Growing up in the Ohio Valley was always a little distant for me. Things just seemed so "old" and past that it was really hard to fathom how this part of the country could have ANY story to tell, let alone one that "non-townies" would want to pursue. I saw it everyday: the rust colored barges, the coal trains that stretch for miles, the hulking remnants of factories, the gravity-stretched faces of old people and former mill workers plodding down the street past boarded up store fronts and fading paint. I heard the stories of fond memories about community connectedness, respect, hard-work and confidence: "Ambridge steel helped the troops during the war!" "At one point, this town was thriving; cars were on the street and the sidewalks were jammed with shoppers." "They used to call this place the quarterback cradle: Johnny Unitas, Joe Namath, George Blanda, Joe Montana, played high school ball along the Ohio River." Everything was uttered in reference to the past. Why the past, ALWAYS the past?
I didn't live in the valley, really. My family and I grew up on the hills surrounding it. So, most of my time was spent looking down into it, which at many points in my life, was how I wanted it to be. I had jobs in the valley and went to school down there and I did HAVE to drive past the graveyard of America's Industrial heritage, but I was happy that my house didn't have the same two-story brick front and 10-square-foot yard that all the former "company" homes had. Nope, we were different.
Going to the library was a pastime of mine that I had kept secret until I want to College. I remember being young and going down to Baden or Ambridge just to sit in the library and look at books. Sometimes I would be there for hours perusing through gargantuan-size world atlases, photo collections and encyclopedias. I would read about the American West and the enchanting natural beauty of Montana, Wyoming, Utah, Oregon; I would see fold-out posters of some of the most beautiful scenery that could be found on earth: Victoria falls, Ayers rock, Madagascar, British Columbia, Jamaica, and on and on..... Sparks of envy would well into my thoughts, forcing me to ask the question, "Why not here?" We had no beauty; everything was gray and rusty and dilapidated. Yeah the hills are pretty, but you could never really admire them when some gigantic stack is blocking your vision, or when the screeching sound of iron vs. iron radiates up from the train yard.
Seriously, how romantic and grandiose is that!?
Things really came to ahead when our family friends from Tennessee would come up to visit. They lived in a beautiful state with minimal damage from heave industry: there were pretty mountains, sunny weather, warm breezes and, most shockingly, a lack of rust. So, when they would visit my gray part of the world, I was a little bit embarrassed.
I don't know why I took it so personally. After all, I didn't contribute to the demise of steel and, remember, I didn't LIVE in the valley anyways; I was above it.
As I got older, I began to acquire an appreciation for my home and the area where I grew up. I kept hearing tales about immigrants and the hard life that awaited them when they arrived in Western Pennsylvania, as most were thrown into the mills or worked in the many inglorious industries that surround the area: coal mining, railroading and logging. Kids in school were always so proud of their past heritage. My friends from Italian descent would brag about food, history, girls and the family. The Greek kids had such an identity and I wished I could be a part of it; their looks, their food, heck, everything about them screamed "pride." And for me, I didn't know what I was. Maybe I was an Irish, German, Scottish, Slovak, mutt? I had no real "cool" ethnic past to grasp onto (remember this is a 14 -year old mind speaking).
I'm glad I've grown out of this mentality, because being a mutt is great: just think of the crazy family history!? Yet, there has always been an affinity towards the "Slavic" half of my heritage, because of my Grandma Ault. Grandma was actually born in Slovakia in 1921 and was brought to the United States before her first birthday. Supposedly she only came with her mom, as her father (my Great Grandpa) found work in 84, PA as a coal miner and then in Aliquippa in the steel industry (talk about easy labor). She really did live a rough life: she was divorced, remarried then widowed; she gave birth to three boys to two different husbands; she saw her oldest born son off to the military and then had to deal with the grief of watching her second son die in a motorcycle accident; and to top it all, was diagnosed with Lou Gherig's disease in 1969. Consequently, my father was the only one left to care for her, as the disease ravaged her ability to walk, but miraculously, stopped below her waist ( if you know ANYTHING about ALS, you know that it is a ruthless killer. Sometimes, it will take a patient in less than 6 months). Yet a bargain had to made, so while the disease did spare her life, it confined her to a bed for over 35 years. Not exactly the life of dreams, huh?
I don't know why I am recounting to you this family past, because I'm sure that some of you REALLY don't care and I think I have written about it before. Yet, the past is what I wanted to talk about today.
I feel like I am rambling, so sorry for the inconvenience.
In the hope of brevity, I want to tell you that living in the Czech Republic has made my heritage, my past and my Grandmother's story (and all those other Slovak Pittsburghers' stories) a little more real to me. Today, when I sat down to plan some of my classes, I was distracted by a magazine sitting on a table in the corner of the room. The magazine is a quarterly called Nase Rodine, which means "Our Family" in Czech and Slovak. It is published in the United States and is the handy-work of the "Czechoslovak Heritage Foundation". I opened the first few pages and read the captions of pictures and, shockingly, each picture was from Pittsburgh: Duquesne, Munhall, Aliquippa, etc. My curiosity being engaged, I then began to flip the pages and look at more articles. Sure enough, there were more: one article was about churches, the other was about Slovaks in the steel strikes and the last was about the University of Pittsburgh's summer course in Slovak language.
What struck me the most was the fact that all of these essays and thoughts were written by people completely separated from Pittsburgh. They had an interest in the history of the city and the people of the region. In fact, the woman who wrote the article about the Slovak course offered at the University of Pittsburgh resides in Washington State. She recounted her experiences walking around the city and being completely immersed in Slavic food, bars and music.
