Surviving on Longitude and Latitude: One Woman’s Journey to Find Her Purpose Through Education and Exploration

By Dr. Magdalena Caproiu

As a child growing up in a small Romanian village, Magdalena Caproiu lived a simple life without any of today’s modern conveniences. She had a passion to learn and explore, but the shadow of World War II would attempt to derail her plans. Defying authority and tradition, she left home at just 10 years of age, traveling to new cities, new countries, new latitudes, and new longitudes, in order to follow her dreams.

As a young woman pursuing an engineering career in post-war Communist Romania, Magdalena would face new challenges. In a world of food shortages, loss of basic freedoms, and government spies, Magdalena would constantly need to adapt in order to keep her family safe. Despite the many challenges, she never lost her passion for education and ultimately earned a PhD in Mechanical Engineering.

Surviving on Longitude and Latitude chronicles her struggle as an outsider. First as a Jewish child, then as a woman in a male-dominated field, as an enemy of the Communist party, and finally as a 60-year-old immigrant looking to start her life over in America.

A life-long educator, Dr. Caproiu finds purpose in touching the lives of her students with her unshakeable optimism. She refuses to look back, turns every setback into an opportunity, and has never stopped learning. She now shares her survival skills and life lessons in hopes of inspiring others, and firmly believes, “The difference between a good day and a bad day does not consist of a change in the day - It consists of a change in you."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jun 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781716916359

Book preview

SURVIVING ON

LONGITUDE

AND LATITUDE

One woman’s journey to find her purpose

through education and exploration.

Dr. Magdalena Caproiu

Copyright © 2020 Dr. Magdalena Caproiu.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any

means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission

of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews.

Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-6847-4130-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7169-1635-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020905642

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in

this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views

expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 05/21/2020

For a long time it had seemed to me that life was about to begin - real life. But there was always some obstacle in the way, something to be gotten through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, or a debt to be paid. Then life would begin. At last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life.

- Alfred D. Souza

Everything can be taken from man but one thing. The last of human freedoms - to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances.

-Viktor Frankl

PROLOGUE

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I t’s a bright Saturday afternoon in Lancaster, California. Spring Break will soon come to an end and I will return to teach class again. This day is different. I’m not in school. To be honest, after only one week away from my students, I miss them. Today my granddaughter, Jessica, is taking me to see a movie. I always love finding the messages in films, books, and life in general. That is why I love teaching so much. It’s about helping each student find their purpose in life and their message to the world.

While I wait for Jessica to arrive, I go check my mailbox. It’s just before Easter, so it’s full of pastel greeting cards. One catches my attention. The sender is a former student I taught more than 40 years ago. Like me, this letter traveled across many countries and oceans to get here. Jessica arrives to pick me up, so I don’t have time to read it.

At the theater’s ticket window, a current student recognizes me. She’s in the nursing program I helped develop at Antelope Valley College. The young lady tells me she saw my name in the local paper after I was nominated for a faculty award. My granddaughter smiles and says, Grandma, you’re famous!

In this small town, it’s common to run into current and former students, but it still brings me joy. I pause to think back on all the students whose lives I’ve touched over the last half century, but my recollection is short-lived. It’s time to go find our seats.

The projector flickers on and the movie starts. I watch the images on the screen and fragments of my own life begin to flash through my mind. With these memories, I recall my hopes, my struggles, and my achievements. I think back through the eighty-nine years of my life and the survival skills I had to develop to overcome the many obstacles I faced as an outsider. Since I was a child, I had an innate passion for education. This drive for knowledge would propel me through life and allow me the opportunity to see the world.

My intention for sharing my story is to show how I developed these life skills. It was a voyage that spanned many years, across war, politics, love, death, longitude and latitude. I had to learn to fight for what I wanted, trust my intuition, connect with others, and be grateful for what I had. These qualities are universal and helped me to survive and thrive.

PREFACE

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O n their own, longitude and latitude simply mark coordinates on a map. These measurements possess no inherent value on their own, until we assign them meaning: a road, a border, a city, etc. Growing up in a small village, it was hard for me to fully imagine the scope of such a vast network of coordinates, wrapping themselves around every corner of the world. As a child, my father would take my tiny finger and trace it across the continents of the globe. Even these imaginary journeys would fill me with angst. I was the typical big fish in a little pond, minus the big part. The village provided a comfortable pond for me with fresh water, plenty of light, and lots of company. Alas, at some point, a fish might need to leave the pond and venture out into the wide-open ocean.

I would be confronted by this realization sooner rather than later. I learned the world had no true borders, just invisible lines marking its longitudes and latitudes, while simultaneously connecting us all. Like the wide-open sea, my life has fluctuated between stillness and storms. My journey would take me around the world many times over with high points soaring as tall as the grandest mountains and low points that would pull me down to the depths of the darkest abyss. Looking back through the setbacks and triumphs, these trips would enrich my soul and offer me an escape.

Unlike buying a boarding pass from the ticket counter, the journey of life isn’t a round trip, but rather a one-way voyage. It would be nice to return to some of your favorite stations or perhaps your least favorite, for a second chance to do things differently. You could be better than before, more patient, more brave, more focused. Sadly, it is not possible to go back, only forward. Life is a journey with rules of the road, which you must learn to obey or face the consequences. These lessons will become your map, helping you navigate to your final destination: your goals and dreams. We carry our baggage from stop to stop, switching routes, vehicles, and if we’re lucky, we may even find a travel companion to see us through to the end. Despite all these changes, we must take the time to pause and look out the window so we can enjoy the view.

