HARALAMBIE GEORGE CICMA: AN AUTOBIOGRAPHIE A Vlach’s Life in His Time Part VII

Ioana Dafula, the mud-girl, and her father came to this country about the middle of October, 1915. Ioana and my cousin Atha’s wife, Mary, had been good friends in the old country. Ioana was only about sixteen years old at this time and I did not pay much attention to her—a scrawny little girl!

Mary worked in the shoe factory in Newport and soon secured a job there for Ioana, cutting leather linings. This work was very difficult; her hands were sore and blistered from the scissors and, worse, it did not pay very well. One day when she returned home, her hands hurt so much that she could not help crying. I pitied her and promised to speak to the foreman about giving her another job. I obtained his name from Mary and then called him up, making an appointment to see him at his home that evening.

Mr. Hunt, the foreman, opened the door himself and said that we had better go into the kitchen to talk as this was his wife’s night out and he had to stay and look after the children.  Lo! Another queer American custom—the wife goes out alone and the husband minds the house-this was so different from European customs that it seemed ludicrous to me.

I had brought the letter from Kimball Academy with me and I showed it to him. I explained that Ioana was a
cousin of mine, that the work in the cutting room was very hard for her, and her hands hurt and she did not make much money – if it was possible for her to have a better job, she would be able to help me to to school next year!

He was deeply impressed and very sympathetic; he promised to help her immediately. He also asked me where I worked. I told him about my job at the Brompton Woolen Mill. He stated that he believed that I would be able to make more money in the shoe factory than I did at the mill and, as soon as he could, he would place me there; he would let me know shortly.

Mr. Hunt kept his promise and gave Ioana a job in the department where Mary worked, stitching the backs of shoes; this work was fairly simple and by constant and diligent application, one could make as much as twenty dollars a week. Also, about ten days later, Mr. Hunt called me in and started me at the same job.

The sewing machines were situated in a row, Ioana was beside me and Mary was next to her. It took me two weeks to learn the job and then I began to do piece work; I made between ten and twelve dollars a week—better pay than I had received in the woolen mill, but I was never able to earn as much as most of the workers as I was always day-dreaming about the future. Ioana, on the other hand, learned the work very quickly and soon became one of the best paid workers in this department. I seemed unable to acquire the knack of stitching straight so much of my work was returned; one day all my shoes were sent back to be done over. This was very discouraging and I went to Mr. Hunt to talk it over with him—he knew all about my difficulties but he never complained about me, he left that to the inspectors!

Mr. Hunt, in order that I might get a better wage and not spoil too much leather, made me a teacher.  This was the better; I could actually tell the other workers how to do the job even if I couldn’t do it myself!

I now had a decent, clean job and was making good wages. I also had a wonderful home with Atha and Mary. I should have been happy and satisfied but distraction insinuated its ugly head in the form of advice from my cousin and his wife. They were always suggesting that it would be foolish for me to try to go back to school now—the thing for me to do was to continue working and to marry Ioana! She was from our own home town, was not unattractive and, although my mind was undetermined as to the merits of this plan, new day-dreams began to blossom.

I began to actually see Ioana for the first time; she was smart, learned her work quickly and did it well. Each day she became more mature, more sure of herself, and more at ease in the way she approached people—the mud-girl had grown up!

I began to have a new feeling toward her—a feeling I had never really experienced before (my love for Pusha had never been like this) this was a warmer, more mature feeling, closely akin to admiration and yet tremendously more than that. Day by day, I gave much thought to the situation and finally I decided that it would be a good thing for us to get married. She was making good wages, was smart, ambitious, and would, in my estimation, be a good match for me (she proved to be all that and more).

I was at a loss to find out how she actually felt about me, never by word or glance had she betrayed even the slightest interest in me; except for the few times when she had finished her shoes and helped me complete mine. We were seldom alone but one day my chance came. We were at our machines waiting for the next consignment of work to be brought in and Mary had gone out of the room. I started to talk to Ioana and told her that when she got married, I wanted to be at the wedding.

She sweetly and innocently replied that she would be glad to invite me. “But, I want to be the bridegroom,” I stammered, very seriously. She apparently did not understand this and, smiling naively, asked me to explain.

Here was my opening, in a rush of words I blurted out, “It means that I love you and I want you to be my wife.” She blushed crimson and left her machine without speaking to me. She avoided me completely for the next few days.

At last I could stand it no longer. and when, eventually, we were again alone, I begged her to please tell me whether or not she loved me. I really had to know where I stood with her, be it favorable or unfavorable.

