Category: history

Narva-Joesuu

On Friday, we got up at 5 AM in order to catch the 6:30 AM train to Narva. This time, we didn’t mess up with the buses, and took the right one, and didn’t even miss the stop, and were at the cemetery at 10:15 AM.

The weather on both Thursday and Friday was much better than forecasted. On Thursday, it was just sunny with no rain. On Friday, the rain was starting and stopping, but it was still light enough that we could walk around for a while, and we took shelter at a bus stop for only the last 30 minutes.

I was sure I would find the grave immediately, but I got lost again, and after wandering “somewhere close,” I asked a lady tending another grave if she could help me. The lady looked at the photo on my phone, but couldn’t recognize it, so I kept moving in circles, until she suddenly called me: Woman, woman! Here it is! I realized I completely forgot this way of addressing strangers (woman, girl, man, etc.).

Anyway, I found it. And now that the lot is cleaned up, I see that more repairs are needed, so we’ll have to figure out what we are going to do with it)/

Same as last time, Boris and I walked from the cemetery towards the village center, and passed the wood where I used to go berry-picking.

Once again, we stopped by the house where I spent three summers of my childhood. This time, however, it looked like there was a massive construction in progress, so I suspect that next time I visit, this house won’t be there anymore. Well, I am glad I had a chance to see it!

We had an extra hour and a half in Narva, and the rain stopped again, so we walked to the fortress (the view is so breathtaking that I can’t stop looking!)

Another 3-hour train ride to Tallinn, walking under the pouring rain to the ferry terminal, and a two-hour ride to Helsinki (this time, comfortably sitting in the cafe).

Boris believes that as long as someone remembers a person who passed away, this person is not completely gone. For him, that’s the reason to take care of this grave and keep visiting it. I do not hold this belief, but still, somehow, it’s important for me not to abandon it after I found it.

How I Got Accepted To School Number 30

In my recent historical posts (here and here), I described my situation by the end of the eighth grade: I wanted to transfer to School Number 30, but it was, technically speaking, forbidden because I was already attending another specialized school.

I can’t remember who told me to start attending one more math class at the same school: this one met twice a week and was taught by Mr. Maiselis, the most decorated math teacher in the whole city. He was teaching these classes to prospective students, which allowed him to assess everyone’s skills and pick and choose the best students for his upcoming 9th-grade class. There were always seven 9th-grade classrooms. Two were taught by Mr. Maiselis, two by Mr. Ilyin, two by Ms Kursish, and one by Ms. Klimwitsky.

There was some sort of rivalry between Maiselis’ classes and Ilyin’s classes, and everyone was keeping an eye on the school competition, even more than on citywide olympiads. But I learned about all of this later. At the time I am talking about, I was still fifteen, still attending the eighth grade, and still wanting to transfer. The reason I started to attend Mr. Maiselis’ classes was that I was hoping for his help with facilitating the process.

I think I was not the worst student, and when I got a chance to talk to Mr. Maiselis, he told me that a person in charge of math education on my district school board was a friend of his, and I should get an appointment with him and ask for an exception.

Looking at that situation from today’s perspective, I am unsure why my mom just let me do this. I remember that later she was telling someone that “she told me it’s up to me, and if I want it, I should figure this out.” That’s so out of her character that I can’t imagine why she would do that. Nevertheless, she left me to my own devices, and I went to the district school board, and asked for an appointment, and talked to this gentleman. First, he appeared to be very compassionate, but when he learned that I held several city olympiad diplomas, he exclaimed: why would I let you leave our district! Yes, an additional problem with that transfer was that I wanted to transfer out of my home district. Finally, he told me that he would sign the papers if I could convince my current math teacher and my homeroom teacher to sign a letter of recommendation for me.

I went back to my home school, pleaded with both teachers until they signed all the papers, then went back to the district office, and was finally accepted to School Number 30. I do not recall taking any entrance exams. I believe that Mr. Maiselis’s recommendation would suffice. My homeroom was 9-2. Vadim and Tolya were accepted as well. Vadim was in room 9-4, and his teacher was Mr. Ilyin; Tolya was in room 9-6, and his teacher was Ms Kursish. Can you believe I still remember all of these details?! That’s how important it was for me at that time!

Transferring to School Number 30 was one of the defining moments in my life, one of the events that changed its trajectory. I got an access to likely the best available secondary education, not only it STEM, but also in social studies and literature, even though, looking back, I am astonished seeing how one-sided was this best education. The environment I was immersed into fostered independent thinking (again, to certain extent only, but probably the best I could have at that time). I got to know many people whom I would never get to know otherwise. Most importantly, if not for School Number 30, it would be rather unlikely for me to even think about applying to the Leningrad State University, which means that none of my life would happen. There were very few decisions of life-altering decisions of that magnitude, and transferring to School Number 30 was the first of them.

My historical posts are being published in random order. Please refer to the page Hettie’s timeline to find where exactly each post belongs and what was before and after.

Youth Math School: The 8th Grade

Here is my last post about the Youth Math School. The other day, I thought I should blog about being a teacher at the Youth Math School, but then I realized I hadn’t finished the story of my own studies. Here it is.

I do not remember how I signed up for these classes in school #30. I believe I just walked into the old Math Department building, which was still open for the evening classes, found the ad board, and looked up the classes for the 8th graders. I noted the day and time, and just showed up.

I know it seems wild to students nowadays that you could just walk into a school building during the evening hours, find the room, and nobody would ask you anything. I believe that University students who taught these classes still had to find a janitor to take the key and open the classroom, since I remember us sitting in the hallway and waiting for our teachers. And I also remember looking for someone to open a classroom for me when three years later, I was a teacher myself.

My current self is just wondering why it was assumed that the school should allow these evening classes, why they trusted us, why parents didn’t care where their teenage kids were (most likely, they were happy that their teenage kids were doing math rather than drinking cheap wine on the streets), but my past self didn’t give it a second thought.

Anyway, I was in a math class again. Once again, I was the only girl in the class. Our teachers were Misha Chepovetsky and Borya Goldberg. Since they were teachers, we addressed them with their patronymics (and later, when I was a teacher myself, I learned that it was very important to address other teachers in the same school using their full names with patronymics). We practice addressing each other that way even during our university classes, with surprised looks from our classmates. Misha was Michail Anatolievish, a second-year student in the Department of Mathematics and Mechanics at Leningrad State University, and he taught at the Youth Math School for the second year. Boris Michailovich was a first-year student of the same department.

Since the classes were very interactive, and everyone could see who was the first person to raise their hand so that the teacher could stop by and check their problem solution, it was immediately obvious “who is the smartest,” and as I mentioned earlier, the idea that each individual student’s achievements and what is not, should be private, didn’t exist.

Vadim was definitely “the smartest one,” and Tolya Korobkin was “the second smartest.” Surprisingly, I was not trailing and sometimes would come in third, so the teachers started to pay attention to me. It was somehow assumed that all of us wanted (or should I say “should have wanted?”) to be admitted to the 9th grade of school #30. Also, all of us participated in the Math competitions in our respective school districts, and a lot of us made it to the city competition.

The City Math Olympiad had taken place in the old Math Department building (they were still reluctant to send the kids to compete at the out-of-town campus), and to my (and everyone’s else) surprise, not only did I receive a third degree diploma (remember, I never had any before that), but also, I was the only person of our Youth Math School class who got it :). During the awards ceremony, my whole class was cheering for me, and once again, I was the only girl who received any diploma… until we saw one more girl who was called out to receive the award. All of us watched closely a miniature figure of a pretty, subtle brunette walking to the podium. That was Elena K., my future classmate and my best friend for many years to come.

To be continued.

My historical posts are being published in random order. Please refer to the page Hettie’s timeline to find where exactly each post belongs and what was before and after.

From the”Vintage Tribune”

I am subscribed to the Chicago Tribune’s newsletter “Vintage Tribune.” Each day, it reproduces several old issues of “that day in Chicago,” and I wanted to share some of them.

April 13, 1992 Great Chicago Flood.

Pedestrians step over hoses used to pump flood water out of buildings at the intersection of State and Madison streets in April 1992. Massive basement and sub-basement flooding occurred when crews punctured a century-old freight tunnel located underneath the Chicago River. (Chris Walker/Chicago Tribune)

May 1. The actual May Day affair happened on May 4, 1886, but the Federation of Organized Trades and Labor Unions, the predecessor of the American Federation of Labor, called for May 1, 1886 to be the beginning of a nationwide movement for the eight-hour day. What I didn’t know and just found recently was that the eigh-hour day law was introduced in 1867, but never reinforced.

A crowd marches in a peaceful May Day parade in Chicago’s Loop toward Grant Park on May 1, 1934. Among the paraders, were Joseph Weber, secretary of the Trade Union Unity League, William Gebert, communist organizer, and Nina Spies, widow of August Spies, who was hanged for his role in the Haymarket Riot of 1886. The leaders of the demonstration said the parade represented “a fight against war and fascism and for workers’ unemployment insurance legislation.” (Chicago Tribune historical photo)

May 2. 8000 people attended the opening of the Field Museum.

