Faithful readers will recall that we ended last week's column with Nicholas Brathas getting to the United States largely through the contacts made in Gen. Van Fleet's contingent, with whom Nick had worked through his anti-communist underground activities as head of the Home Guard for his area of Greece.
As we said, although Nick was now safe from communist reprisals, his major problem became to somehow arrange passage to America for his wife Demetra and four young children. This is where we pick up the thread of this odyssey from the June 14, 1958 Attleboro Sun:
After living for a short time with an uncle in Pawtucket, he applied for and obtained work at Shields Inc. on Maynard Street. He rented the Parker Court tenement and began making plans to reunite with his family. Because of the language barrier, he could not make much headway.
It was almost a year later, when he was able to get his thoughts across to his co-workers that Joseph Levis, Shields superintendent, became aware of his plight. Levis found it touching that here was a man eating his heart out and working every minute he could because he longed to see his family, but because he did not " know the ropes" and was powerless to do anything about it. Mr. Levis called upon Congressman Joseph W. MartÃn, Jr. (of North Attleboro) for counsel on how to proceed in arranging for this reunion. Correspondence followed with the American consul general in Athens. As the result of a new immigration law signed by the president at about that time, Nicholas was finally given hope that a reunion may be possible.
One of the main requirements was that he be financially able to support his family, plus provide a furnished home for them. There was also the matter of raising enough money, almost $800 for their boat transportation, another $200 in visa fees and vaccinations and the assurance of a sizable bank account and steady income.
Each and every month, Nick was sending money home for the support of his family, who were then living with relatives. His own expenses would have to be pared down. Among his most reluctant sacrifices were his English lessons which he had been following with a paid tutor. Because he was working all the overtime possible, he was unable to regularly attend the Americanization classes held in Mansfield or Pawtucket. When he had raised all but the bank account sum, Nick says Mr. Levis told him to stop worrying about that item as he was guaranteeing to take care of it!
"How can I ever show my appreciation for what this man has done?" asks Nick." And then there are all my friends in the box room and the rest of the shop where I work. If it were not for them, none of this would have been possible. They taught me how to speak the language and helped me in so many other ways - it is because of all of them that my family is together here today!"
I rather suspect that his many friends whose names he reeled off will be very happy just knowing that through the hand of friendship which they extended, such a bounty of happiness has come to this "newest American family."
As I referred to in the intro to this tale last week, once Nick's issues were resolved in the corridors of power, it is entirely probable that he never gave a thought to what trials his oldest, 10-year-old George, may be facing on a daily basis.
Still, in the immediate wake of World War II and Korea, just as with the majority of American parents (many of them veterans of one conflict or both), the lessons our generation absorbed from them and our television sets were pretty clear - suspicion of strangers and those who set themselves apart through speech, dress or traditions.
They were plopped down directly in the middle of our insular neighborhood. If I'm not having memory misfire, I believe the Brathas family moved into the tenement on Falmouth Street, which was vacated when Zoltan and Lillian Bajnoci moved Richie and Donna into new digs on Knott Street - or was it Garfield Avenue?
In any event, George stood up well to the razzing and ridicule he had to endure. And if the confrontation should escalate, well, George might emerge with a bloody lip or a shiner. I faintly recall providing him with a quarter pound of bottom round ground twice for hamburger from Walter's great meat market following a scrap he had with some yahoo. He generally gave as good or better than he got.
Throughout that first year, George proved himself to all but a couple of really hateful hardheads that nobody else liked, either.
We actually came to admire and envy one of Georgie's easiest tricks (for him.) Back then, the local constabulary were routing us and rousting us, often with just cause, sometimes not. When we were lined up and asked to provide our vital statistics, good old George would immediately respond with a long staccato burst of his native Greek. Our gang always had to stifle our hilarity, as the first officer would turn to the second to confer, inevitably, then walk up to George and very loudly and slowly simply say, "Boy, you go home now - OK?" Several times, as our new pal would furrow his brow and look from one to the other quizzically until they finally had to almost push him home. As Georgie shuffled away with his hands in his pockets, he glanced back at us (who knew he could speak English as well as we could), and grinned as we flipped him a universal gesture.
Hey, it was all Greek to the APD.
The deepest condolences are extended to a couple of dear friends, Bobby Glode and Betty Fuller, on the loss of their spouses. Peace.
