 |
The ethnic composition of my family is quite hybrid. My mother's father died of a massive heart attack way before I was born. Family tradition has it that while skipping out of Sunday services in Piraeus, Greece - so that he could go swimming - someone stole his clothes. Mortified by the prospect of his parents' reaction, he found a hollowed out barrel, wore it, and stowed away on an seafaring ship headed for America. Though he was found aboard without a ticket or clothes, the sailors allowed him to work his way across.
My Greek ancestor went on to become a wrestler, and afterwards to work in a gas station in Brooklyn. When I visited Piraeus in 1987 and tried to locate possible relations, all phone listings under the family name denied kinship --and yes, I had a Greek friend do the asking. Since grandfather had mainly sisters, they would have changed their names through marriage. Apparently his only brother served as a guard surrounding the Athens parliament. These guards have a recognition in Greece and are renown for their unflinching stoicness with which they follow their duty. You could tickle them and they would appear oblivious.
Except for being named for him, albeit with an official birth certificate "Johnny" alteration, and having certain genetic traits through his lineage, there is nothing more here to relate. My grandmother thinks that her seeming indifference to her Greek in-laws during the depression was a root cause for the lack and incurring loss of all communication with our Greek relations.
My grandmother had earned the title of matriarch of the family, though she has been periodically estranged from my mother, appearing in and out of my memory. Her family on her mother's side stemmed either from Odessa or Kishnev. Both cities were centers for Jewish life and when her maternal grandfather (my great-great-grandfather) Daniel Wolf lost all of his seven brothers in a pogrom attack, he left for Philadelphia with his wife Perel Faier. Their marriage was arranged when Perel was 15 years old. Though they spoke Yiddish in the home through my grandmother's generation, Perel changed her name to Pearl, and then to Pauline. She was from the same Ukrainian/Moldavian cities, and her family were the Voskabudgnik family, later changed to Weiss (thanks to immigration officials).
My biological father and I became acquainted for the first time in 1979 when I was 23 years old. He was classified 100% mentally disabled, as determined by the Veterans Administration. The V.A. supported him for life in recognition of his four years of army military service, only to join the air force. I was entitled to 4 full years of Veterans Administration benefits for college. It was while he was stationed outside of Geneva, New York on the Finger Lakes, that I was born. In order to communicate with him directly, the V.A. required me to give them an open letter. Upon reading it, they found it "acceptable" and passed it on to him with my address. More on him later.
On my father's paternal side were German Jews and on his maternal, Hungarian Jews - the Oberhards. I never met my paternal grandparents who lived in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, even though I was aware of their existence. My father's father made his living as a bicycle mechanic as did many of the Reinhard clan, but he was reputed to have made illicit alcohol out of his bathtub during prohibition -- a bootlegger. My paternal grandmother was stricken with cerebral palsy and spent her later years in a hospital. My paternal grandfather brought up three male cousins. I never met any of them, nor have I spoken with them on the phone.
My paternal grandfather died while I was visiting my half-sister Jennifer in Buffalo, New York for the first time. I had heard of an older half-sister from my biological father in an earlier marriage and had searched for her without success. Jennifer cried when she received the letter informing her of his death, but to me it was mainly a statistic. Jennifer and I have gotten together three times since she first visited me in New York City with her then boyfriend. She introduced me to her Canadian grandmother. Her fantastic child, Justin cried out to me "Uncle Johnny" when I drove up to visit in a rented car. Justin died at 4 years old as a direct result of his needing periodically replaced plastic parts implanted surgically in his chest, due to a heart condition. The kid was amazing in his sublime acceptance of his fate and I will never forget telling him the story of Peter and the Wolf in a solo-bassoon version while he was wearing a pink bunny suit.
Jennifer had divorced after Justin's birth. She married anew to Mark and I have a new nephew whom I have since had the joy of meeting. I did meet an uncle on the Oberhard side - who was a lawyer - before going off to college, after convincing my mother that I should get to know some new relatives. It was a nice bourgeois meal and that's all I can recall.
As early as I can remember, I lived on welfare on or near Kings Highway in Brooklyn with my mother and brother. Josef, called Joe as long as I've know him, married my mother and we moved to the Midwood section of Brooklyn. My stepfather is a Polish-born Jew whose entire family was murdered before his eyes by the Nazis: They poisoned to death full train cars of people, including his parents. "Dad" was "saved" by the Nazis to work for them at the Auschwitz Concentration Camp since he was a relatively healthy teen. This history has never been discussed by him as it is obviously a cause of great pain to him. After Auschwitz, he was sent to Buchenwald. One Sergeant Wright in the U.S. Army participated in the liberation of the Buchenwald concentration camp and soon adopted the 21-year old Josef. His face was plastered over several major American newspapers. It was considered quite newsworthy at the time for an American to adopt a young war victim. Though some of his adopted relatives appeared briefly during my childhood, his adopted parents died long before we ever met.
My brother and I often went searching illicitly through his trunk of World War II memorabilia. Among other things we found Nazi medals and bullwhips, photos, and numerous letters from Americans that had seen his face on the cover of the Daily News or The New York Times, so some other. There were offers of setting him up in school as a dentist, etc. But he had a stubborn streak to make it on his own. He would become a professional waiter after a proud stint as a cook in the American army during the Korean War.
For a while he worked as head waiter at the Elegante, a famous entertainment restaurant just north of a major cemetery on Ocean Parkway in Brooklyn, an avenue with no other commercial establishments. The Elegante started the comedic careers of Don Rickles, Pat Cooper, and the "I don't get no respect" king, Rodney Dangerfield. Joe's savings allowed him to marry my mother and move from an attic apartment on Schermerhorn Street in Brooklyn to the purchase of a house on a mortgage where they continue to live. The mortgage(s) are paid while the Elegante stands no longer.
|
To Johnny Reinhard's home page (all links)
To Raven CD page
To Johnny's interview (1999)
A new interview (2005) with Johnny Reinhard, about the Universe Symphony
To Charles Ives' page at the Stereo Society
We encourage shopping:
Why our universal CD price is so low
What you get in packaging
Why CDs sound better
Why you get almost instant satisfaction: wait just three days for REAL quality
We give away HUGE chunks of music so you can REALLY check it out
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
| to the albums page |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |