2010.079

Dobonka, Adam J.

Gift

Gift in memory of Virginia Dabonka by grandson Adam J. Dabonka.

Dabonka, Virginia

First

AJD Publishing, Inc.

2010

English

978-0-578-06977-7

Copy No.: 1

Good

Notes: Text of 2010.078.0001 as provided by donor in PDF format; labeled "Proof" Survival The autobiography and poetry collection of Mrs. Virginia Dabonka Virginia Dabonka Copyright © 2010 by Virginia Dabonka AJD Publishing, Inc. ajdpublishing@gmail.com All Rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher. Design by Selfpublishing.com Helping Authors Become Publishers ISBN: 978-0-578-06977-7 Contents Acknowledgments 7 Foreword 8 The Trail of the Lonesome Pine 14 The Ball Game 31 My Angel 33 My Shining Star 40 My Buddy 41 Names On The Wall 47 A Heavenly Gift 49 Remembrance 50 Together 56 What Might Have Been 57 My Babe of Yesterday 59 Missing You 61 Anticipation 68 The Lady Killer- Frank De Angelo 70 I Am Your Flag 73 My Jim 74 God Bless America (9/11/01) 75 How Many 76 My Adam - my grandson 77 Memory Avenue 78 To My Lost Soldier 79 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Thank you to all who have donated money to make this book a reality. Every dollar you gave went towards this book. Stuart Anderson Bruno B. Arteaga Tom (Barney the Bomb) Barnhart Adam J. Dabonka Edna M. Dabonka James M. Dabonka Joan E. Dabonka John C. Dabonka Ryan Daughtridge - Bustin Boards NYC (www.bustinboards.com) Hector Fadraga Vera Fagley Hector Huezo Agnes Jankielewicz Jennie Kessel-Vergara James V. Marchetti Jr. Alwin Narvaez - Soy Longboards Julia Reyes Candice Martinez Rodriguez Marianna Sgherza Christopher Spitaletto *Mayor Brian P. Stack and the City of Union City, NJ *Mayor Richard Turner, Weehawken & You Civic Association, Felix Vazquez *Thank you to the Township of Weehawken and the City of Union City, NJ for donating money. I was so impressed at how quickly they jumped at the opportunity to help out. Throughout her life, Virginia has lived in Weehawken, Union City, and West New York, NJ; always proud to call Hudson County home, especially Weehawken. FOREWORD For the last ten years, I have been compiling this book for my grandmother, Virginia Dabonka. Growing up as a kid, I can admit that we didn't have the best relationship. I was restless, always wanted to go outside, play around and would usually end up doing something wrong and mischievous. "C'mon, hurry up and get ready... we're going to Nanna's house", my mother would say. Those words usually meant going to 2 Potter Place in Weehawken, NJ, to her house for Thanksgiving and Christmas. We watched marathon re-runs of Godzilla in black and white on Channel 11, while we ate food that really wasn't that good. Smoke filled the air while "Poppy" sat all day at the table in his pajamas, smoking Alpine menthol cigarettes, usually complaining to Nanna about something. I really didn't like going there. In my teens and college years I used to visit her at the senior citizens building in Weehawken and ring bell No. 5C. Admittedly, sometimes I would visit just to get a drink of orange juice, a peanut butter sandwich and some chocolate cookies. No matter how many doctors told her to lay off the sweets, it was guaranteed that she would have a stash of ice cream, potato chips and cookies at any given moment. When my father Jimmy and my aunt Cathy both moved to Florida, I started to help Nanna by driving her around town doing simple chores. Here and there, it wasn't much, but it saved her a lot of money that would have been spent on taxis. At one point after college, I didn't have a job for a few months. She never judged me or criticized, but rather offered a helping hand if I needed it. She lent me money to buy a car and I paid her back every penny in a few months. She always played scratch-off lottery tickets and would keep a little pile of her winning tickets and cash them out before going on a seniors trip to Atlantic City. Sometimes she would give 8 Virginia Dabonka me a winning $10 ticket if I was short on money ... and with some chocolate cookies in my other hand, visits to Nanna started getting a lot better! I started to realize what a gem of a person she is - always happy to see me, even if it was just for a few minutes while I drank up her orange juice. I started popping in unannounced and she would love my little surprise visits. Not your typical grandmother, Nanna would tell me a new dirty joke the second I walked into her house. Her ability to recall jokes amazed me. She would talk to me not how a grandmother usually talks to a grandson, but rather like a friend - a real friend. Some secrets never to be revealed! We started working on this book and some progress was made. Sometimes I would take a break and forget about the book for a few months. Then I'd get a birthday card in the mail with a little P.S. "I hope you haven't forgotten about the book." Then I'd start up again. This went on for a few years. My visits to Nanna's house weren't usually anything