1940s Photograph from SS. Peter & Paul Orthodox
Church, Central City, PA
Front
Row: Gubi—John Muha and George Smolen
Angels--
John "Herbie" Pribish, Steve Evano, Ed Fetsko and Mike Strongosky
How well I remember those
long-gone Christmases in the mountains of western Pennsylvania when
Diana, Johnny and I, bundled in heavy winter coats, snow pants, high boots and
babushkas or a hat with scarves tied around our faces so our noses wouldn’t
freeze, trudged up the hill through the snow from Poplar Street Elementary
School for Christmas Eve Holy Supper at Zedo Telmanik’s house on Pine
Street. We Orthodox who celebrated according to the Julian or Old
Calendar knew that January 7th was the real true Christmas because
we always had snow for “our Christmas”. When we finally arrived at Zedo’s
(Rusyn for grandfather), we’d strip off our outerwear in the entryway of what
today would be called a walkout basement of his red-shingled house built on the
side of the hill.
The minute we opened the
door into the lower-level kitchen our frozen faces thawed from the heat of the
coal stove that had been fed for hours to cook the traditional Christmas Eve
strict-fast meal. No meat or dairy products allowed. Ah, the essence
of pagach and bobalki baking in the oven and mushroom machunka (a thickened soup), pea soup,
sauerkraut and potatoes simmering on the stove top. As soon as the first
star appeared in the sky, the animals were fed as the Star and the animals were
present at His birth. I have only a very dim memory of a cow with big
eyes staring at me in a dark barn so it must have been long gone by the time I
started school. I do however remember the chickens but that’s a story for
another time.
The three of us chronically moaned
and groaned that we were melting in the inferno of that crowded kitchen.
We never could understand why we couldn’t eat in the room above that had a
large round dining room table, a built-in china closet and no big coal stove
taking up space and fresh air. In fact, it had no stove at all. It
wasn’t until Aunt Helen and Aunt Marge graduated from high school and went to
work and pooled their money that a gas stove was installed. Ah, cooking
upstairs made gathering downstairs much more pleasant. All we had ever
been told was that’s the way houses were built in “The Old Country”. A
1988 trip to visit relatives in what was then Czechoslovakia and now Slovakia
did indeed verify the story. In olden days there, the animals were also
housed at the back of the lower level during the winter so that the heat they
generated helped to keep the house warm. Thank heavens my maternal
grandparents left that custom behind when they immigrated.
Who sat around the table depended
upon when January 6 fell during the week. My grandfather, of course, was
always there but sadly I don’t remember my Baba being there as she died when I
was two. My mother, being the oldest daughter in town and who loved to
cook, thus inherited the task of preparing Holy Supper for the extended
family. Her two younger sisters Helen and Marge, who were still in high
school, were her assistants.
Uncle John Telmanik and his wife
Ann who lived up the street were regulars too. Sometimes Diana, Johnny
and I were the only children there as we were among the older grandchildren and
the only ones who lived in town. When Uncle Tom Murray was an Army medic
during World War II, Aunt Mary and Ronnie stayed with Zedo. I was too
young to remember those days but I’m sure the two of us had a good time
together as we are the two oldest grandchildren.
My siblings and I loved it when
our Christmas fell on the weekend and Uncle George and Uncle Pete could come
home from the service, and later from their jobs in Cleveland, to join the
family around the table. They both doted on us and we knew there would be
some really special kid things under the tree from them. When these two
youngest uncles married, their wives Aunt Ann and Aunt Helen joined us around
the table.
