Fearless Females - 6-word tribute to Tillie Rose Jacobs Mahler

My Fearless Female tribute to great-grandma Tillie:

Brave, long-lived matriarch with heart

I was a baby when Tillie died but she touched the lives of everyone in my family. If she hadn't come to America with her husband Meyer, we wouldn't be who we are. She was brave!

Sentimental Sunday: Cherry Blossom Time in Japan

The news about Japan's devastation is so disturbing that I hereby interrupt my regularly-scheduled genealogy blog to remember a trip there, just four years ago, during beautiful cherry blossom season (late March into early April).

Above is one of the most unforgettable moments--standing in a park during a "cherry blossom blizzard"--that's when cherry blossoms fall off the trees and are carried on the wind, scenting the air as they swirl all around you.

And here's another unforgettable moment: attending a baseball game in which the Yokohama Bay Stars beat the Yakult Swallows. The relief pitcher for the Bay Stars was a fast-ball specialist from the Bronx (my home town) revered for his speed and his ability to pull out a win, which he did that evening. Above, sis and I emulate his pitching stance.

Japan is in our thoughts and prayers.

Fearless Females: Grandma worked as a "finisher" on fine ties

On Monday, February 21, 1977, my mother (Daisy Burk) wrote me a letter about her family's background, which--happily--I kept even though I wasn't as crazed about genealogy then as I am now (!).

My question was prompted by the repeat of the Roots miniseries. Here's some of what Mom wrote about her mother, Hermina Farkas Schwartz:

"I remember Mom telling us that some relative 'did her a favor' for $2.50 a week; she became a finisher on fine ties and worked about 12 hrs. a day and between her and her father [Moritz Farkas] they couldn't earn enough for the family; but she always said she had a good relationship with her father, which was a comfort to her all her life. She became a citizen on his papers (common then, not permitted now) and went to night school for awhile to learn to read and write [English]. She still figured in Hungarian, all her life, though.

"Mom wasn't permitted to do dishes or laundry when she worked because her hands would become too rough for the fine materials she handled; but there was a sewing machine and she did her share at home by sewing for the household. And after she was married she had the girls [her younger sisters] come one at a time to visit (and take care of my brother Fred after he was born) so she could make clothes for them to enable them to go to school here. She never forgot; but I don't ever remember anyone of her sisters mentioning this. I know her 2 bachelor brothers, Julius and Peter, had hard times and she always poured money into their hands when they needed things. Of course, when she and Pop [my grandfather, Theodore Schwartz] needed to open a new store, they gave generously also, I'll say that, too."

Update 2022: The man who did grandma a favor was a Roth cousin who owned a necktie factory. Many other relatives worked for him when they arrived as new immigrants in New York City!

Grandma when she was young (in Hungary?)

52 Weeks- Disasters? Just the Usual, So Counting My Blessings

This week's challenge is "disasters" and I have to say, my family hasn't had any particularly unusual disasters. Let's leave aside WWII for the moment, of course. The disasters that made a big difference to my parents were more personal than environmental:

• My father Harold Burk's first heart attack was a disaster (for his health and for our family's finances). He lived nearly 20 years after that first attack, I'm happy to say.
• The Savoy Hilton Hotel in NYC being pulled down so the GM building could go up, another disaster--because my father lost his travel agency concession and never was able to secure another one, a devastating financial blow.
• My mother Daisy Burk's cancer was a disaster (she lived only 3 years after her diagnosis).

Despite these disasters, this week I'm counting my blessings. I have a wonderful extended family (that's getting larger all the time--now that I've met Cousin Lois and Cousin Lil, descended from Meyer and Tillie Mahler, my pat g-grandparents). And I'm counting my blessings that I have a bit of time and energy to trace back my ancestors and those of my extended family.

Right now I'm on the trail of the Pietroniro family from Casacalenda, Italy. Piacentino (Peter) Pietroniro and his brother Paolo (Paul) came from Italy to New York City on the Taormina on July 10, 1923. Paul went to Montreal, Peter went back and forth between Montreal and Cleveland and ultimately settled in Cleveland, marrying Anna Yurko (whose father I mentioned in my last blog entry). More info to come, I hope!