more than that. We'd sit on the couch and watch "M.A.S.H" for an hour or so while I had a turkey sandwich on white Wonder Bread and a glass of ginger ale. There was always a peaceful southern breeze entering windows that she always kept open in warmer months. We'd discuss the progress of the book and ways to improve upon it. Sometimes I would put a nail in the wall and hang a picture frame. Always busy, she would show me her latest craftwork and floral arrangements. I helped her with a few attempts to get rich by selling her crafts at flea markets - which never really panned out. She was the star tenant in her building, famous in her own right, and everyone was her friend. Her poems were always in The Weehawken Reporter. Everyone in the Weehawken seniors building knew the name Virginia, even the old Hispanic neighbors who barely spoke English would call out her name just to say hello. I was happy to be doing something for a lady that has lived the life that she has lived. She enjoyed my company and I loved her cookies, and Survival 9 she was thrilled at the idea of her story being read by thousands - possibly even by Oprah, or turned into a movie, perhaps! This book has been authored solely by Virginia. Thank you for taking the time to read it. In doing so, you have made someone's dream come true. That someone is who I am proud to call my grandmother, "Nanna," and my friend. -Adam J. Dabonka 10 Virginia Dabonka "Don't try getting away from me, you lying, conniving, ungrateful little bitch. You're rotten to the core just like your mother, and neither one of you is worth the powder to blow you to hell! If me and your uncle had half a brain we would have left you in the Home where we found you. Everyone warned me you couldn't take someone else's dirt and make something out of them, and how right they were. Why didn't I listen to them and heed their words? You'll pay for what you did this day and learn respect; you'll see!" How those words hurt and stung in my ears, but the sting from the belt hurt even more as she slammed it down across my buttocks and legs. "Your mother is a rummy and you'll wind up just like her in a furnished room some day, just mark my words. Now brat, take off every stitch of clothes as I'll beat you black and blue." With those words ringing in my ears, she opened the kitchen door and shoved me out into the hall. Oh, the shame and humiliation of it all just because I lost the handkerchief she had pinned on my dress as I left for school that morning. I begged Aunt Annie to let me in and promised to be better in the future. With what little compassion her 200-lb. frame could hold, she let me come back inside as someone was coming down from one of the upper floors. As usual, I ran the eight blocks back to school, red-eyed from crying and out of breath. There I was, only 10 years old and I had been through more suffering in those ten years than most people endure in a lifetime; but little did I know the nightmare was just beginning. I was born, April 13, 1923, which with my luck happened to Survival 11 be on a Friday. What a vintage year that was, 29th President of the United States Warren G. Harding dies in office and is succeeded by Calvin Coolidge, Time Magazine hits newsstands for the first time and the N.Y. Yankees win the World Series! Poor mom - by the time I arrived - six of her eight children had died, and the only survivors were me and my older brother John. As it so happens, he was born on April 12, but four years earlier than I. My mother was a big, strapping, handsome woman of Irish descent, born in New York City; and what a beautiful voice she had. She loved to sing Helen Morgan type songs and when she sang, the angels applauded. Her ambition was to sing on the stage, but her mom wouldn't hear of it as it wasn't considered proper in those days. So mom put her dreams on hold and went to work in a ribbon factory where she met my dad, as he worked there also. Good old Dad, he of English extraction and with his name of Abram Chauncey Woodrow Halsey Cook. As fate would have it, they dated, fell in love, got married and started a family. It was love at its finest. As I wrote before, mom had already lost six of her eight children, four boys and four girls, including two sets of twins. Only my brother John and I survived. This of course depressed her immensely and with each child that died, she drank more and more. By the time John and I were born, she was already an alcoholic. She cared less and less about her two living children. Back in those days, ladies weren't allowed to drink in taverns, but they could take out their beer in containers or cans for 5 cents each, and mom was always "rushing the can." I can recall her drinking beer at the kitchen table and eating kelp from the local fish market, and the usual pickled pig's feet. How she enjoyed that. Dad did a little drinking, but could never keep up with mom, as he had to go to work every day. I would meet up with him at the 14th street subway station on his way home from work and give him the latest account of what shape 12 Virginia Dabonka mom was in and whether to expect supper to be ready or not. We lived on Bank Street, New York City. Most of the time, dad would do the cooking and his favorite meal had to be with pork chops. As far back as I can remember, there were always parties going on in the evenings, as mom had lots of friends over who drank and encouraged her to sing. It was because dad loved to hear her sing "The Trail of the Lonesome Pine" which was also known as "The Blue Ridge Mountains ofVirginia" that he named me after that song. One thing I did inherit from her was a decent singing voice, or so my friends tell me - and they never lie! Survival 13 The Trail of the Lonesome Pine On a mountain in Virginia stands a lonesome pine Far below it, is the cabin home of that little girl of mine Her name is June and very, very soon, she'll belong to me For I know she's waiting there for me underneath that lonesome tree In the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, On the trail of the lonesome pine. In the pale moonshine, our hearts entwine, Where she carved her name and I carved mine, Oh June, like the mountains I'm blue Like the pine, I am lonesome for you. In the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, On the trail of the lonesome pine. -By MacDonald and Carroll 14 Virginia Dabonka We moved around a lot in New York City; and when I was 6 years old the family moved across the river to Hoboken, N.J. As usual, mom made her daily trips to the nearest neighborhood tavern. The Depression years had set in, yet she managed to drink herself into a stupor every day without fail. We moved around quite a few times in Hoboken and lived on many streets; some of which I remember included Garden Street, Willow Avenue, 1st Street, and of course, Washington Street. Apartments were easy to get in those days and the rents were cheap. I attended Saint Mary's School but was absent many days at a time due to neglect. There were no support groups around at that time like Alcoholics Anonymous and who knows if she would have gone to any of their meetings, as they only serve coffee there, no beer. So while she was having drinking buddies over for parties, my brother John and I roamed the streets of Hoboken till the wee hours of the morning looking for pennies, empty soda cans or whatever else we could sell. Oh mama, why couldn't you stop that cursed drinking which was ruining your whole family and which became your only desire? I can recall on one occasion when mom tried to give me a bath in our kitchen tub which was filled with dead roaches - yuk! Many times we had nothing to eat, yet she managed to get her favorite brew and was so happy in her own little world, as it seems nothing else was important to her. Perhaps if her other children had lived, my life might have been different, who knows? Maybe the ones who died before me were the lucky ones, for they escaped the harried life I was about to enter into. In spite of mom's neglect, John and I tried to survive the best way we could, but it did not go unnoticed by our neighbors. What a pathetic sight we must have presented to them. John would take his shoeshine box and I would follow him like a puppy dog all over 4th Street Park in Hoboken. After all, he was four years older than Survival 15 I, and how I looked up to him. He was my knight in shining armor. Shoe shines were only 5 cents back then, and on a good day he made enough to afford to take us to a nearby restaurant for a bowl of delicious clam chowder with real clams in it - to this day my favorite soup. John and I were always close, but being he was a little older than I, he had his own circle of friends who were into sports and hanging out in the schoolyard. In the meantime, I found a good friend in one of my classmates who was also named Virginia and was the same age as I. She lived only a few blocks away from me with her mom, dad, and three brothers and one sister. Also living with them was their Uncle George, who was her mom's brother. Virginia's mom was a real nice lady who had invited me to come to her house almost every afternoon for a sandwich and a soda, as she knew my predicament at home. I can recall that Uncle George didn't work for some reason or other and was always home when we got there. He was in his mid-40s I assumed, and looked quite healthy to me, but because I was 7 years old, it didn't enter my mind to ask questions about such things. That was not on my priority list at that time. I do remember the fun times we had in the evenings when Virginia, her siblings and I played with Uncle George as her mom and dad watched while listening to the radio. Uncle George would take turns with the boys, putting them through their various exercises as he'd lie on the floor with his knees up and toss the boys over his head and then would do the same with us girls. What fun that was and how I wished my dad