Keepers of Golden Dreams

By Theresa Philips Sirawsky

The title for my book, Keepers of Golden Dreams, came to me in a dream. I have been pondering over what to name it for quite some time and couldn't think of anything appropriate. Then one morning, I woke up with a start and there it was, ablaze in my mind.

My parents came to America to create a better life for themselves and

• Language: English
• Publisher: Authors Press
• Release date: Aug 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781643143736

Book preview

Copyright © 2020 by Theresa Philips Sirawsky

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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Table of Contents

Foreword

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

About the Author

REVIEW

BOOK TITLE: KEEPERS OF GOLDEN DREAMS

AUTHOR: THERESA PHILIPS SIRAWSKY

REVIEWED BY: Mihir Shah

We will have to wait until the baby is old enough to travel before we can all go to America.

With the passage of time, generations of families often get lost throughout history, their trials and tribulations forgotten. Sirawsky’s memoir immortalizes the life journey of her mother, Helen Golias Filip, and grandmother Anna Golias Paulik. Passing stories from generation to generation not only keeps the memory of the individuals alive, but it also acts as the glue that holds the entire lineage united. Sirawsky’s chronicling of her mother’s family is primarily derived from Helen’s own stories of life in Dravce, a small Slovakian village. Comprehensive in nature, the memoir captures many elements of nineteenth-century culture and communication with a fluid simplicity that allows the audience to fit right into the customs of that time.

Many themes exist here as they should when an entire biography of a family is being written. However, the late nineteenth century is well known for the pursuit of the American dream, cloaked in the hope that hard work and perseverance could yield a bright future for an entire family. It is with this same hope that John, Anna’s husband, toiled away at the mines in Philadelphia, his aim as sharp as a laser: to bring his three kids and wife to America with him and solidify their future. The patriarchs of families of that period often sacrificed years away from their families. Nevertheless, what made this time beautiful was the genuine effort to find happiness, no matter how small, and their reliance on heritage and tradition to push them through the tough times.

The story opens up casually with the slow, melodious church bells sounding off in St. Katherine’s village church. The scenic terrain the author describes as lush rolling, green hills, is directly juxtaposed with the hard work done in the fields. But all the workers are in the same boat, and it is this camaraderie that keeps the town tight-knit and content. In contrast with modern society, where education is as good as a birthright for most citizens, children of the nineteenth century only went to school for six years before boys were relegated to working in the fields. Young girls were needed to tend the home and care for their younger siblings. Gender norms were also apparent in the dress code of women working in the fields, and as the women collectively congregated at the stream to wash their clothes. In the opening scenes, for example, Anna is donning a bib and apron that fully covers her body. Later, the author describes in immaculate detail the bundle of clothes, the rush to find an empty space along the stream, and the soap made from animal fat.

When John returns home to surprise Anna and his family, a budding romance is resurrected, with a conviction that their family’s future will be in the United States. Despite being parents to two daughters, Clara and Veronica, as well as a son, Wendell, the news that they are expecting almost represents a rejuvenation or rebirth of their marital relationship. While Sirawsky’s memoir focuses on her grandmother, she paints a vivid portrait rooted in the reality of the times. Most families consisted of many children, and, typically, the father would be at work and would miss most of his kids’ childhood. Another undeniable reality was that during these times, most families hung their hat on tradition, whether it was for guidance or a means of entertainment and congregation. In particular, this tradition is most evident in the author’s description of the harvest dance, where a lightheaded and definitely pregnant Anna tries to make the most of her polka dance with John. Events like these and the customary cleaning, baking, and tree trimming during the week before Christmas provide respite from a difficult life.

