Mama used to love to go to the movies. She used to take me on the Q13 bus to the Quartet 4 on Northern Boulevard when I was very young to see all the Disney pictures. I thought they were first run. Little did I know a lot of them like Snow White were new when Mama was my age. When I got older we walked to the RKO Keith. That’s where we saw all the orignal Star Wars films. We kept our movie-going tradition into my adulthood. We saw epic films like Schinder’s List and Good Fellas together. So many wonderful memories of Mama and the movies. But my fondest ones were from decades before I was born.
My best Mama movie memories were those when she told me of the all-day experience it used to be when she was a child. Her eyes lit up when she would explain that you’d get the cartoons, B-pictures, serials, news reels then the main feature. Mama used to collect bottles and newspapers to turn them in to recycle to get the nickel to buy a ticket to the movies. It was her escape from the Great Depression bleak tenament life. In the dark of the theater, it was a completely different world.
One weekend when Mama escaped to the movies, the world found her. An announcement was made that our Naval base in Pearl Harbor was attacked. American sailors were dead. It was further announced that all servicemen who were present on leave needed to report back immediately. The movies went on as usual but it didn’t provide the same escape. It was darker in the theater that day.
The radio is what gave Mama hope in the days the followed. I had such a hard time as a kid wrapping my head around the notion that the radio was the main source of daily news and entertainment instead of TV. Decades later, as Mama told me about how FDR’s fireside chats used to give her ease and confidence that everything will be all right, her voice softened and her body became more relaxed.
Her weekly adventures to the movies once again became means of escape but they also took on a higher purpose. The news reels became the windows to the war. With every clip, Mama’s pride in America grew and wanted to do all she could to help the Allied Forces in the war effort. The news reels showed her what to do. And whole on the streets of Brooklyn after emerging from the theater, no matter where anyone came from before, they were all Americans united to claim victory and behaved as such.
Today, Mama is gone. Only five Pearl Harbor survivors will assemble at the Pearl Harbor Memorial 75 years to the day later. They were truly The Greatest Generation. Children of The Great Depression who had nothing but their pride in being American and gave more than all they had, domestically like my Mama and in battle in tje form of valiant soldier who were often no more than teenagers barely out of high school. They sacrificed not to protect materials things but for the intangible idea of FREEDOM. God…I hope that in reflection of the Day of Infamy, we don’t let that passion die out once the last survivor passes away.
WOW…what a week it’s been so far! We made history in multiple ways. We will continue to do so in the days to come.
As Americans, we have the freedom to express our opinions and engage in discussion when we have a different point of view.
Where else but in America could I, a woman of Hispanic and Jewish discent, pour my thoughts out onto this blog then broadcast them to any number of the millions of others out there in cyberspace? My greatgrandmother Lily was denied the opportunity to read or write when she grew up in Europe. It was useless to educate a female…let alone a Jewish girl. Oh my…how far our bloodline has flowed with her arduous journey to America!
With all the current passionate disagreement, the one thing we can agree upon is that it is our US Armed Forces that protect that and all other freedoms for all Americans.
Today, please exercise your freedom of speech and thank a Veteran for his or her service.
God bless every soldier, sailor, marine and airman. GOD BLESS AMERICA!
In this time of turbulence across our Nation, I wanted today’s blog post to be exceptionally brilliant. It is. Today’s blog post captures exactly what we are celebrating and the essence of America…
The American Flag has changed over the last 239 years. What it stands for hasn’t.
When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.–That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, –That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.–Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.
He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.
He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.
He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.
He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.
He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.
He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected; whereby the Legislative powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.
He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.
He has obstructed the Administration of Justice, by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary powers.
He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone, for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.
He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harrass our people, and eat out their substance.
He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.
He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil power.
He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended Legislation:
For Quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:
For protecting them, by a mock Trial, from punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States:
For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:
For imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:
For depriving us in many cases, of the benefits of Trial by Jury:
For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences
For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighbouring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies:
For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws, and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments:
For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.
He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us.
He has plundered our seas, ravaged our Coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.
He is at this time transporting large Armies of foreign Mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.
He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands.
He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages, whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.
In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.
Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our Brittish brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which, would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.
We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States; that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.
Nothing I could write could top what our Founding Fathers did 239 years ago.