could have done that with John and me, but he was too busy working while trying to keep us together. Sometimes Uncle George would lift us up on his shoulders and parade around to our squeals of delight. Now that was fun! Each one of us patiently awaited our turn to be picked up. Mom couldn't have cared less where we were as long as she had her can of beer on 16 Virginia Dabonka the table, as that was her priority and nothing else mattered. That was what she lived for and I guess John and I were just as dead to her as were her other children. On this particular Saturday morning in October, the sun was bright and the day was just beginning. I had gone to my friend Virginia's house. Her mom and dad had gone to visit her sick sister who lived in another town and they would return early in the evening. They had relied on Uncle George to keep us entertained, which we were excited to be a part of! He played the usual games with us and we couldn't wait to be lifted up on his shoulders where we felt we were up in the clouds. For whatever reason, on this day he chose me to be the last, as it suited his plans for me. While he had me up on his shoulders screeching with innocent delight, he pulled out a wad of bills and gave the kids money to go to the Saturday matinee movie. They wanted me to go too, and I wanted to go, but he wouldn't let me down, saying he would take me to meet them there a little later. The door closed while the other children ran down the stairs to the matinee. I was a little confounded to say the least; I figured Uncle George wanted to give me some extra playtime on his shoulders. The next thing I remember is him throwing me on the bed. He threatened to kill me if I told anyone about what took place in that apartment. I recall him taking my clothes off and slapping me in the face with his open hand every time he tried to put his penis in my mouth - how horrible and I was so frightened. It was really happening; it was a horror movie in real life. I never imagined that someone so nice to me one minute could be so violent and evil the next. Then he got on top of me and did that awful thing that hurt so much. "Oh God," I thought. Why was this happening to me as I did nothing to deserve it? Perhaps it would have been better if he had killed me. I never knew the meaning of rape or the sexual parts of the Survival 17 human body. My mom never explained such things to me as she was never sober long enough. I had to find out the hard way and I can remember crying hysterically when I saw the blood on my panties. Remembering what Uncle George had threatened me with, I told no one of the incident, especially mom. I knew she was incapable of caring at that time and I didn't even know I had been raped. I was terrified and confused. At around this time, unbeknownst to mom, the neighbors had complained to the local authorities about John and I being neglected, missing school and roaming the streets late at night as her drinking problems became worse and worse. Things came to a head one afternoon when a police officer came and took me right out of the classroom at St. Mary's School. And from there right to the police station in Hoboken where mom was drunk and sat crying her eyes out. I don't know where they took mom or what they did with her, but I was put in jail right there in Hoboken! Can you imagine what it was like for an 8-year-old girl to be placed in this strange place, and kept overnight? I had no idea of what was going on or why I was there. I must say, I was indeed lucky that I wasn't put in a cell with bars, but instead in a basement room with a bed in it. They were very kind to me and made me feel comfortable under the circumstances. As best they could, bless their hearts, they got me to stop crying and plied me with hamburgers, cookies and milk. That was the first good meal I had in a long time, and oh my, did that taste good! In the meantime, mom was declared an "unfit mother" unable to properly care for us. The next few days were a blur, but off we went. John and I were placed in an institutional home for wayward children somewhere in Bayonne, N.J. The first day I was there I was given a bath and my head was doused with kerosene, as of course I had lice. As is customary at any institution, you must undergo a complete physical examination - yuk! It was there that they 18 Virginia Dabonka discovered I had been raped and the police were brought in. They asked me what seemed like a zillion questions until I told them about Uncle George ... and then all hell broke loose. The police found him back at the apartment in Hoboken, and he was arrested. Of course his whole family was mad at me at that time instead of being furious with him, as I was the victim and he was the one who raped me. He was brought to trial, which lasted more than two weeks. I remember I was questioned on the witness stand and told the truth about what happened on that fateful day as best I could. The judge sentenced him to three years