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    Immigrant's Daughter: Life as a Girl With Lithuanian Immigrant Parents in New York in the 1920's
    Immigrant's Daughter: Life as a Girl With Lithuanian Immigrant Parents in New York in the 1920's
    Immigrant's Daughter: Life as a Girl With Lithuanian Immigrant Parents in New York in the 1920's
    Ebook72 pages1 hour

    Immigrant's Daughter: Life as a Girl With Lithuanian Immigrant Parents in New York in the 1920's

    By Anne Marcin

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    About this ebook

    Experience life as a young girl of Lithuanian immigrant parents in New York in the 1920's. It was a time of silent movies, horses pulling coffins in the street, live poultry markets, vineyards, gaslight and Russian's tending the bee houses next door. Some things are familiar, the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, family gatherings, stern nuns in Catholic schools, and the catty comeuppances of young girls. But the differences are striking, two dollars a week for 16 hours work a day, candles on the Christmas tree, death at home from tuberculosis, and the graphic presentation in the local theater of the electrocution of Ruth Snyder. Please enjoy the history and the tender human insights that Anne offers in this book of her memoirs.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBookBaby
    Release dateSep 17, 2018
    ISBN9781732666207
    Immigrant's Daughter: Life as a Girl With Lithuanian Immigrant Parents in New York in the 1920's

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      Book preview

      Immigrant's Daughter - Anne Marcin

      on.

      Vignette One – Home Life and Carnival

      Birth of George. Black girl in white dress. Father’s tailor shop. Finishing collars after hours. Speaking Lithuanian. South Ozone Park. Friend Mildred. Languages and kindness at the local carnival. Lessons from the window seat. The wind, the horse and the vegetable cart. Big barrels in the street. The lost boy.

      We view our life from many angles. Our minds have stored every movement, sight and sound in our consciousness. When we talk to people, they declare that they cannot remember much of the past. Either that is so, or they will not reveal a real past to anyone. There are personal reasons to protect themselves from criticism. Pretense is a protector and a veil to overshadow unpleasantness or embarrassing happenings. I have a long, sharp memory to which I can relate reasons for my introvert personality and why my waking life remains so straightforward.

      At birth, we feel touch and hear voices immediately before sight and seeing the face of Mother. This is the beginnings of our life. The mind has registered these senses and embedded in them our consciousness forever, even though most people ignore that existence. No one ever speaks of dreams or gives dreams the importance they deserve in our existence.

      * * *

      Brother George was born December 2, 1922, so he was sleeping with Mother in her room. The bedroom was long and narrow and could not fit a crib. I was sleeping along with Father in an adjoining bedroom. I was two years old, 18 months older than George.

      One night I had a dream. I saw a black girl, about age 5 in a white dress, walking across the long, brightly lighted room to the bedroom door. I woke up screaming, very frightened. I do not remember having ever seen a black colored person to cause such a dream. Sometime in our walks on Glenmore Avenue where our two-story brownstone house was located, I must have glimpsed or seen a black person passing by and that vision registered on my mind. This dream scene reoccurred three more times when we moved into three other homes. I always became unsettled and concerned as to the meaning of the dreams reoccurring. The five-year-old black girl’s features and stature never changed.

      My final thought on this is that there had been deaths in these homes before we had moved into them. Nothing diverse ever happened to us while we were living there in the apartments or the houses. The dreams occurred, and they were forgotten. Nevertheless, the dream girl is still vivid in my mind and not forgotten.

      * * *

      Father owned a tailor shop, not too far from Glenmore Avenue, so that in the evenings Mother could walk to the shop, wheeling the carriage with George while I held onto the side of the carriage to keep up with the stride. Mother met Father on clear evenings for her exercise.

      Father carried a large brown bundle from the shop. The package contained unfinished men’s overcoat collars to be completed that evening for the following day when his employees would attach the collars to complete the overcoats. Mother and Father worked together after supper from 7 to 10 o’clock. Then they would wake up at 4 AM to complete the leftover collars before father returned to his shop at 6 AM and opened the doors. This was the routine of the evening chores every day as long as father owned his

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