As you are enjoying your freedom whether by having a BBQ or a protest or a day at the beach or watching the Twilight Zone Marathon (guilty as charged), remember why we celebrate…or one day there will be nothing left but words in our history books.
My father died of a bullet wound to the head when he was 31 years old. It had nothing to do with his military service but everything to do with the personal war he waged during his entire brief existence on this earth.
When I was seven years old, I was told of my father’s tragic death by his mother. Grandma Dottie was less of a stranger to me at that point than my father was but she was still not someone I knew well. I remember thinking that I was sad because she looked so sad while telling me this news. At seven, I had only just started to have a concept of what death actually was. It was also just about when I started to understand my unconventional family dynamics; that the man who was raising me, the man I called “Daddy” was instead my grandfather and the last time I saw my biological father I was just two years old so no direct memories existed. This news Grandma Dottie brought me ensured that we would never have the opportunity form new memories.
After my father’s death, I started to see Grandma Dottie more frequently. We rarely spoke about him, even when I asked. She told me that he was mischievous, getting into a good degree of trouble. He loved cars and their speed. He frequented the old drag strips of Long Island with cars he worked on and owned…and some that he “borrowed.” He liked to take things apart and rebuild them. His dream was to be a pilot, fast and far away from everything that held him down. He enlisted in the US Air Force as soon as he was able. He was almost legally blind but the Vietnam War was raging on at the time so they welcomed any volunteers they could get. He never did become a pilot. In fact, he was discharged early. (The reason for his discharge was one of the greatest mysteries of my father that haunted me. I only found out for sure what the circumstances of his release were a few months ago.) Talking about him made Grandma Dottie sad. Even as a child I was in tune with that so eventually, I stopped asking her questions.
But my questions never stopped. As I got older, more and more kept coming. Terrible things were all my mother had to say about him, on the rare occasions that she said anything about him…but she rarely said anything to me at all about anything. Despite all that, I always had a burning desire to find out more about him. There was no Internet then. I had no idea where to even begin searching. All I did was lament over it for years with whomever would listen.
When I was 31, a private investigator was hired to find me. Grandma Dottie, with whom I became estranged decades before, and her ex-husband, Peter F. Dajnowski, Sr., my paternal grandfather, had both died. They had a horrific marriage that ended in an even more horrific divorce before I was even born so the irony of the timing of their deaths was not lost on me. Their estates needed to be settled so next of kin needed to be located. Settling an estate for regular people is not the grandiose moment the movies portray it to be. For me, it was just an overweight, balding man who smelled like cheetos and cigarettes coming to my house asking me several questions about things I didn’t have answers for. Each of us had a lot of the same questions and I asked him to share those answers with me once he obtained them. He said he couldn’t do that but the people who hired him to find me might be able to help.
Just as the private investigator said, the attorney that hired him to find me reached out to me. It turns out that my father’s brother was still alive and communicating with the attorneys. But my father’s untimely death and prior estrangement from me and his other two daughters complicated this process. I got excited. I thought that after all these years, I had the chance to have my questions answered. This was not the case. After hearing my story, the paralegal was sympathetic but said that they couldn’t disclose the personal information for my uncle or half sisters. What I could do was write them letters that they would collect from me then extend to them. This way the ball would be in their court to reach out to me. That’s what I did.
When I didn’t hear from any of these family members for a while, I followed up with the paralegal to see if she sent my letters. She said she did. Sadly, she told me that my father’s brother flat out told her that he was never going to reach out to me. He wanted nothing to do with me. I was just a sad reminder of his big brother. I told her I understood, which I did. When we hung up the phone, I cried anyway.
A few days later, I got a call. It was my father’s brother, Joseph. He told me what the paralegal relayed to me already. He was unapologetic then…surprised me. We made arrangements to meet at a diner in Fresh Meadows. I had only ever seen a few photos of him over the years. I didn’t know if I would recognize him. I knew for sure that he wouldn’t recognize me. Once again, I was filled with excitement at the thought of finally having some answers. AND I would be getting those answers from someone who loved him so I figured my chances of hearing something positive were pretty high. When we found eachother at the diner (wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be), my Uncle Joseph told me that a year or two before he had a stroke. Physically, he made a 100% recovery. Mentally, he did not fare as well. The part of the brain that was effected was where his long term memory is stored. The good news is that he is completely able to form new memories. The bad news is that the majority of his existing memories prior to the stroke were erased. You can’t make this shit up.