Living in Policka is helping to usher in a new realization about the richness of my family's past and the connectedness that we all have to our own history. This might seem kinda' silly, but each time I learn a new Czech word or smell the countryside, I can't help but feel that much closer to my Grandmother
Maybe I am being a bit too nostaligc?!
I didn't live in the valley, really. My family and I grew up on the hills surrounding it. So, most of my time was spent looking down into it, which at many points in my life, was how I wanted it to be. I had jobs in the valley and went to school down there and I did HAVE to drive past the graveyard of America's Industrial heritage, but I was happy that my house didn't have the same two-story brick front and 10-square-foot yard that all the former "company" homes had. Nope, we were different.
Going to the library was a pastime of mine that I had kept secret until I want to College. I remember being young and going down to Baden or Ambridge just to sit in the library and look at books. Sometimes I would be there for hours perusing through gargantuan-size world atlases, photo collections and encyclopedias. I would read about the American West and the enchanting natural beauty of Montana, Wyoming, Utah, Oregon; I would see fold-out posters of some of the most beautiful scenery that could be found on earth: Victoria falls, Ayers rock, Madagascar, British Columbia, Jamaica, and on and on..... Sparks of envy would well into my thoughts, forcing me to ask the question, "Why not here?" We had no beauty; everything was gray and rusty and dilapidated. Yeah the hills are pretty, but you could never really admire them when some gigantic stack is blocking your vision, or when the screeching sound of iron vs. iron radiates up from the train yard.
Seriously, how romantic and grandiose is that!?
Things really came to ahead when our family friends from Tennessee would come up to visit. They lived in a beautiful state with minimal damage from heave industry: there were pretty mountains, sunny weather, warm breezes and, most shockingly, a lack of rust. So, when they would visit my gray part of the world, I was a little bit embarrassed.
I don't know why I took it so personally. After all, I didn't contribute to the demise of steel and, remember, I didn't LIVE in the valley anyways; I was above it.
As I got older, I began to acquire an appreciation for my home and the area where I grew up. I kept hearing tales about immigrants and the hard life that awaited them when they arrived in Western Pennsylvania, as most were thrown into the mills or worked in the many inglorious industries that surround the area: coal mining, railroading and logging. Kids in school were always so proud of their past heritage. My friends from Italian descent would brag about food, history, girls and the family. The Greek kids had such an identity and I wished I could be a part of it; their looks, their food, heck, everything about them screamed "pride." And for me, I didn't know what I was. Maybe I was an Irish, German, Scottish, Slovak, mutt? I had no real "cool" ethnic past to grasp onto (remember this is a 14 -year old mind speaking).
I'm glad I've grown out of this mentality, because being a mutt is great: just think of the crazy family history!? Yet, there has always been an affinity towards the "Slavic" half of my heritage, because of my Grandma Ault. Grandma was actually born in Slovakia in 1921 and was brought to the United States before her first birthday. Supposedly she only came with her mom, as her father (my Great Grandpa) found work in 84, PA as a coal miner and then in Aliquippa in the steel industry (talk about easy labor). She really did live a rough life: she was divorced, remarried then widowed; she gave birth to three boys to two different husbands; she saw her oldest born son off to the military and then had to deal with the grief of watching her second son die in a motorcycle accident; and to top it all, was diagnosed with Lou Gherig's disease in 1969. Consequently, my father was the only one left to care for her, as the disease ravaged her ability to walk, but miraculously, stopped below her waist ( if you know ANYTHING about ALS, you know that it is a ruthless killer. Sometimes, it will take a patient in less than 6 months). Yet a bargain had to made, so while the disease did spare her life, it confined her to a bed for over 35 years. Not exactly the life of dreams, huh?
I don't know why I am recounting to you this family past, because I'm sure that some of you REALLY don't care and I think I have written about it before. Yet, the past is what I wanted to talk about today.
I feel like I am rambling, so sorry for the inconvenience.
In the hope of brevity, I want to tell you that living in the Czech Republic has made my heritage, my past and my Grandmother's story (and all those other Slovak Pittsburghers' stories) a little more real to me. Today, when I sat down to plan some of my classes, I was distracted by a magazine sitting on a table in the corner of the room. The magazine is a quarterly called Nase Rodine, which means "Our Family" in Czech and Slovak. It is published in the United States and is the handy-work of the "Czechoslovak Heritage Foundation". I opened the first few pages and read the captions of pictures and, shockingly, each picture was from Pittsburgh: Duquesne, Munhall, Aliquippa, etc. My curiosity being engaged, I then began to flip the pages and look at more articles. Sure enough, there were more: one article was about churches, the other was about Slovaks in the steel strikes and the last was about the University of Pittsburgh's summer course in Slovak language.
What struck me the most was the fact that all of these essays and thoughts were written by people completely separated from Pittsburgh. They had an interest in the history of the city and the people of the region. In fact, the woman who wrote the article about the Slovak course offered at the University of Pittsburgh resides in Washington State. She recounted her experiences walking around the city and being completely immersed in Slavic food, bars and music.
Living in Policka is helping to usher in a new realization about the richness of my family's past and the connectedness that we all have to our own history. This might seem kinda' silly, but each time I learn a new Czech word or smell the countryside, I can't help but feel that much closer to my Grandmother
Maybe I am being a bit too nostaligc?!
1 comment:
how nice that you have found a connection with your ansesters....that's always fun. we were very excited for jamie (and ourselves) when jamie found the goulash soup and "off the dish" noodles in budapest. knowing that the foods that my grandmother taught my mom how to cook and i (and jamie) grew up eating are still being served in hungary was very exciting. A connection to the past. i'm still wondering if there are dusicsko relatives there. what about you, any relatives still in the c.r.?
we love the blogs!
deb
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