in prison, and I'll never forget my dad trying to beat him up only to be stopped by the guards. How lucky for Uncle George. With an alcoholic wife and children taken away by the state, life had taken its toll on dad and he wasn't looking well at all. After the trial, I was remanded back to the home in Bayonne and once again had to wear the pink gingham dress that all the girls there had to wear. Being the youngest one there, the older girls treated me with respect and were very nice to me. There was only one thing that would irritate me. On a daily basis one girl would stand at the back of the room with a large box on a chair and all the other girls would form a line and were given a package, yet every time I went up I was turned away. One girl later explained to me that they were giving away Kotex, which I didn't need at the time. Mom never explained the facts of life to me and I had to find out from a total stranger. Each girl there had chores to do and I was no exception. We all had to wash our bed sheets on a washboard in the basement and I could never wring them out, they were too heavy for me, so the girls would take turns helping me. I can actually say I was happy there and could see my brother John on the "boys" side where they did their exercise and played ball. I would wave to him as I hung our clothes on the line. I was happy there and it's all that mattered to me. Survival 19 How I looked forward to dad's visits every Sunday, as this was the best day of the week. He would bring me coloring books every time he came and would also visit John. I loved him so very much and I know he loved me and John. My eyes would be glued to the walkway of the institution waiting for his arrival! After a few weeks of this, I noticed, as I watched him from my window that his steps became slower and he would stop every few steps to catch his breath. Dad's health was deteriorating. His visits were becoming infrequent. Sometimes I would spend almost the whole day looking at that walkway. A few weeks had passed and came along the awful news that my dad had died from some liver problems he had. I cried so much for him as he was only 45 years old. I had never been to a funeral parlor before and it looked so scary. Seeing dad in the coffin like if he was sleeping so nice, but when someone lifted me up to kiss him, it gave me chills as he was so cold. It was good to see my brother John there and we had so much to talk about. He was living with some other relatives at the time. Mom was there also and I felt bad as she had lost a lot of weight and I could tell she was still drinking and had to be led out of the funeral parlor. I was glad that I got to hug her before she left. After all, she was my mother and a child's love for their mother never ends. Enter Uncle Ed and Aunt Anna. As soon as the funeral was over, my father's brother Uncle Ed what adopted meant, but I went along with it. They must have made some kind of arrangement previously with the home but it sounded pretty good to this 10-year-old child. Uncle Ed was about 5 feet 6, in his early 60s while Aunt Anna was a big, strapping German woman, about 55 years old. Mom lived only three blocks away from us on 10th Street in Hoboken and on several occasions came by to see me. Because she had alcohol on her breath, she was asked to stop her visits and she never came 20 Virginia Dabonka again. She told them the only time she would come back was if I was dead. Poor mom, I felt so sorry for her as in my own special way, I still loved her. Aunt Anna was a proud stoic German. She and Uncle Ed had no children of their own and she reminded me every day what a nuisance I was, never as good as other neighborhood children. From the start, I could tell that Aunt Anna hated me but put on a good act for the neighbors. She made sure that when I went to school every day, I looked picture-perfect with a freshly ironed dress with a handkerchief pinned to it and a pretty bow in my hair. Her plan was for the neighbors to see me leaving the house and how nice she dressed me. To the window she ran every morning to see how many neighbors were looking out their window. What a farce that was! What they didn't see was the real story. The abuse I suffered when I came home for lunch happened every day. Aunt Anna never prepared lunch ahead of time. I had to go four blocks to the supermarket, even though we had a small grocery store on our corner. After all the supermarket charged two or three pennies less and rarely did I return to school without huffing and puffing from running, and red-eyed from crying. The good times were few and far apart. The home for wayward children was looking really good at this time. I looked forward to the weekends, as on Saturdays there was a matinee at the local theatre only two blocks from where we lived. For 15 cents they showed a double feature, a cartoon, world news, coming attractions plus whatever serial was playing that week such as Buck Rogers, Johnny