CHAPTER 1

Safe and Comfortable

Nest

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T he enduring memory of my grade school teacher will always stay with me, his dark green Iron Guard uniform and the heavy pistol attached to his belt. The children would tremble as he paced around the classroom, ruler in hand, ready to dole out his lessons with a sharp whack on your palm. This was at the beginning of the Great Depression in a country already struggling with a declining economy and political turmoil. The Iron Guard, Romania’s version of the Nazi Party, was on the rise.

My teacher was not there to provide a real education, but rather to spread propaganda among the students. As a Jewish child, his rhetoric offered an especially painful sting. He wielded his power every day in our classroom and at his personal residence, where we were forced to clean his house and yank weeds from his garden. At school, if one of us gave him the wrong answer while reciting the multiplication tables, he would make us kneel in the corner on corn seeds until our knees were as wounded as our spirits. While his abuse forced me to learn how to multiply at a young age, it didn’t satisfy my thirst for knowledge. For as long as I could remember, I had a burning desire to seek a real education. Even then, I knew this to be my life’s purpose. My teacher’s spread of misinformation and ignorance only strengthened my resolve to find true knowledge.

As a small girl, I spent hours pretending I was a teacher to my dolls. I’m not sure what knowledge I had back then, but I do remember how much I loved being able to share it. My mother would smile when she overheard me scold my dolls for not doing their homework. I later realized harsh words were not the way to help a student learn. External threats could help me temporarily memorize facts, but teaching is more than facts. It’s about fueling the desire for knowledge. This internal drive and self-discipline would help me survive the difficult times ahead as world events became a threat to my existence.

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Magdalena, Age 8 – Ceica, Romania - 1938

The year was 1930. I was born in a Transylvanian village in Romania, close to the Hungarian border. Yes, Transylvania was and still is a real place. There were no vampires, but there were other threats we would have to face. My hometown of Ceica was nestled between a sprawling forest and rolling hills. Less than eight-hundred inhabitants lived in the storybook village of small cottages with red tile roofs. It was a simple life.

We had no running water or electricity, so we heated our homes with wood stoves and used kerosene lamps for light. The narrow streets were unpaved and very dark at night. There were only a few phones in the entire village, operated by a clerk whose office was in her kitchen. She’d patch through calls in between cooking meals for her family. You could often overhear the clatter of banging pots and pans or children playing while waiting to be connected. Transportation to other villages happened by train or buses that operated three times a week. More often than not, you could find the local villagers getting around by horse-drawn wagons.

In the center of the town was an artesian well, providing fresh drinking water for the whole village. There were three churches and one synagogue for our small, religiously diverse community. Our village had one physician, one veterinarian, and one pharmacist, but we had six lawyers because people had many grievances to settle. Despite some bickering and small disagreements, it was a tightknit community. Many families had coexisted side by side for decades. Neighbors knew they could count on each other. The village held a single, modest three-room school house. The students were divided into two rooms - grade school and middle school. The third room served as a space for the small faculty. Students were crowded together by age, but the children had many different learning abilities.

My family and I were lucky. We were better off than many in our village. This was clear to me when I entered school. Many came from local farms and had little motivation for book learning. Their trade would be their livelihoods. These classmates were often quite poor. Some of them could not even afford to buy shoes and had to come to school barefoot. They didn’t care as much about reading or learning as I did, but I enjoyed being with them because their spirits were innocent and their intentions were kind.

The village also had a general market that housed some specialty shops where you could get your hair cut, shoes repaired, dress made, watch fixed, and even sit for a photographic portrait, a rare luxury at that time. There were five general stores in our village. The biggest and brightest was owned by my grandfather, Julius. Perhaps it was the way he decorated it with colorful posters, boasting spices and produce from all over the world. The tight aisles seem to glow as the sunlight beamed in through the large storefront windows, at least it seemed that way through the eyes of a young girl.

What made his store even more special was the kindhearted way he ran it. My grandfather welcomed all customers to his shop without bias. He kept the store open during the hours that suited their needs and got to know each one so he understood how to best serve them. He offered discounts and credits and tried to be fair and compassionate to all. Nobody in need of help was ever turned away. He respected and accepted everyone as they were. While my grandfather always had high expectations of himself, he kindly allowed for less from others, including his children and grandchildren.

Julius was my maternal grandfather and one of the most important people in my life. He was a steady pillar in our family as far back as I can remember. He never overreacted, though he had plenty of reasons to, considering the events that befell us. With trim and tidy appearance and a habit of checking his pocket watch at all times of the day, he looked as purposeful as he was in everything he did. Though he only finished grade school, he became fluent in three languages and even started to learn a fourth in his eighties. He was a smart, calculating businessman who taught me about the world and advised me on how to succeed in life. With ample patience, he always took time to answer my questions and didn’t give up until I understood what I needed to know. He was a humble man who believed that moderation, hard work, and honesty created the recipe for happiness. His wisdom is a guiding force in my life to this day.

As a small child, I spent two weeks every summer with him and my grandmother, Stephanie, at a medical spa, where they went to treat their arthritis pain. I got to swim, meet new friends, eat ice cream, and listen to music each evening in a decorative pavilion near a sprawling lake. The spa was built around natural hot springs, which were said to treat different diseases. I remember the novelty of boiling eggs directly in the hot springs. I loved watching the lotus flowers open in the lake at dawn after seeing them close the night before from my perch on the pavilion balcony.

I also spent many weekends at my grandparents’ house, which was more modern than ours. They had gas lamps, a telephone, posters on the walls, and a small barn in the yard where they raised geese. The house was well-furnished, and a warm and welcoming place for all guests. My grandmother deserves all the credit for that. Phanie, as she was called, was warm and caring woman. As a child, she spent a lot of time with her