Over our meal, we talked and laughed. Uncle Joseph told me that he was glad that he changed his mind about meeting me. He said there were a couple of things he remembered that he wished were among the things erased. He told me about the night my father died. He told me about when my father came home early from the US Air Force. The Incident that brought about his (honorable) discharge is an amusing anecdote involving profanity, an M16, USAF M15s and nudity but the aftermath carries with it the underlying sadness of my father’s brief existence. Because of the damage my uncle sustained with the stroke, I questioned the accuracy of these stories…but at least they were tales told by someone who actually knew and loved him. It was a start.
This photo of my father’s grave at Cochise Memory Gardens Cemetery was taken by a couple I’ve never met. These sweet people travel the USA in their Winnebago, stop at cemeteries and visit the graves of folks they believe haven’t been visited in a while. They say a prayer then take a picture of the tombstone and post it to a website in the hopes that some long lost family member might see it. In this case, one did. I reached out to these people and extended my gratitude. This is one of only two photos I have of my father and it is an important piece of the puzzle I’ve been trying to solve my whole life.
Fast forward to the power of The Internet. I would periodically Google my father’s name to see if anyone added any information about him anywhere — HS yearbook pictures, his name in conjunction with Islip Speedway, anything. One day, some thing came up. His name and a photo on Cochise Memory Gardens website. It was a photo of my father’s grave marker bearing his name, USAF rank, birth date and date of death. Son-of-a-bitch…my uncle was right. Despite that crazy story about what happened on base, my father was honorably discharged from the US Air Force and laid to rest in a military cemetery.
Fast forward again a few more years to me one day passing American Legion Rusy Bohm Post 411 and taking note of the sign saying that the Ladies Auxiliary has an ongoing membership drive. A friend of mine from the neighborhood was a member of the Ladies Auxiliary so I asked what I had to do to become a member. I had to be the relative (daughter, granddaughter, wife) of a serviceman who was in active duty during an international conflict and that serviceman had to have been discharged honorably. To prove this, I needed to produce a copy of my father’s DD-214s (official discharge paperwork). When I explained my family situation, my friend directed me to a website. As next-of-kin, I am entitled to this paperwork. To my surprise and delight, the website gave me the option of requesting only a copy of my father’s DD-214s or his entire service record. My father’s entire service record. Wow. This is something in my wildest dreams did I ever think I’d be able to see. I checked the box but didn’t get too excited. I was tired of being Charlie Brown to football toting Lucy.
After what seemed like an eternity, a large, scary manila envelope addressed to me appeared in my mailbox. There it was. My father’s DD-214s officially confirming that my father was honorably discharged from the US Air Force along with his entire military service record. Nineteen pieces of paper looked like pure gold to me. I hit the jackpot. I had my father’s old addresses, a copy of his fingerprints and his signature. I had the details of his medical record. I learned that his eyesight was every bit as bad as I was told it was. I learned that the illness that caused The Incident that gained his honorable discharge was something he arrived at Lackland with and something he carried with him until his passing. I learned that his upbringing was every bit as horrific as I heard it was and was a major factor in his illness.
For the first time, I had pieces of the puzzle in my hands. Not all the pieces…but a lot of them. I would never be able to obtain all of them…but now it’s okay. My father liked to take things apart and build things. So do I. He did it with auto parts. I do it with ideas and words. Same thing. We take inventory of what we’ve got and make something better than what we started with…sometimes we need to get creative in order to fill in the blanks and make it work. The demons are as dead as we allow them to be. Each of us spent a lot of time being haunted. Each of us longed to be part of something good. I took my father’s DD-214s, applied for my membership to the Ladies Auxiliary and began to turn a tragic tale into something hopeful.
Here is some of what I will be donning proudly in the Memorial Day Parade, marching down Islip’s Main Street with the Ladies Auxiliary of American Legion Rusy Bohm Post 411. I will be in great company.
I get to create your legacy, Dad. My third of it anyway. This is a gift. I get to carry on what you started. I get to honor the flag that people like you helped to preserve and the freedom it symbolizes. I get to do good because of the life you gave me and the choice you made to enlist while others were literally running from the war. Maybe the opportunity to create new memories with you didn’t die on September 16, 1977 when that bullet landed in your brain. Maybe on Monday, I won’t only be marching with the Ladies Auxiliary of Rusy Bohm Post 411 in the Memorial Day Parade…but I will also be marching with you.