I’m sure one of them, or perhaps
both, had a hand in arranging for Santa’s sleigh complete with reindeer and
jingle bells to fly over Zedo’s house one Christmas. As a curious
no-longer-a-believer-in-Santa, I wanted to know how they did it but they
insisted that it really was Santa and his reindeer. I’m sure it was some
sort of projector that Uncle Pete picked up somewhere because he was very much
into photography and still being a kid at heart which he maintained all his
life. The one thing I can't understand is why he never took pictures at Holy
Supper. After all, he took pictures of the D-Day landing when cameras were
forbidden, catching the action on the beach as well as the sinking of the Susan
B. Anthony.
Uncle Mike and Aunt
Helen Telmanik and their children Mike and Sandra would wind up the mountain
from Bedford if the road wasn’t snow covered or treacherous. Their
younger daughter Susan wasn’t born until 1959 after Zedo had moved to Cleveland
to stay with Aunt Marge and Uncle Andy Balog so she never got to sit around the
table. Depending on where he was stationed with the Marines, Uncle Andy,
Aunt Peg and their daughters Claire and Tama Lynne might also join us.
After Uncle George and Uncle Pete were married, their wives Ann and Helen
were squeezed into the group around the table. Then, of course, their
children came along, Dennis and Darlene for Uncle Pete, and then John,
Joe, and Georgann for Uncle George.
Usually Dad arrived right before
we sat down to eat at the time when the first star was sighted in the
sky. I don’t recall how old I was when I figured out that his late
arrival was because he was at our house putting the Christmas presents under
the tree after work. Of course, we wanted to know why we got our presents
on Christmas Eve instead of Christmas morning like other kids. As
kids we accepted the explanation that Santa had so many gifts to deliver that
he had to bring ours early. It also saved hassling three excited kids who
were more interested in opening presents than getting ready for church on Christmas
morning.
The table was covered with a white tablecloth reminding us of the Christ
Child’s swaddling wrap while the straw on the floor spoke of His birth in a
lowly manger. The lit decorated candle in the center symbolized
Christ as the Light of the World. When the family had all gathered around
the table and before sitting down, Zedo would lead us in Our Father. Then everyone would sing the Christmas Tropar (hymn):
ROZDESTVO TVOJE
Rozdestvo Tvoje Christe Boze nas, vozsija mirovi svit razuma,
Rozdestvo Tvoje Christe Boze nas, vozsija mirovi svit razuma,
v nem zvizdam sluzasciji, zvizdoju
ucachusja, Tebi klanatisja Solncu pravdy,
i Tebe vid’iti soysoty Vostoka,
Hospodi slava Tebi
THY NATIVITY
Thy Nativity, O Christ, our God, shineth forth the
light of reason over the earth,
For in it, they who served the stars were by a star
taught to adore Thee,
The Son of Truth, and to see Thee from the heights
of the East,
O Lord, glory to Thee!
Even
though some English was introduced into the Divine Liturgy during my high
school years and all English Liturgies are common today, the English versions
of Rozdestvo Tvoje and the
greetings just don’t stir up the Christmas spirit and memories like the Rusyn
words do.
Zedo would then raise his wine glass and proclaim “Christos Razdajetsa (Christ
is Born)!” We would raise ours and respond, “Slavite Jeho (Glorify Him).” Yes, even we
kids who looked forward to having a thimble full every year. Once the meal
began, no one was allowed to leave the table. Now if you don’t think that
custom was pure torture to squirmy pre-schoolers and grade schoolers!
Traditionally twelve foods were served in commemoration of the
twelve Apostles and everyone had to at least taste each one. Zedo would
start by taking a creamy white garlic clove and dipping it in the salt on the
plate before passing the plate on. The garlic was to remind us of the
hardship and bitterness of life. Its bite was soon forgotten by the pagach,
a potato-stuffed flat bread that could only be torn apart as knives as well as
forks were not permitted at the table as they were a reminder of the
sword that pierced Christ’s side as He hung on the cross. It was dipped
in honey representing the sweetness of life and the promise of an even sweeter
life brought by the Newborn Savior. The wine and bread were to remind us of the
Last Supper where Christ blessed both and shared them with his
Apostles.
The pagach could also be used to soak up the remainder of the next
course, one of my favorites-- mushroom machunka, a thick soup made with
dried popinki (mushrooms) and
sauerkraut juice and topped with onions sautéed in oil to a golden brown.