John’s quest to buy a new horse changes the trajectory of the family, igniting plotlines where Wendell focuses on his duty. Meanwhile, Veronica and Clara grow into beautiful women with their own households. Helen, the author’s mother, is the young child that is in Anna’s womb. Interestingly, she seems to have been born with a bit of a chip on her shoulder, an edge that stems from her fierce love for her father, John, and a steadfast desire to continue living in the past. As Helen gets older, she displays an independence unlike anything seen by the other children. Covering the lifespan of Anna and her entire family, the author touches on the highs and lows, from love and loss to stigmas, broken families, and undying dreams. These make for a meaningful glimpse into the life and ways of a nineteenth-century family.

Dedicated to:

My grandmother, Anna Golias Paulik.

My mother, Helen Golias Filip, whose stories of her youth in Slovakia, came alive for me and what this story is about.

My father, Imre Charles Filip, whose name was finally changed to Emery Philip because of the language misunderstanding.

F

oreword

This story is about my grandmother, Anna Golias, my mother, Helen, and father, Imre Filip, who were born in an old village in Slovakia. I have compiled the stories that my mother related to me, as I grew up, about her village and her mother’s and her life in the old country. She was a wonderful storyteller, who made her life come alive to me. From her stories, I relived her experiences by putting them into story form, chronologically, laughed and cried with my grandmother and her, and at their perseverance of life. My father was from the same village and fell in love with my mother. They were proud of their heritage and although they had a very hard life, they worked hard to make a good living for themselves and their children. They never regretted the decision to leave all that was familiar and sail to a world that was foreign to them, and they never returned to their native country. I felt that my parent’s legacy needed to be told so that the generations would not forget what they had sacrificed in order to live in freedom and have a better life.

The village of Dravce, in Slovakia, is situated northwest of Lipany on the conference of Gadus and Kucman creek, the left tributary of Torysa. This ancient village is first mentioned in 1295 with the assignment of a priest, Peter, to Torysa. In the eleventh century, the inhabitants were already domestics of Novum Castrum castle, later Saris castle. They guarded the border region and raised rapacious dogs and falcons for the local king’s and prince’s hunting. In the middle of the thirteenth century, the village belonged to the Earl of Spis-Saxons named Derik and their sons. In 1274, the village was bought by the Germans, Rikolf, and Polan. In 1316, the village belonged to Rikolf’s son, John, who became a founder of the Berzevicz family branch from that time to the twentieth century.

At the beginning of the thirteenth century, a gothic church was built in the village. To this day, the church still has some gothic architectonic details especially in the interior, and the Sanctuary has a gothic vault. In 1622, a renaissance tower was built. By the middle of the thirteenth century, the village of Dravce became an independent parish with St. Katherine as its own church with a priest named Michal.

At the beginning of the seventeenth century, the Berzeviczs built a manor house in the village with two corner towers. In 1794, the classicist rebuilt the manor house. It was in the late 1800s that this story takes place in the village of Dravce.

Chapter 1

St. Katherine’s village church bell began to peel its slow, clear, melodious bong at the moment of twelve o’clock noon. The sun seemed to be directly above the peasants working in the dusty fields. Noon was the time of the Angelus. At the sound of the first chime, the villagers, wherever they were, stopped what they were doing and bowed their heads in prayer.

The angel of the Lord, declared unto Mary and she conceived of the Holy Ghost. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. The next line was again followed by the Hail Mary until the prayer was ended. Each person said it to themselves, but the entire prayer was said in unison because everyone bowed their heads and began reciting this special prayer, silently, to Jesus’s Mother Mary. The church bells would ring again at six o’clock in the evening, and the next day the cycle 6:00 a.m., 12 noon, and 6:00 p.m. would begin again. In the late 1800s, in the Province of Sarisska, the village of Dravce was nestled in the lush rolling, green hills of Austria-Hungary. The villagers were devoutly religious and intensely devoted to their faith. They were hard working and fun-loving people, and each villager knew his neighbor almost as well as his own family.