It bothers me that Veteran’s Day had degenerated into a retail holiday that the American people equate with great bargains at retail stores. This day was put forth to honor those service men and women who defended and continue to defend our country. In the days since September 11, 2001, I think that there is no more important time to restore Veteran’s Day to the day of honor and gratitude it was intended to be.
I am fortunate to have personally known many people who’ve chosen to serve in the military. My father was in the Air Force, his brother was in the Army for a good deal of his life, my Uncle Sydney and Uncle Milton were both Navy men serving in WWII and the Korean War respectively. My cousin Richie was a Marine. My husband’s father, who I never had the opportunity to meet, was in the Army. The flag that was laid upon his coffin is framed on my wall along with his dog tag. Then there were some peers who chose the military after we graduated high school and served in the first Gulf War, Anthony Fiorello and Chris Munz, who I am proud to say, is a decorated veteran from that conflict and continues to serve. Thank you, Chris, for all you have done and are doing.
The person I want to pay particular homage to today is my Grandpa Sam, my maternal grandmother’s father. He died the year I was born. I am glad that I had the opportunity to be held in his arms during my first three months of life. My grandmother told me it gave him great joy. I am sorry that I have no direct memory of him because through the stories I heard from my grandmother about him, he was someone special and someone that I feel I know through these stories.
Samuel Weisneivetsky (Grandpa Sam) was born in Kiev, the capital of the Ukraine, some time around the turn of the 19th to 20th century. Birth records stunk then, especially in Eastern Europe where it was extremely tumultuous. It was a hard life there. You could count on being covered with snow from November to March. But the physical climate was not the source of greatest adversity.
The Weisneivetsky family was Jewish. Jews were not well-liked throughout Europe. The rampant anti-semetism and acts of genocide by far predated the Third Reich and Hitler, which is what facilitated the Third Reich’s rise. But that is a history lesson for another time. For now, we are in Kiev, Ukraine in the late 1800’s to early 1900’s. Jews were relegated to living in ghettos and worshipping God in secret and in fear. There was no Hitler or Nazis or SS. There were Cossacks. They were the military presence in Grandpa Sam’s world. There weren’t concentration camps yet. There were Pogroms — planned riots directed against Jews characterized by killings and destruction of their homes, businesses and temples.
The military in Grandpa Sam’s world growing up were not there to preserve his and his family’s freedoms. The Cossacks came to town and destroyed. The Weisneivetsky family were furriers. They were also Orthodox Jews. One day during one of the Pogroms, Cossacks came into the family shop, robbed it of the furs, took the Weisneivetsky men and cut off their beards, which was a sacrilege. There was nobody to report this to for justice. The military was in charge and they were the ones perpetrating the acts. Similar stories were all over Europe. Grandpa Sam knew that there was a better life than this and heard that it could be found in America.
When Samuel Weisneivetsky arrived at Ellis Island, he became Samuel Weiss. It was easier to spell and pronounce and he thought it was more American. He was anxious to put Kiev behind him and start a brand new life. Immigrant life was difficult. There weren’t many jobs. None for him in the family’s furrier trade. But there were also no Pogroms here so he felt it was a good life doing odd jobs and having a modest apartment in Brooklyn. He was allowed to be a Jew and live anywhere he could afford. There were temples within blocks of churches. He could worship freely without worrying about a price to pay later if anyone saw him. The police were there for the good of all the members of the community. America was exactly what Grandpa Sam hoped it would be. Even though he was dirt poor, he was proud to be part of his new homeland.
Then came World War I. Grandpa Sam enlisted in the army. He would see Europe again but this was no longer his home. He was fighting with his new country for its ideals. America gave him a life he never could have had in Europe. He was free here. It was important that he be part of the preservation of this way of life. His children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and on will never know the oppression he knew. Grandpa Sam was proud to wear the American Army uniform. The military stood for something so different in America than it did in Kiev. Wearing that uniform also gave him the opportunity to help liberate those who were like him in Europe and who did not have the good fortune to make it to America. He considered it an honor to serve and was proud that he could be an active part of the victory in The Great War.