Wordless Wednesday - Josef Yurkov

This morning I made a discovery: Naturalization petitions are now available online for Joseph (Josef) Yurko (Yurkov) and his wife Anna, my step-children's maternal great-grandparents.

Thanks to the petition, I know that Josef was born in Hazlen, Czechoslovakia on May 7, 1873 and he was married to his wife, Ann Mary, in that town on Nov. 18, 1896. Josef and Ann had 7 children. The oldest, John, was born in 1899 in Czechoslovakia. All the others were born in Ohio, including Anna, my step-children's grandmother.

None of us had ever seen a photo of Josef, so this one (from his petition) is a first--leaving me almost wordless!

Matrilineal Monday - Henrietta Mahler Burk, Mogul?

Today is International Women's Day and I'm thinking about the women in my family tree. Henrietta Mahler Burk, my pat gmother, was quite a determined woman. Here she is with three of her four children: Mildred (left), my Aunt Millie; Miriam (in Henrietta's arms), my aunt; and Harold, at right, my father. At this time, boys might wear dresses such as this and have their hair long until their first haircut. The date of this photo must be after 1911 because that's when Miriam was born.

Henrietta crossed from US to Canada and back several times after she married Isaac in 1906 because he had found work in Montreal, Canada. In fact, my Uncle Sidney, the youngest of their children, was born in Montreal. Henrietta accomplished this long-distance travel by herself until 1915, with her young children by her side. That's determination.

Now here's why I'm focusing on Henrietta Mahler Burk for Matrilineal Monday: In 1931, my father Harold applied for a "fidelity bond" so he could be a transportation clerk at the Park Central Hotel in New York City. This was his first step toward becoming an independent travel agent. But because travel agents were responsible for blank airline tickets--which could be stolen or forged--they and their employees were required to be bonded.

My father applied to the Metropolitan Casualty Insurance Co for his bond. I have the application! He lists his address as 1580 Crotona Park East in the Bronx, and lists all his employers from Jan. 1926 to Oct. 1931. He'd worked for a summer at the Larchmont Yacht Club, been a runner for a Wall Street firm, and somehow was now seeking a job at the Park Central Hotel's travel agent concession.

Asked about his relatives, he lists "Isaac Burk" (his father) and shows Isaac's financial worth as $250. His mother, "Henrietta Burk," has (according to Dad) a net worth of $350. So if Dad is correct, Henrietta was wealthier than her husband. And this, during the Depression! Wealthiest of all, however, is Dad, if his application is to be believed. He lists $100 in cash and $400 in "building & loan association." Sorry, I simply don't believe any of his figures. My guess is that the entire family, combined, might have had that amount in savings.

And by the way, the references Dad lists on this application include:

• Louis Volk, businessman, 3150 Rochambeau Ave., Bronx, NY (in reality, Louis is Harold's uncle)
• Joseph Markel, salesman, 3235 Rochambeau Ave., Bronx, NY (in reality, Joseph is Harold's uncle)
• Jack Mendelowitz, school teacher, 1580 Crotona Park E., Bronx, NY (a neighbor)

Wordless Wednesday - Subway-Savvy City Kids Touch a Cow

One summer my parents (Daisy and Harold Burk) decided that we NYC kids should get a taste of farm living. This is where some mysteries of life would be revealed: Where does milk really come from? That is, before it gets delivered in big tanker trucks to the big bottling plant our school used to visit in the Northeast Bronx.

Our family spent at least a week, possibly two, at a farm in upstate New York, playing with barn kittens (so tiny), learning to milk a cow (carefully), seeing chickens and ducks (new discovery: they chase you!), and, as seen here, learning to swim in the farm's pool. The kids slept in a bunk house and the adults had rooms in the main house. It was a bit exotic and even foreign feeling to subway-savvy city kids like us, who had never touched a cow or fed a chicken.

52 Weeks - Cook Forest Sounds

My husband Wally, today's guest blogger, remembers the sounds of Cook Forest in PA from his teen years:

Friends and I drove from Cleveland (where we lived) to Cook Forest in Pennsylvania three times. In retrospect, it surprises me that we were allowed, as 17-18 year old high school students, to do this on our own, but we were.

