Simonas Mazeika (1880 - 1956)

Simonas Mazeika (1880-1956) was a “dapper dan” gentleman. Although roly-poly and pot-bellied, he still always appeared neatly dressed, in shirt, tie, and coat. When they were in vogue, he also wore spats, pieces of cloth over the top of the shoes. Throughout his life he worked in the garment industry and steam-pressed men’s suits as the finished products. He often had the burn marks on his hands to show for it.

Simon was a kind and generous uncle, who liked to tipple his liquor with family and friends. He visited our home frequently, giving my mother sage solicitous advice. He had huge hands and, on every visit, would shake our own hands with a viselike squeeze that left us groaning in pain. However, we did not mind too much, because he always laughed and (unlike uncle Joe) gave all of us some money. Thus we faced the same dilemma on each of his visits, whether to endure the painful shake so as to secure the desired coin.

On many occasions, Simon, Mary, and I made special excursions to nearby woodlands for picking grybai (mushrooms) during the late autumn months after the first frost. Simon knew the names and kinds of all the different varieties. We hunted for the elusive fungi by going off in separate directions. The pine forest floor usually had a carpet of pine needles and, when we sighted a nodule or bump in the carpet, we knew we had discovered our quarry. We would give out a whoop and a holler, and the others then came running, since mushrooms usually grow in colonies, and we would denude the entire area of its delicious treats.

The forests were eerily silent, except for the slight rustling of the pine trees, as we rambled for hours and enjoyed the exhilaration of “seek and find” like kids. Often it was obvious that Simon fondly recollected the same activity while he was a youngster in Lithuania. When the day drew to a close, we were tired and weary but yet, like reluctant school children, trudged back to the car, content though hungry, clutching our treasured nuggets of mushrooms as if they were Spanish gold. We then ate cans of sardines, together with black rye bread, as sustenance for our body, but we also imbibed the delicious virytos to warm our spirits.

Simon married Anele Simanaviciute (1886-1948) in 1913. After his wife died, he made daily pilgrimages to the local saloons, showing his impartiality by patronizing a different saloon on each day of the week. I often found him in one of them, and we “lifted a few” drafts of beer together.

He had a hearty laugh and a twinkle in his eye. He was an astute and knowledgeable conversationalist, offering keen but benign commentary on the foibles of the period. He often became maudlinly nostalgic about the good old days back in the old country, since time and tide had eroded and smoothed the reality of the sharp edges of poverty and despair. He was not exactly crying in his beer, as he would never dilute the golden suds, but his blue eyes would mist over when he reminisced, and his mind’s eye would picture the green rolling hills, the dark emerald forests, and the rippling streams, while he would softly intone brangi Lietuva (precious Lithuania).

Uncle Simon hurt no one. The only “scars” he left on this earth were the etchings of fond memories about him within our hearts and the disturbed soil in the cemetery where he was buried in 1956 at 75 years of age. Amzina atilsi (may he rest in peace).