When Grandpa Sam came home, he had a trade he learned in the Army; lithography. No more odd jobs. As it turned out, Grandpa Sam was a gifted lithographer. This was his profession until the Great Depression. Then the shops closed up. There were no jobs for a skilled laborer such as himself so it was back to doing odd jobs to support his family. These were difficult times indeed. But Grandpa Sam’s love of America never wavered. We were all in this together and the government was working on programs to get everyone back on their feet.
In 1941, the United States entered World War II. The Third Reich had risen and there were rumors too horrible for people to believe about what was happening to the Jews and other minority groups in Europe. Having lived through the Pogroms, Grandpa Sam found these rumors less difficult to believe. He wanted so much to go back and fight with the American Army as he did in World War I. If ever there was a just war, this was it. However, by 1941, Grandpa Sam was in his 40’s. Hardly ideal for a soldier. He resigned himself to supporting the war in other ways. But then a strange thing happened…Grandpa Sam got a draft notice.
The Army had a record of Grandpa Sam’s lithography training. They also realized how skilled he was at it. They needed someone of his skills and experience to print the maps the generals and soldiers would use to guide them through their battles. They had to be perfect. Lives were at stake. Winning these battles and eventually the war put our very freedom at stake.
Grandpa Sam said that it was his proudest moment to put on his uniform once again after being sought out by his country. This time he did not go to Europe. He served on Governor’s Island, jut off of New York City. My grandmother told me about the times she went to visit her daddy there, how much fun it was to shop at the PX and that they even had a movie theater there. She said that during her visits to Governor’s Island was the happiest she had ever seen her father. He stood tall and proud. And even though he was older than anyone else there, he was a soldier, fighting the good fight like everyone else.
Somewhere I have a photo of Grandpa Sam in his dress uniform, a man in his 40’s wearing glasses. When I find it, I will scan and post it here so you can see the face of the man I described. But it is my hope that I have told you enough about my Grandpa Sam that you have a picture in your mind of what this Veteran was like.
NOTE: Since I first published this blog, I found the photo of Grandpa Sam. Here he is. Is he what you pictured in your mind’s eye?
My Grandpa Sam in his WWII service photo. The thing I always focus on in this photo is his hands. How meaty they are with labor. How stained they are with ink from lithographing. To me, they say a lot about the man he was, the great-grandpa I never got the chance to know.
Thank you Grandpa Sam for following your heart to a better life, for standing up and fighting for it and showing us that you can help battles to be won without picking up a gun. I am honored that you are part of me and my family.
Remember those who made and continue to make it possible to wave this flag, wirte our blogs and live our lives.
It bothers me that Veteran’s Day had degenerated into a retail holiday that the American people equate with great bargains at retail stores. This day was put forth to honor those service men and women who defended and continue to defend our country. In the days since September 11, 2001, I think that there is no more important time to restore Veteran’s Day to the day of honor and gratitude it was intended to be.
I am fortunate to have personally known many people who’ve chosen to serve in the military. My father was in the Air Force, his brother was in the Army for a good deal of his life, my Uncle Sydney and Uncle Milton were both Navy men serving in WWII and the Korean War respectively. My cousin Richie was a Marine. My husband’s father, who I never had the opportunity to meet, was in the Army. The flag that was laid upon his coffin is framed on my wall along with his dog tag. Then there were some peers who chose the military after we graduated high school and served in the first Gulf War, Anthony Fiorello and Chris Munz, who I am proud to say, is a decorated veteran from that conflict and continues to serve. Thank you, Chris, for all you have done and are doing.
The person I want to pay particular homage to today is my Grandpa Sam, my maternal grandmother’s father. He died the year I was born. I am glad that I had the opportunity to be held in his arms during my first three months of life. My grandmother told me it gave him great joy. I am sorry that I have no direct memory of him because through the stories I heard from my grandmother about him, he was someone special and someone that I feel I know through these stories.
Samuel Weisneivetsky (Grandpa Sam) was born in Kiev, the capital of the Ukraine, some time around the turn of the 19th to 20th century. Birth records stunk then, especially in Eastern Europe where it was extremely tumultuous. It was a hard life there. You could count on being covered with snow from November to March. But the physical climate was not the source of greatest adversity.