This time she held her ground, looked up at me defiantly and said, “I have only one thing to say to you. It’s easy to get married but to do as your good friends wish and to go to school is too difficult for you. Finish your education, strive to make yourself fit to take your uncle’s place and to bring your family’s name back to its original standing.  If, when you have accomplished this, you still want to marry me, I will be here.”

This answer struck me to the quick but also awakened the half-slumbering ambitions in my breast; I did want to finish my education; I did want to restore my family name and I was deeply ashamed that I had so badly disappointed my friends. I tried to explain all this to Ioana and I told her that this time I would not take any political subjects; I wanted to study medicine so that my knowledge could be applied anywhere in the world. She thought this was an admirable plan and told me to start just as soon as possible. “But, my dear,” I said, “It will mean nine or ten years out of our lives, will you wait for me all that time?”

She replied, “You go to school, if I have to wait the rest of my life for you, I will do it.” From that time on, I spent most of my time planning how to achieve my goal. I now had something more than a mere education to strive for, my whole future was at stake.

The Methodist-Episcopal minister, a short time later, introduced me to a visiting minister from the Armenian- Methodist Church in Boston. The Reverend Nazarian was a graduate of Boston University Theological School, he was currently vacationing at Lake Sunapee. He listened to my ambitions and strongly advised me to attend Tilton Academy (a small seminary which prepared young people for all types of careers but which had originally been founded as a pretheological school under the sponsorship of the Methodist Church). There I could acquire the equivalent of a high school education as a preparatory step to entering Boston University. Reverend Nazarian assured me that the people at Tilton Academy would gladly help so worthy a young man as I.

My good friend, George Fairbanks was a graduate of this school and its ardent supporter as well as being Chairman of the Board of Trustees for Tilton. I spoke to him about entering this academy and he said he would be happy to assist me in any way possible, “Whenever you are ready to go, I will make all the arrangements for you, Harry.” These were beautiful words to hear but I still had problems.

“You know that I have almost no money saved, how will I ever be able to pay my tuition? Everyone says I can work my way, but I don’t see how this is possible.” Mr. Fairbanks laughed, “Don’t worry about that, I will arrange a scholarship for you and there is plenty of work at Tilton, you will easily be able to earn your room and board.” Reassured, I was now doubly determined to get back to my interrupted education; I didn’t know how to tell the good McCrillis family without offending them—I had not accepted their generous offer to send me to Kimball Academy. I finally broke down and told them. Much to my surprise, they were happy and pleased with my decision; Mr. McCrillis even offered to give me a letter of recommendation to the Academy.

TILTON ACADEMY

September 1916, an eventful month for me. Mr. Fairbanks arranged my admission, obtained work for me in the kitchen at the school and, before I left Newport, I received the promised letter from John’s father. I took the train to Tilton and soon arrived at that station; here hundreds of students were waiting to welcome their friends who might be arriving on that train. I approached one of them and asked how to get to the Academy. He replied that he was going there and, if I would follow him, he would show me the way. We reached the Academy and my letter was taken to the Principal and after a few minutes he called me to his office.

He began to question me about the subjects I wished to study—I could not understand him very well and he finally gave me a piece of paper and told me to list the languages I spoke. There were several Greek students in the Academy and one of them, Peter Malas (a junior from Fall River, Massachusetts), was called in to act as interpreter.

They asked me how much education I had completed in Europe and when I told them that I had completed four years in the Romanian Commercial School and had continued for the next five years, completing six forms, in the Turkish Lyceum, they were astonished. The Principal stated that with such a background there was nothing they could offer me, I had taken all their subjects previously.

I replied, “You can give me the English language,” this was truly the thing that I needed most. Peter helped me choose my subjects as I knew nothing about the American system of education. I explained to him that I wanted to study medicine and he advised me to take Biology, Chemistry, first and second year English and Algebra (I had taken Algebra before but I wanted to find out whether or not I could understand the problems as they were presented in English).

On the first day of school I went into my into my English I class and discovered that the English teacher was a woman! This seemed peculiar to me as in the old country, women teachers were only for girls. She gave us our assignment; the only part I could really remember or understand was that she told us to write a composition. This word was near enough to the French for me to catch the meaning. As for the rest of the work, I lifted my eyes to heaven and prayed that they would be opened—for alas, I was completely bewildered by her quick, “foreign” tongue and immense vocabulary.

My second class, Algebra, also threw me into a panic, the teacher was a man, but I could understand him no better than I did the English teacher; the American method of dividing was different from that of the Europeans and I could not follow the procedure. Chemistry was just as bad and I left the class disgusted and discouraged with my prospects. I thought it would be foolish for me to go on to any other course but, in spite of this feeling, I continued— with the same results—I was at my wits end.

