GRANDFATHER’S HOUSE

GRANDFATHER’S PHOTOGRAPHS

By Gloria O’Brien

Recently, while looking through some family papers, my brother, Tony, came upon a few old photographs. Two were especially interesting, because their subject was our paternal grandfather. Until that discovery, we had known of only one picture of him, showing a portly gent in his shirtsleeves, sitting on a Brooklyn fire escape. These other pictures, however, had been made in Independent Lithuania, and showed another world, about which we knew little, having heard only bits of conversation and reminiscences from our parents and other relatives.

Grandfather had posed for a formal studio portrait, standing, dressed in a well-tailored three-piece suit, shoes polished to a gloss, watch chain and fob spread across his substantial belly, grasping a fine carved walking stick. His slicked-down hair and stern expression are evidence that having one’s picture made was serious business.

The second picture shows Grandfather’s house in Kudirkos Naumiestis, a two-story building that was unusual for its time. Few houses would have had so many large windows, and Grandfather is seen standing proudly on the balcony. The house has a sturdy tin roof, and one can just make out the tradesman’s sign on the right – “Batsiuvis, J. Grosmanas” (Cobbler, J. Grosman). The people standing in the doorway, and the man and boy passing by, add interest to this picture, as do the three boys apparently just hanging out on the corner. They wear jackets and caps, but are all barefoot. The street is paved with small stones, and regrettably, there isn’t much to be seen of the surroundings, except for the corner of another house and a couple of fences. We feel pleased to have found these small examples of our grandfather’s life.

We never knew either of our grandfathers. Both died in Lithuania and both are buried in Kudirkos Naumiestis cemetery, though their lives were very different one from the other’s.

Mama’s father, Antanas Usas, was one of Lithuania’s prosperous farmers during the early twentieth century. He never left Lithuania, had his property confiscated by the communists, and watched as his house and outbuildings were demolished to make way for a “kolukis”. He lived in turn with one or another of our three aunts, his daughters, and died in 1962, one month short of his hundredth birthday.

Juozas Kivyta, our Dad’s father, left Lithuania in the early 1890’s, went to England with his wife and infant son, our Uncle Joe, and settled in Silvertown, West Ham, where our father, Anthony, was born in 1894. Grandfather, like many another Lithuanian immigrant, found work in Tate’s Sugar Refinery in Silvertown. In 1899, a daughter, Anna, was born, and In 1900, the family found its way to the United States, settling in Brooklyn, New York, where a second daughter, Mary, was born. Grandfather again worked at a sugar refinery, the big Domino factory on Brooklyn’s waterfront.

At the end of World War 1, Grandfather, finding himself a widower for the second time, decided to return to Independent Lithuania. He persuaded his younger son, who had just been discharged from the U.S. Army, to go with him. They arrived in Grandfather’s old home town, Kudirkos Naumiestis, in 1920, and immediately contacted the town’s matchmaker, who introduced them to the Usas family with four daughters. Anthony Kivyta and Marijona Usaite were married on February 1, 1921, in the Church of the Discovery of the Cross, and settled on a small farmstead in Kirmiškių kaima, the parish of Sintautai.

Now that his son’s future had been settled, Grandfather set about arranging his own. As a “bagotas amerikonas” (rich American), he had enough money to allow for the purchase of a fine big house in town, one that would generate rental income. A suitable property was located, on Vytauto Gatve: a two-story structure with space on the ground floor that could accommodate two business establishments. Grandfather was now set to enjoy a carefree retirement in a familiar neighborhood. A close and cordial relationship developed, knitting the Kivyta and Usas families into one integral clan.

As time passed, our father grew tired and dissatisfied with the ceaseless labor that was an unavoidable feature of farming, and in 1926 he decided to return with his wife and young daughter, Philomena, to the United States. The sorrow of parting with her parents and three younger sisters was perhaps mitigated by our mother’s certain knowledge that it would not be “forever”. After all, Lithuania was a free country and travel back and forth was possible. Following tearful farewells and a long steamship journey, they arrived in New York in November, 1926, and settled in Brooklyn.

Mail traveled back and forth in a stream of affection and family talk, until the unwelcome news, in 1933, that Juozas Kivyta, aged 69 years, had passed away at home in Kudirkos Naumiestis. Antanas Usas and his family, as our father’s “patikėtiniai” (trustees), arranged the funeral, took over management of the house, and oversaw legalities of the estate, pending our father’s arrival to take possession as heir. Various unavoidable delays, including my birth in 1935, prevented our family’s early return, but by 1937, passports and other documents were ready and plans were made for our trip to Lithuania. And then, Mama was found to be pregnant and her doctor advised against travel. My brother, Anthony, was born in early 1938, and by that time Europe was in turmoil, so our family’s return to Lithuania was postponed indefinitely. Later, we realized we had been lucky to escape the Stalinist menace.

World War II and Communist Russia’s invasion and brutal takeover of Lithuania almost cut off our family’s correspondence. Lithuanians of the diaspora lost contact with family, friends and neighbors, while scant, fearful news made its way around the world, stories of dispossession, forced collectivization, Siberian exile, imprisonment and murder. Lithuania was enslaved. Remnants of her small army, with additional volunteers, many of them teenagers, retreated into the forests to wage a long and bloody guerilla war against the occupiers.

In 1944, a rare message from Lithuania made its way to us, a half-page hasty scribble informing Mama that her mother had died. Very few more letters reached us, and our parents, like so many others, lived in anxiety until, finally, during the 1950’s, the mail system seemed to stabilize and letters began to pass back and forth again. Though the Communist regime placed many unreasonable restrictions on the kinds and quantities of items that could be sent to persons in Lithuania, our family, as did many others, regularly sent packages of much-needed foodstuffs, medicines and clothing to our relatives, this practice continuing for all the years of the occupation.

The events of 1990/1991 were a miracle – nothing less. Independence and freedom have come again to Lithuania. My brother and I have had the pleasure of visiting the land of our heritage, and the happiness of meeting our aunts, cousins and extended family. With our sister, we have had the joy of seeing our mother reunited with at least one of her sisters, Stase, who visited us accompanied by her daughter, Elena. During our visits, our aunts regaled us with stories about our father, who was held in great affection, and our grandfather, who was thought to be a very fine fellow indeed. They told us he was held in high esteem, not only within the family, but also by the other town residents, who enjoyed his jovial nature and friendly disposition.

Grandfather’s house is long gone, and in its place stands a typical soviet-style multiple dwelling. We went to look at it once – we weren’t the least bit impressed.

This article was printed in Lithuanian Heritage Aug 2005

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