At this point, the conversation would shift to whether it was a plentiful or
so-so year for popinki. If
there were next to no mushrooms, it was a Rusyn tragedy.
In the fall, the hills would be alive with the sound of popinki
pickers searching for the small flat-headed mushrooms that grew in the
woods and meadows. After they were cleaned, a large needle with heavy
thread was used to string them into “necklaces” that were hung on back porches
or near the furnace in basements to dry for keeping through the winter.
In our house, mushrooms dried on cookie sheets on the hot water radiators.
I loved the mashed potatoes
covered with sauerkraut but intensely disliked the split pea soup with diced
potatoes. Fussing about how much you hated pea soup didn’t get you
anything except the threat that Santa wouldn’t let anything under the tree if
you didn’t have at least a couple of spoonfuls. I’d console myself by
thinking of my unfortunate friends whose family served lima beans (which had
never knowingly gone down my throat) and by patiently waiting for the potato
soup to come to the table.
Ah, but those diced potatoes
swimming in a broth seasoned with vinegar and a zaprushka were a different story. It
wasn’t until I was 29 and joined a gourmet-cooking group that I found out what
I was making was the traditional French roux
of flour browned in butter to add
flavoring to soups and other dishes. Finally, I found out
what roux was and that the
Rusyns weren’t the only ones to capitalize on the magic of browned butter and
flour! But it’s still zaprushka
in our house today and because Christmas Eve is a strict fast day ours is made
with margarine or oil instead of butter.
Finally, the bobalki!
Those little puffs of bread drenched in honey and poppy seed signaled the
closing prayer was forthcoming. Thank heavens everyone had only one soup
dish in which they placed each successive food. Even so, when you
have a crowd of people in a stifling hot kitchen, dish washing and drying is
even more onerous to the older females of the second generation--my sister and
me. Everything needed to be cleaned up and sparkling before the gubi,
attired in raggedy old clothes and sheepskin vests with long hide masks
covering their faces and big burlap sacks slung over their shoulder, started
pounding their clubs on the front porch.
They heralded the arrival of “the
Bethlehemers” from our parish, SS. Peter and Paul Orthodox Church or SS. Peter
and Paul Greek Catholic Church as it was called then. The four men
dressed in long white robes with colorful wide ribbons crisscrossing their
chests and tall white cylindrical hats trimmed in ribbons represented the
angels who filled the sky on the first Christmas telling all of the Savior’s
birth. One of them carried a small white wooden replica of a church with
onion-shaped cupolas topped with a three-barred cross and a nativity scene
inside. They told the story of the birth of the Christ Child. In
Rusyn, of course, which I understood way back then. Then everyone joined
in for the traditional Rusyn Christmas carols.
The gubi were the shepherds
who followed the Star to find the Child. Somewhere along the way they
became the pranksters of the group, filching nuts, candy, baked goodies and
bottles of spirits from the homes that they visited. Perhaps they were
funny for adults but for children, they were terrifying. I have erased
the trauma their wooden hatchets and threats to whisk me away in their sacks
must have caused me back then. But I sure do remember the look of
absolute terror in my 3-year-old brother’s eyes one year as he cried and screamed
to be let out of some gubi’s bag.
And, of course, in keeping with
Rusyn hospitality, the visitors were offered drinks harder than Pepsi or
Coke. Scrounging around in the bottom of their sacks, the gubi
always came up with candy or other goodies to dry up the tears before they
began rattling cans for donations for their “visit” and departed. How
some of them managed to find their way to the next house remains a mystery to
me.
Sadly, today very few churches and
Rusyns still adhere to the customs that our ancestors brought with them in the
late 1800s and early 1900s when they left the Tatra and Carpathian Mountains to
settle in the United States. I’m glad I grew up when I did and that I had
a family who cared about customs and traditions—and still does.
Charlotte Pribish Conjelko (Christmas 2009)
Charlotte Pribish Conjelko (Christmas 2009)
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