Weissmuller, or Tarzan. The thing is, to get to that movie on the sly posed a big problem as I had no money. So I figured out a good way to get the money for the movie. When Aunt Anna sent me to her local butcher for a pound of chop meat, I would ask for % [percent] of a pound, which I thought was very clever and thus saved a few pennies. My savings, I would put in a small Survival 21 paper bag, go up to the rooftop and place it behind a loose brick up there. I was saving money for the first time in my life! Boy was I proud of myself for such creative thinking. After a few weeks, a new movie was coming to the theatre and I couldn't wait to see it, and to pay for it all by myself - what a treat! I climbed up to our roof to recount my loot and as luck would have it, it was gone! (Ooh how mad I was!) Of course, my Aunt Anna found out from the butcher how I was skimming the money from the chop meat and of course that cast me another beating. I found out years later that a boy from an adjoining rooftop was watching me through his binoculars every time I hid my cash, and then he went up later and helped himself to my "gold." Uncle Ed saw to it that I was home every Thursday when it was Aunt Anna's day for her doctor's appointment. It was on this day when he forced me to have sex with him on Aunt Anna's bed. He always had a pail of water by the bed when he reached his climax. He always said that "Once a cake is cut, a slice is never missed." It's sad to say, but he got a lot of slices out of me. This went on until I was 15 years old. I couldn't tell my aunt, as she was oblivious to everything around her and believed everything her husband told her. If he said the moon was green, in her mind the moon was green. I couldn't tell her what went on in her bedroom as she wouldn't believe me anyway, as she considered me a "low life" and that is how I felt. She always reminded me that I would turn out to be a bum just like my mother. Uncle Ed's prediction for me was that I'd commit suicide in some furnished room. Because of how they felt about me, I felt inferior to everyone for a good part of my life. Poor mom, I couldn't tell her as I was forbidden to speak to her even on the street. I remember at one time feeling like St. Peter when he renounced Jesus Christ, saying he was not one of His disciples. This St. Peter did it three times, and happened when a young boy told me that a woman across the 22 Virginia Dabonka street said she was my mother and I denied the fact. How could I have done that? God forgive me. I found out years later that both my dad and his brother Ed were both in love with my mother and, of course, dad won the prize. Uncle Ed was hurt and disappointed with the outcome and swore vengeance to both mom and dad. I ran away from home on several occasions, but had no place to go. In the meantime, my brother had joined the Air Force and I felt really alone. Deep down, I know I should have reported my Uncle to the proper authorities, but I lived in constant fear of him and his threats so I was always brought back, forever being reminded of how ungrateful I was for their kindness to me. Finally in June of 1939, I graduated from the 9th grade of Public School 3 on Christopher Street in New York. I wasn't allowed to go on to high school because now it was payback time, to repay them for taking such good care of me. Mom, by this time, was getting seriously ill - her body ravaged from booze. But I would still find time to visit more than I was supposed to. This one time, one of our nosy neighbors reported my visit and another beating awaited me when my dear relatives heard about it. Fortunately, I found a job at Henry Heide's candy factory in lower Manhattan where I made a whopping $25 dollars per week, of which I was allowed to keep $5.00 of it. Mom earlier had met a young woman named Midge whom she became good friends with and the two of them became drinking buddies. Midge was allowed to stay with mom on 10th street, as she couldn't afford a place of her own. She would cook and clean for mom and of course go on binges with her. After working about six months at the candy factory, I met a nice young girl named Katy Forrester, who also worked there. She was single and lived in a furnished apartment on 14th Street in New York. She and I became good friends and I blurted out my problems to her about my aunt and uncle and their treatment of me. She suggested I move in with her. After a few seconds of considering the Survival 23 pros and cons, I decided it was time to go. As soon as I turned 17, I left for good. This of course infuriated my benefactors, but I couldn't care less at the time. Word got back to me that my neighbors were informed about how rotten and ungrateful I was to my relatives. This one day when I went to visit mom, as usual, I knocked on the door. Only this time, a man opened the door; I was surely in the wrong apartment. "Hello?" he said. "Oh, I'm sorry I think I have the wrong... [truncated due to length]