Three or four of us would go to rent a cabin in the state park. It would usually be my friends John and Ernie, but my friend Don came once, another guy came once, and one time Ernie's girlfriend Hazel was there (she remembers coming with her parents, but she hung out with us most of the time).

The appeal was that we were totally on our own, no adults. We explored the forest, stayed up late, played cards. Interestingly, we didn't drink or smoke or do drugs. And the area was forest primeval, barely developed at that time, another big appeal. Today Cook Forest has been developed for recreation but then (in the early 1950s) it was primitive and untouched.

Sounds: Going down to the Clarion River, which was (and may still be) the last untouched river in Pennsylvania--never dammed--we'd listen to the river sounds. At night, it was as though there were voices in the water, the sound was actually voices and if you could just listen closely enough, you'd understand what they were saying.

The other forest sound came from Ernie's hi-fi, which we brought to blast classical music (symphonic, not opera) in our cabin in the middle of the woods. One of our friends slept very late one morning, so we pushed one of the hi-fi speakers under his bunk and put on a record of the Quoddy Head lighthouse horn. We turned the volume WAY up and woke him with a blast of sound that rattled the windows. He didn't sleep late again.

Several times we climbed the metal fire tower in the dark so we could see the sunrise and overlook the river and the valley filled with mist. The 80-ft tower was built on the highest point in the park. As we climbed the tower's metal steps, our feet made a kind of ringing sound that reverberated throughout the forest, it seemed.

I remember walking through those woods, we were noisy as hell--the loudest sounds in the forest!

One more sound I remember: One night, I was walking with John and Ernie toward the fire tower and as we approached, we heard a voice. Getting closer, we realized it was a girl's voice, "No, Billy, don't, no please don't!" I turned on my flashlight, shined it up to the top of the tower, and called, "Are you all right, ma'am?" (Of course I was probably the same age as the couple on the tower, but I used "ma'am" anyway.)

She immediately came clattering down the steps of the tower, followed by her boyfriend Billy. To show her I meant no harm, I flashed the light on my face, which was unshaven and dirty after a week in the woods. I probably looked much more dangerous than Billy! I asked if she needed a ride home. She said, "No, Billy will take me," and the two went off in search of their car. I felt very chivalrous, having defended a girl's modesty.

52 Weeks - Entering the Jet Age

If I had all the commemorative airplane models that my father (Harold Burk) received during his career as a travel agent, I'd be sitting on a gold mine.

Whenever a new plane (such as the Super Constellation) entered service, the airlines and/or manufacturers would hype the new technology by sending travel agents a model of that new model.

My father had this very plane (not the DIY model) on his desk for years and years. It was painted with the now-defunct Eastern Airlines colors, as this model is. He had others, too, but this one is most vivid in my mind.

My father was born just one year after the Wright Brothers successfully made their first flight and became, for a time, the most famous inventors in the world. I doubt Dad was in many planes before his service in WWII, but afterward, as a travel agent, he flew more than the average person--but not as often as he'd like.

One of Dad's perks was getting freebie tickets to tourist flights over what was then Idlewild Airport in Queens, NY (now JFK Airport). When I was in elementary school, our whole family would go over to Idlewild, flash those freebie tickets, and we'd all get on a prop plane for a 25-minute spin over the airport and NY harbor, including the Statue of Liberty. Can you imagine tourists getting that kind of quickie tour today? Well, technology really has changed--we can just sit at our keyboards and use Google Earth :) But the memories wouldn't be the same.

52 Weeks - The Saga of the Sock Monkey

Toys--sock monkeys! In the late 1950s, my mother (Daisy Schwartz Burk) acquired two pair of red heel socks and the instructions to make sock monkeys for my sister and me. My memory is that the "kits" came home from summer day camp, but however they arrived, my mother was excited about making them...at least the first one.

Mom had no sewing machine and didn't want one. Her mother, my grandmother Hermina Farkas Schwartz, was an expert with a treadle sewing machine and could have whipped up these monkeys in half an hour each (no exaggeration). But the directions looked simple enough for hand sewing and we girls thought the monkeys looked adorable, so Mom enthusiastically set to work.

That first monkey was probably fun to sew, but when it came to the second monkey, Mom's enthusiasm started to drain away. And now that I'm making a sock monkey for my sister's birthday (shh! don't tell her), I understand just how she felt. (BELOW is a photo of my completed gift sock monkey--yes, the one in the middle!)