The Weisneivetsky family was Jewish. Jews were not well-liked throughout Europe. The rampant anti-semetism and acts of genocide by far predated the Third Reich and Hitler, which is what facilitated the Third Reich’s rise. But that is a history lesson for another time. For now, we are in Kiev, Ukraine in the late 1800’s to early 1900’s. Jews were relegated to living in ghettos and worshipping God in secret and in fear. There was no Hitler or Nazis or SS. There were Cossacks. They were the military presence in Grandpa Sam’s world. There weren’t concentration camps yet. There were Pogroms — planned riots directed against Jews characterized by killings and destruction of their homes, businesses and temples.
The military in Grandpa Sam’s world growing up were not there to preserve his and his family’s freedoms. The Cossacks came to town and destroyed. The Weisneivetsky family were furriers. They were also Orthodox Jews. One day during one of the Pogroms, Cossacks came into the family shop, robbed it of the furs, took the Weisneivetsky men and cut off their beards, which was a sacrilege. There was nobody to report this to for justice. The military was in charge and they were the ones perpetrating the acts. Similar stories were all over Europe. Grandpa Sam knew that there was a better life than this and heard that it could be found in America.
When Samuel Weisneivetsky arrived at Ellis Island, he became Samuel Weiss. It was easier to spell and pronounce and he thought it was more American. He was anxious to put Kiev behind him and start a brand new life. Immigrant life was difficult. There weren’t many jobs. None for him in the family’s furrier trade. But there were also no Pogroms here so he felt it was a good life doing odd jobs and having a modest apartment in Brooklyn. He was allowed to be a Jew and live anywhere he could afford. There were temples within blocks of churches. He could worship freely without worrying about a price to pay later if anyone saw him. The police were there for the good of all the members of the community. America was exactly what Grandpa Sam hoped it would be. Even though he was dirt poor, he was proud to be part of his new homeland.
Then came World War I. Grandpa Sam enlisted in the army. He would see Europe again but this was no longer his home. He was fighting with his new country for its ideals. America gave him a life he never could have had in Europe. He was free here. It was important that he be part of the preservation of this way of life. His children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and on will never know the oppression he knew. Grandpa Sam was proud to wear the American Army uniform. The military stood for something so different in America than it did in Kiev. Wearing that uniform also gave him the opportunity to help liberate those who were like him in Europe and who did not have the good fortune to make it to America. He considered it an honor to serve and was proud that he could be an active part of the victory in The Great War.
When Grandpa Sam came home, he had a trade he learned in the Army; lithography. No more odd jobs. As it turned out, Grandpa Sam was a gifted lithographer. This was his profession until the Great Depression. Then the shops closed up. There were no jobs for a skilled laborer such as himself so it was back to doing odd jobs to support his family. These were difficult times indeed. But Grandpa Sam’s love of America never wavered. We were all in this together and the government was working on programs to get everyone back on their feet.
In 1941, the United States entered World War II. The Third Reich had risen and there were rumors too horrible for people to believe about what was happening to the Jews and other minority groups in Europe. Having lived through the Pogroms, Grandpa Sam found these rumors less difficult to believe. He wanted so much to go back and fight with the American Army as he did in World War I. If ever there was a just war, this was it. However, by 1941, Grandpa Sam was in his 40’s. Hardly ideal for a soldier. He resigned himself to supporting the war in other ways. But then a strange thing happened…Grandpa Sam got a draft notice.
The Army had a record of Grandpa Sam’s lithography training. They also realized how skilled he was at it. They needed someone of his skills and experience to print the maps the generals and soldiers would use to guide them through their battles. They had to be perfect. Lives were at stake. Winning these battles and eventually the war put our very freedom at stake.
Grandpa Sam said that it was his proudest moment to put on his uniform once again after being sought out by his country. This time he did not go to Europe. He served on Governor’s Island, jut off of New York City. My grandmother told me about the times she went to visit her daddy there, how much fun it was to shop at the PX and that they even had a movie theater there. She said that during her visits to Governor’s Island was the happiest she had ever seen her father. He stood tall and proud. And even though he was older than anyone else there, he was a soldier, fighting the good fight like everyone else.
Somewhere I have a photo of Grandpa Sam in his dress uniform, a man in his 40’s wearing glasses. When I find it, I will scan and post it here so you can see the face of the man I described. But it is my hope that I have told you enough about my Grandpa Sam that you have a picture in your mind of what this Veteran was like.
Thank you Grandpa Sam for following your heart to a better life, for standing up and fighting for it and showing us that you can help battles to be won without picking up a gun. I am honored that you are part of me and my family.
a journey in words 