As with the 1894 opening at the Palace of Fine Arts in Jackson Park, crowds line up when the Field Museum opens in its Grant Park location on May 2, 1921. (Field Museum)

Mr. Nobody Against Putin

Just watched it at the Siskel Center – the theater was packed, and a significant part of the audience was not Russian-speaking. The English subtitles were OK – some nuances were definitely missing, but still quite accurate. They should have run the subtitles in the end, when they play a recording of “Broad and vast is our mighty country” – it’s not like every English speaker knows this song, and I think it’s important that during the time of a tightening oppressive regime they play “where man is gloriously free.”

The documentary is unimaginably depressing. Not only because of what exactly it shows, not only because the audience physically feels the pressure of the Russian propaganda machine, but also because of how Pasha chooses to be blind even after he left Russia: everything was fine before February 2022, and then all of a sudden…

As always, I didn’t read any reviews before watching, and now I see some interviews with Pasha, and I am oging to try to watch at least some of them (I have no idea when I find time, but…)

Super-interesting Article About Biking In Chicago in the 1890s

Read how Chicago became the manufacturing hub of the nation’s bicycle industry — a city that produced a quarter of all U.S. bikes and claimed more than 200,000 riders at the height of the boom. It was also a place where women defied social expectations on two wheels, and where cycling clubs organized one of the country’s first powerful transportation lobbies.

Full article here.

Water Heaters

My Armenian hosts mentioned that they had a gas water heater “just as it was in Saint-Petersburg in old times, do you remember?” I told them – not really, but actually, I do remember. It was very different from what they had in their house, so I thought that this was one of the fun facts I should share in my historical posts, because nobody would ever ask!

In this post, I described what my childhood apartment looked like, and in that post, I talked about the heating systems. To reiterate: you had to light a match to start a pilot in the water heater, and then you had to keep the water running; otherwise, the flame would die off. Since you had to light a match each time you needed hot water, you had to have “something” to discard the burned matches. This “something” was a tin mug which worked perfectly for that purpose as long as I remembered. Many years later, when I was about 14, I finally noticed “1915” scribbled on the side of the mug and realized it was an army mug from WWI.

There was a large washing machine in the bathroom; for the life of mine, I couldn’t tell the brand, but it was the size of a small table, and that’s how it was mostly used :). I hardly remember any time it was operating, and I am not sure whether it was not working properly, or at some point it broke and no one fixed it, or whatever the deal was. All I know is that it was there and not working, and I washed all my clothes in a washing bowl in the sink using the laundry soap.

The kitchen had no hot water at all. There was a gas heater as well, but I can’t remember why it was not used. To wash the dishes, I had to do the following:

  • boil a kettle of water
  • put a washing bowl in the sink
  • pour some hot water from the kettle and mix it with cold water from the faucet to make it warm
  • wash the dishes
  • rinse the dishes with cold water
  • put all the dishes back into a washing bowl and pour the remaining hot water from the kettle over the clean dishes
  • dry the dishes with the kitchen towel

There was a gas stove in the kitchen (as I mentioned, the old wood-burning stove was not operational), but you still had to use matches to light a burner. For some reason, I was afraid of lighting matches until I was eight or nine years old, and my mom yelled at me for it. Upon returning from school, I had to warm up my dinner, and for me to be able to do that, my mom had to leave a burner on low since the morning (again, no idea why; my grandaunt was there, but that’s something in their relationships I was never able to figure out). I was very proud of myself when I finally overcame my fear and learned to light matches.

It’s good to remind myself how things used to be; humans become spoiled very fast and are miserable when there are problems with hot water, or when a washer breaks!

My historical posts are being published in random order. Please refer to the page Hettie’s timeline to find where exactly each post belongs and what was before and after.

Being Married In The USSR

When Igor and I decided to get married, there was no question that I would move in to live with him and his mother and stepfather. Having our own place was absolutely out of the question: as I mentioned earlier, the housing market didn’t exist, and only a very small fraction of people rented; the vast majority lived in their “given” apartments. I didn’t have a room of my own: I shared a room with my mother in the same gigantic apartment on Galernaya Street – my childhood apartment. Igor lived with his parents (as everyone did), but he had his own room, so I was supposed to move there.