The head, torso, and legs are made from a single sock. Getting the body to look just right isn't the hard part, especially if you have a sewing machine and you've got plenty of red yarn to cinch in body parts at the right places. It's the arms and ears and tail, made from the second sock, that are more challenging because little pieces of sock can unravel very quickly if you're not careful. It's not rocket science but it's a bit tricky.

Mom stuffed my sock monkey with old nylons (sis's monkey will be stuffed with odd bits of quilt batting). The original sock monkeys lasted for a long time but alas, all those beloved old stuffed animals eventually got loved to death.

A decade ago I found myself a ready-made sock monkey and it's been enjoying the hospitality of my guest room ever since. I found a second one for my sis around the same time, but her kitties have been enjoying it and the stuffing is leaking out. Now she'll have a brand-new, home-made sock monkey to bring back so many good memories of the original toys of our childhood!

52 Weeks - WINS, WMCA, WABC & Orchard Beach in the 1960s

Nostalgia today: New York City was (and probably is) a cut-throat radio town, and in the 1960s, rock 'n roll loving teens had their pick of some great stations and DJs. With our pocket-sized transistor radios, we could "spin the dial" and listen to:

• WMCA 570 AM, the home of the Good Guys. If I had a penny for every time my sister and I dialed in to answer a rock trivia question for a shot at winning a bright yellow Good Guy sweatshirt or 45 rpm record, I'd be a gazillionaire right now. Believe it or not, we did win a few times and until it fell apart, we had one of the sweatshirts (alas, long gone in the pre-eBay era). Of course our parents weren't thrilled about our monopolizing the phone with our dialing antics for an hour or too, but it was pretty tame fun. DJs I remember vividly include Harry Harrison and Jack Spector.

• WABC 770 AM, producer of the Silver Dollar Survey (countdown of top 40 songs) and the radio home of some of the most legendary rock 'n' roll DJs ever: Cousin Brucie; Dan Ingram; Scott Muni; Ron Lundy; the list goes on and on, too long to include here. The wattage of this AM station was so high that it could be heard quite a distance from New York, and was always clear and static-free when we tuned in at Orchard Beach. More below on the beach scene. No matter what top 40 song you wanted to hear, chances are you'd hear it more often on WABC, especially during "teen time" on weekends.

• WINS 1010 AM, which featured, among other DJs, Murray the K (and his famous submarine race-watching music--that's "make out" music for the uninitiated). Murray the K appointed himself "the Fifth Beatle" and rode the Fab Four's coattails during the early-to-mid 1960s. WINS, like its competitors, vied to be first to air the new single from some hot group like Dion & the Belmonts (from the Bronx, natch) or the Tokens (The Lion Sleeps Tonight, remember?).

Orchard Beach, in the Bronx, is a man-made beach only 30 minutes or so away from where my family lived at the time. (The beautiful and expansive Jones Beach on Long Island was a lot further away from our apartment and required the use of a car, which we didn't own. My aunt would drive us there once or twice every summer as a treat.)

On a hot summer day, my sister and I would hop two buses and walk down the hot sand of Orchard Beach until we got to THE section where teens hung out, Section 10. Nearly every transistor radio in the place was tuned to WABC by design: As you walked the length and breadth of Section 10, you'd never miss a note of your favorite Paul Revere & the Raiders song or the Rolling Stones ordering people off their cloud. The aroma of Coppertone was everywhere and summer seemed to fly by too quickly.

Matrilineal Monday - the Steiner sisters

My husband's maternal grandmother, Floyda Mabel Steiner McClure (1878-1948), was the baby of nine in her family. Here's a photo of Floyda with three of her sisters. From left, Carrie E. Steiner Traxler (1870-1963), Blanche (Etta) Steiner Rhuark (1864-1956), Floyda, and Minnie Estella Steiner Halbedel (1867-1947). Carrie and Blanche lived around the corner from each other in Upper Sandusky, OH. Floyda lived in Cleveland.

The above photo must have been taken about 1938 or so. How do I know? The photo below, with Minnie at right and her husband Edward N. Halbedel (1865-1946) at left, includes my husband Wally, age about 3 or 4, and his younger sister. 

