somewhat "close encounter" with a Soviet
warship. That particular day was just plain windy and cold. I was below
and on duty when our ship was approached by the Soviet vessel. As soon
as I was relieved I headed straight to the weather decks to get a better
look. Much to my surprise, The Soviet ship was dangerously close to our
own. Seems that from time to time our two rival nations would play a
game of "chicken". The object of the game was to get as close to your
rival as possible and try to make them change course without causing
both ships to collide.

To fully appreciate my experience you must imagine yourself on a warship
in the middle of nowhere. The skies are dark and cloudy and the constant
battering of your ship by the cold relentless wind for days on end have
set the dismal tone for the event to come.

The Soviet vessel was so close I thought I could touch it. Anyone who
is familiar with the dangers of nautical navigation can tell you that
that such a situation is potentialy very serious.

I positioned myself near the middle section of the ship so that I could
get the best possible view. She stayed right along side of us for quite some time. After a while, the crewmen who were not on duty began to congregate toward the rear sections of both ships. The officers of
both ships of course were assembled in the forward area on the brigde
wings which can best be described as a sort of porch or balcony located
next to the Pilot House where the captain steers his ship and gives the
orders. What a strange sight it was. I can remember our American officers standing there in line, very rigid, wearing their dark coats
and sporting their gold shoulder boards. The Soviet officers were assembled in the exact same manner. Each side just starred at each
other as if anxious to start world war III at that precise moment.
Looking to the rear where the low ranking members of each crew were
gathered, It was a completley different scene. Two groups of young
men from entirely different cultures where waving to each other and
tossing magazines, cigarrettes and military "collectibles" to each
other. This all ended when the officers from both sides finally took notice. Something defiant took hold of me. I was well aware of the
forced incorporation of Lithuania into the Soviet Union. I ran to
my locker and grabbed a book about the very same subject because I
knew it had the very recognizable Lithuanian tri-colors on the cover.
Large enough to be clearly seen at such a close distance! I ran back
to the place I had chosen. By now there was standing a member of the
Soviet crew. Alone like I, mid-ship and seperated from the rest of the
circus. At first I hesitated but then lifted my tri-colors in the air.
I didn't expect a welcomed response. Again I was shocked, this lone seaman seemed jolted by the sight of it. He looked to the front where the officers were standing and to the rear where his fellow crew members were standing. He did this about a dozen times. Then he backed himself further against the sides of the ship as if he were trying to conceal himself. It was only then that he raised his hand to his heart and patted it hard while knoding his head up and down and smiling like a long lost brother. He finished by waving to me. We just starred at each other and waved. The message was clear. He was my brother. As are all good men who share our heritage.

Ronald Gillen Monday, March 15, 1999, 21:34:08
Hi Ron

Here's one for you (unpublished anywhere - and true. I even have a photo of
the aftermath of the event lying around here somewhere).

--------------------------------------------------------------

In 1992 I travelled from Denmark to Lithuania to privately support the new
Lithuanian Army. When I arrived, one of the people I met was Vitautas
Sestauskas, who was second in command in Kaunas. I could tell several
stories about Sestauskas, but before I tell this one you need to know a
little bit about him.

Vitautas was born around 1920 in Lithuania. He was trained as a soldier by
the Wehrmacht (not SS) and at the age of 19 was a lieutenant fighting on
the East Front. In 1943 he was taken prisoner and sen t along with a lot of
others to Novaya Semlaja. When Stalin died, Vitautas and a lot like him
were released (not his German colleagues) and had to make thier own way
home. He made it, thousands of his comrades didn't. Anyway, when he arrived
h ome in Kaunas, he joined the resistance and fought until 1963, when all
over the age of 40 were sent home as the woods were "getting too small" for
all of them. Vitautas kept his officers papers hidden in the years upto
when I met him at the age of 72.

Vitautas Sestauskas, although old, is what I would call one hell of a man -
a man whom I would have been proud to call my father had fate arranged it
like that. Anyway, he became second in command in Kaunas at the age of 72.
One day in 1992, Vitautas was bicycling to work at the army headquarters in
Kaunas. He cycled past a Russian train loaded with armour (mainly PT76 for
those in the know). The train was stopped and there were no guards. Anyway,
Vitautas cycled down to a nearby village where his cousin Povl lived. Povl
has an old crane. So Vitautas and Povl returned to the train - stole 2
armoured vehicles and hid them in the woods. The train rolled on later and
the loss was only discovered when it reached the bo rder with Russia. An
official complaint was sent by Russia to the new Lithuanian defence
minister, and on down the chain of command until the commander of the
Kaunas military region - my good friend Colonel Juras Abromavichius - had
to launch an investigation. Vitautas owned up to the theft and was fired.
He would not tell where the vehicles were stored though. The Russians
accepted the results of the inquiry - the guilty party having been caught
and punished. A couple of weeks later Vitautas enlisted again, and was
promoted. We had a drink on that one. 7 years later I still shake my head
in wonder when I think about it. I hope that fate gives me the opportunity
to go back and visit Vitautas one day soon!

------------- --------------------------------------

Good luck with the collecting Ronald
Labas
Alfred Gerald (Gerry) Davison
Denmark


----------
> Fra: Ronald Gillen
>
> Emne: Stories from Lithuania
> Dato: 15. marts 1999 19:24
>
> I am seeking Lithuanian stories in English from WWII to
> present, I would like to post them on a
> Lithuanian-American genealogy email interest group for all to enjoy.
>
> Attribution for the source will be made unless otherwise desired.
> The can be humorous, sad or wartime stories, but they should be good.
>
> Perhaps you have some that you have already published or have
> not published that I could have. If not then could you point m e in the
> right direction to obtain some stories?
>
> I find that many young Lithuanian-American don't have the foggiest idea
> of what our parents and grandparents went through, it would be a sort of
> an illuminating cultural trip for t hem.
>
>
> Keep the Faith...
>
> Labas ..... Ron Gillen
>

Mykolas Thursday, February 18, 1999, 18:45:39
...A STORY FROM THE GRAVE!
 
After having located the graves of my Lithuanian granparents, I found them be overtaken by soil and grass and of course returned that same day with the tools to do so. This was the first time had ever seen their place of burial. They are in a section where head stones are not allowed, only small brass memorial plaques. While walking to and from my car and the graves I had to pass over the grave of a man named Julius Duoba.

At the time it did not even occur to me that this name might be Lithuanian. For some strange reason, something attracted me to this modest and overgrown marker. I don't know what compelled me but I felt I had to clean this plaque. I even polished his name. Really gleamed in the sun! Months later I had mentioned this attraction to my mother, at risk of being labled as temporarily insane! She was stunned when I told her the name "Julius Duoba" Julius was her God Father and close friend of my Granparents! He too was from Lithuania. He had no known family in America and had passed on after the death of my grandparents. Because our's was the only "family" he had known in the "new country" My mother and her sister handled the funeral arrangements and had him layed to rest as close as possible to my grandparents.

The next time I returned, I introduced myself in prayer to Julius and silently told him that I don't often find Lithuanians and that I found it odd that I had been so strongly attracted to his grave when there are so many others I would pass over. Maybe he got the message...cause that day I met three Lithuanians shortly after leaving the cemetary!