That might explain the alarm of his parents: all of a sudden, they were getting a roommate. One thing we did a little bit differently: I said from the start that we would have our own household, meaning that we would cook separately and have our own budget. I was used to that situation because that’s how my mom and I lived in one apartment with my father’s relatives, but for Igor’s parents, it was something unheard of. To their credit, they didn’t make a big deal out of it.

Later I learned that they were absolutely sure that we rushed to get married because I was pregnant, and since I got pregnant shortly after the marriage (that’s what we wanted, or rather, I wanted and Igor agreed), they were still sure it was the case, and were surprised at the end. After our son was born, we overheard Igor’s mom saying to somebody over the phone: nine months and six days! That was the time between our marriage and the birth of Igor-junior.

Igor’s parents had a washing machine, which not everyone had at that time. What I learned, however, was that they used it in an interesting way: they would turn it on once a month or so, and do several washes. Since there was no custom of daily clothes changing, everything was worn for several days and required more than a quick rinse. Igor’s mom used to soak everything in the bathtub before washing. The soaking could take a couple of days, and during this time, it was not possible to take a shower 😂. I was alarmed only the first time, but later I got used to the situation.

A more challenging thing was that Igor’s mom had almost all of his clothes in this dirty laundry pile just before our wedding, and then she got upset with him. I forgot about what, and she pulled all of his dirty laundry out of the big pile and handed it to me; now, I was in charge.

Needless to say, I found it absolutely normal. The only thing that bothered me was the fact that it was very difficult to hand-wash the clothes, which stayed in a dirty pile for weeks. I spent a long time scrubbing the dirty shirt collars, and fortunately, I never had to do it again, since I washed everything right away.

The only chores we did together with Igor were shopping, at least sometimes. I was doing cooking, dishes, laundry, and ironing. I didn’t think something was wrong with that: that’s what all wives were doing, it was normal, expected, and was a source of pride: I am a good wife, and I can “serve” my husband well.

It was all fine during the first six months of our marriage because I had just a few classes left in the University, and was finalizing my thesis, so I could focus on “being a wife.” I still worked on some tasks Boris gave me, but it was far from being “full-time employed.” Later, when I started working, things became more challenging.

My historical posts are being published in random order. Please refer to the page Hettie’s timeline to find where exactly each post belongs and what was before and after.

How Single Women In Chicago Lived in 1900s

One of the recent WBEZ Curious City episodes was about women living independently in Chicago in the early 20th century. I didn’t know the term “women adrift,” and to be honest, I thought that women were not even supposed to live on their own back then, so all of this was incredibly interesting. Sharing here.

Continue reading “How Single Women In Chicago Lived in 1900s” →

Family History: Finding A Missing Relative

Like everyone, I knew about the Ellis Island archives, but I never thought I would need to search there, because I do not have any “ancestors” who arrived in America many years ago – it’s me, who came here! But here I was the other day, trying to find whether and when my great-grandmother’s brother came to America. I was pretty sure he did, because my second cousin told me that the family “was in touch” with him and then “lost touch”, shortly after the revolution, I would assume.

Given how many Jews were escaping Russia during the 1900s pogroms, and not knowing the year when my great-grand-uncle came to America, and not even being sure about the name, I didn’t have high expectations about success in the Ellis Island archives. Still, to my surprise, I got a result in five minutes, just typing a couple of possible name spelling variations. Funny that the guide to the search for your ancestors suggested you shouldn’t type the name that they adopted in the US. It states that all of this “using the name of the village as the last name” or “translating Italian names into English” are not more than legends, that the newcomers adopted their new names after arrival. So I first tried his legal name, and that’s when my first several tries didn’t yield any results. But the moment I typed the name, my cousin said my great-grand-uncle has adopted, I found him! Again, I was surprised that only one person checked all the boxes!

I have to figure out what “Dranden” is because no geographical location is identified by this name, so the officers were not that knowledgeable. Also, I ordered the print of the ship manifest page, because I can’t see all of the details in the frame they showed me on the website. The manifest mentions he came from Lithuania, and it is quite possible that he was on his way, but I still can’t figure out what place name was mutilated like this!

And one more discovery. I vaguely remembered that my uncle, who immigrated to the US independently from me, mentioned our relatives “who were here before us.” I contacted his widow, who told me that she knew about these relatives and even used to be in contact with them, but those were yet other relatives! The relatives from my father’s father’s side, and all the connections are well known, so I will try to get in touch with them as well!

I will tell more about them when I get to the other part of my family history!

My historical posts are being published in random order. Please refer to the page Hettie’s timeline to find where exactly each post belongs and what was before and after.