Recently I was in touch (via Ancestry) with a Traxler descendant and we plan to share info. I can hardly wait! More cousins to connect with. She and my husband both remember Aunt Blanche's parrot, who would say "Brice McClure" and "Polly want a cracker" over and over (and over and over). Why would the parrot be talking about Floyda's husband Brice? No clue, but it's a vivid memory for both.

Sentimental Sunday: 3 Generations of Ladies

After I married and moved away from NYC, mom (Daisy Burk, 1919-1981) didn't often see all of her girls all at once. It was a treat to be together on vacations and holidays!

Once Daisy's first grandchild was born, we made get-togethers a priority. Three generations of ladies in the family!

Wordless Wednesday - Paula and Ibolyka Schwartz

This is a Wordless Wednesday because alas, I knew far too little about my great-aunt Paula Schwartz and her daughter, Ibolyka (Violet), shown in a photo they sent  to my maternal grandfather Theodore (Teddy) Schwartz (original name "Tivador," as in the inscription) in 1930.

Paula and her sister, Etel Schwartz, never came to the US even though their older brothers (Teddy and Samuel) arrived in the early 1900s and subsequently pooled their money to bring their baby sister Marushka (Mary) Schwartz to New York, as well.

Paula and Etel died in the Holocaust in World War II, along with other siblings. Their father, Herman Schwartz, died some time before the war.

2022 update: I've learned a lot about the family by searching Yad Vashem's testimony and connecting with Ibolyka's daughter, who is my 2d cousin on the Schwartz side.

52 Weeks - You Are What You Eat? Junk Soup and Blintzes!

What my mother (Daisy Schwartz Burk, below) cooked wouldn't have made Auguste Escoffier happy...but she had a few notable dishes.

One was junk soup, so-called because anything she found in the fridge was fair game. She started with chuck steak, cut it up into chunks, browned it with a bit of onion, and then into the giant stock pot it went, along with potatoes, celery, carrots, and whatever was available. My sister remembers cans of mixed vegetables were usually part of the recipe because Mom knew we'd eat those (mostly--NOT lima beans for me). Hours later, with the addition of alphabet pasta to give her three girls a smile, junk soup was ready (and in such quantities that it made welcome encore appearances later in the week).

Another of Mom's specialties was cheese blintzes. Her filling recipe called for a mixture of pot cheese and farmers' cheese, two cheeses that weren't watery, plus an egg, a little sugar, and a pinch of cinnamon. The crepe "leaves" were made from eggs, milk, flour, sugar/salt. After making the leaves one by one, and covering the stack with a dish towel to keep them from drying out, she'd assemble the blintzes with a tablespoon or so of cheese mixture in the center, roll up each blintz, and lightly saute it in butter. Certainly Mom learned to make these from her mother, Hermina Farkas Schwartz, whose apple strudel and home-made chicken soup (with home-made egg noodles, made and cut and dried at home) were legendary in the family.

And then there's chopped liver, another of Mom's specialties. She hand-chopped the chicken livers to the right consistency, after they were sauted with onion and mixed with hard-boiled eggs, plus (I assume, in the early days) schmaltz. Add a little salt and pepper and you're on your way to cholesterol city, but a happy journey it is.

She wasn't a happy baker. In fact, she never baked until her daughters begged her to make us cookies (and let us help in the prep). Then she confessed that the oven didn't work right and getting the landlord to make repairs was a long process. Eventually she succeeded and surprised us when we came home from school one day with some kind of fruit bar she baked from a mix. We loved them! At least I did until I unfortunately glanced at the box and saw I was eating fig bars. Ugh! Never touched them again, but now we were on our way to brownies and other easy-to-bake goodies.

My father, Harold Burk, rarely cooked but in his 60s, he became interested in baking apple pies and every fall, he'd experiment with crust and filling to get the highest pie (sky-high pie, he would say) with the flakiest pastry. If his pie fell in after baking, he'd say something like "next year." I'd enjoy eating Dad's apple pie no matter what it looked like.

52 Weeks of Personal Genealogy & History by Amy Coffin is a series of weekly blogging prompts in 2011 to encourage us to record memories and insights.