On the other side of the hills were other villages that were almost replicas of their own special village. The town folk were clean and worked hard to keep their families clothed and fed. Once a month, there were dances when all the families came together in the town hall to hear the local musicians, with their fiddles and accordions, play late into the night. Young and old, alike, danced and sang. The men would indulge in the home-brewed beer and whiskey while the women and children had homemade root beer. Laughter and merriment rang out as everyone enjoyed themselves. It was the culmination of weeks of hard work, and everyone looked forward to them. There was also a Harvest Festival in the fall in thanksgiving for a bountiful harvest and to celebrate the end of the growing season.

The crops and the fruit were gathered and stored for the coming winter. This was the time for the peasants to relax for a short time until spring, when the ground would be ready to be renewed again and the cycle of planting and replenishing would take place.

The fields, where the villagers farmed the land, were a short distance from the houses and every morning, the men, some of the women, and older children would go out to the fields to till the soil, weed, water, and finally harvest the crops to use for themselves and for their animals.

On a rolling green hill, a short distance away, was the manor house of the Panyi or Baron, who was the overseer of the village, where he ruled over the peasants in a beautiful home. Along with the manor house were many acres of land on which were planted many different kinds of vegetables that were used and later stored for the winter months. He also had many animals, which provided them with meat to be eaten throughout the year. There were orchards of fruit trees, the fruits of which were unbelievably delicious. He and his family had many servants at his command. The villagers were both respectful and obedient to him. If the baron happened to ride through the streets of the village and stopped his carriage to talk to any of the villagers, the women, and children would show their respect by kissing his hand, which he extended to them. If a child happened to be playing in the dirt or mud, he or she would quickly wipe their hand off on their clothing in order to grasp the baron’s hand to kiss it. The baron would barely let them touch his hand, but he could not refuse them the privilege of letting them do so. If he needed anyone to work in his gardens or his household, he would simply ask any of the older children if they would like to come and work for him for as long as he needed them, and pay them accordingly.

This was an opportunity for some of the families to make a little money, which always helped their meager existence. The work was hard, but many of the villagers felt honored if their child was asked to work in the gardens or in their home and the people were content with their lot in life since they knew no other.

Although the country they lived in was Austria-Hungary, the ones who ruled over the Slovaks were the Hungarians. The baron and his family were from Hungary and his duties were to make sure that all the Slovaks learned to speak Hungarian, which was strictly enforced. There were similarities in the language, but it was still very different. The children, who went to school, had to learn the Hungarian language and those who went to religion classes, had to learn their lessons in Hungarian. The peasants resented it, but that was not their choice since the Hungarians ruled over them. The children only went to school for six years, but often, young boys and girls had to quit school before that because they were needed to help at home with working in the fields and the girls were needed to help in the homes and taking care of their siblings.

The baron and his family were the aristocrats and all the aristocrats and their families spent a few winter months in Budapest. They all had homes there and socialized with their friends with parties, concerts, and balls. Some of the servants still worked at the mansion to get work done in the house that couldn’t get done during the rest of the year. The servants had those months off unless they were needed. The house seemed so empty, but the time went by so quickly, and it soon bustled with activity, when the family came back.

On this particularly beautiful day, Anna was working in the field with her three children, Clara, Veronica, and Wendell, when the Angeles bell tolled. While Anna was saying the prayers, her mind kept wandering. She couldn’t seem to concentrate on her prayers. Her thoughts kept going back to her husband, John, and the anticipation of his coming home again from America. She and the children missed him terribly and couldn’t wait for him to come back to Slovakia to be with them again. He had been away for quite a few years working in the mines of Pennsylvania. Many men from their village and villages nearby went to America to work in order to make their families’ lives easier by sending money to them from America.

Finally, the church bell was silent, the prayers finished and everyone in the fields began to get ready to eat their midday meal. Anna pulled her little bench over to her and wearily sat down on it. John had made the bench for her and she touched it gently and sat down to eat her lunch. Carefully she opened her knapsack and took out the bread and cheese and called her children to her. They leisurely ate their food as they talked and laughed as young children do. A smile crossed Anna’s lips as she watched her beautiful children. How very much Wendell looked like his father, a strapping young boy, with broad shoulders and a handsome, rugged face.