I had a study period next and I sat there, trying to decide whether to run away and continue my life as a common laborer, thereby disgracing myself before my friends and my beloved, or to continue in the school and probably fail anyway. Ioana’s face was before me and I realized that there was nothing for me to do but continue—better to fail than never to try and perhaps, by trying hard, I would be able, somehow, to succeed.

With this thought in mind, I began my English assignment. Fortunately for me, I had my French-English dictionary with me and, as I wanted to get the composition out of the way before I did anything else, I wrote the story in French and then in English, translating word for word as I had no idea of tense or cases! I put the original in my pocket so that if the teacher was so dumb that she could not understand my English masterpiece, I would let her see the French copy! I started reading the Algebra, continuing until I finally understood the problems and had completed them all before the study period was over.

I studied diligently that evening and was deep in my books when, at ten o’clock, the lights went out. I left the room and hunted for Peter, perhaps he could tell me what had happened. He merely told me to hurry back to my room as no one was allowed to study or to be up after 10:00 P.M.

This curfew disturbed me greatly, I realized that I needed more time in which to study—the hours from ten in the evening to one or two in the morning would be very useful and necessary to me if I was ever to learn the language. At the time, this seemed to be an almost impossible task but I was spurred on by the thought that I had conquered the Turkish language!

The next morning I asked Peter if there was any way for me to have lights after ten, he told me that this was definitely impossible as all the illumination was governed by one main switch and there was never any exceptions to this strict curfew rule.

I went to my English class and passed my composition in when the others did; the teacher began to correct them alphabetically and, when she reached mine and started to read, she looked shocked, then bewildered, and finally called me to her desk. She asked me for the original of the story and I handed over the French copy.

She read this with much interest explained what I was doing. She was very sympathetic, encouraging me and promising to help me as much as possible.

I was still extremely upset by the fact that I could not study as much as I wished, so that afternoon I went to a nearby five and ten cent store and purchased a dozen cheap wax candles. At lights out, I drew the shades and lit a candle. With this aid I studied until midnight. I continued to study in this manner and, as I went on, things began to be clearer and much easier for me to understand. I was still unable to divide by the American method but my answers were correct, so why worry about it? My problems started to resolve themselves; as I worked harder, my courage began to return.

When Christmas neared, I had made fair progress in English and could almost carry on a comprehensible conversation. I had been looking over the requirements for entrance to college and decided to ask the Principal to allow me to take a special examination in these studies in order that I might be qualified to enter pre-medical school in the fall.

I approached him and outlined my plan but he was not very enthusiastic about it. He told me that my idea was impractical as in Physics, Biology and Chemistry, one had to complete a certain number of experiments to be certified. As far as Languages, History and Mathematics were concerned, it could be arranged but my English was so poor that I would no doubt have to enter college with this subject on condition.

I asked his permission to go into the laboratories in my spare time to do the necessary experiments and he allowed me to do as I wished; I rejoiced as I felt certain that I would be able to complete the requirements before the June examinations.

I returned to Newport for my Christmas vacation, very happy to be once more among my friends and with Ioana. My benefactor, Mr. Hunt, gave me an excellent job at the shoe factory and I was able to get a little money ahead during this period; he was always wonderful to me, whenever I had time available, he would find work for me. I visited Mr. McCrillis and told him about my experiences at the school. He was pleased with my study reports. He thought my idea of taking the special entrance examinations, in order to go to college the next fall, was very good and he wished me every success—he also urged me to really work hard. I left for Tilton refreshed and with renewed desire to continue my studies. The affection of Ioana and the encouragement of Mr. McCrillis had given me renewed goals for which to strive.

I really did work extremely hard my regular classes, my work in the kitchen, my off jobs, and my work in the laboratory kept me “on my toes” all day long. I often sat up until two o’clock in the morning, studying by the light of my candles.

Prior to the final examinations in June, I had passed all the college entrance examinations including Biology, Physics and Chemistry (in these subjects I had my highest marks) and I actually had more credits than were required for entrance into any Class A College in the country—in fact my marks were so good that I did not have to take the Tilton examinations in these subjects.

My only weakness was still my old bug-a-boo, English. I had been shown every consideration by my English instructors and they had been, really, very helpful all year. The Principal requested that I have a conference with him and Mr. Smart (the director of the English Department); they wished me to remain at Tilton for another year, taking third and fourth year English. They promised to give me special attention and assured me of passing marks—I would then be entitled to their diploma.

I knew how hard English was and I was certain that not even in five years would I be able to learn fourth year English, especially Chaucer! I tried to convince them that I had no time to waste on a hopeless cause and that it would be much better for me to try to enter college as a special student, with a condition in English. They, however, succeeded in making me believe that they were only looking out for my welfare and future; so, with their guarantee of a diploma, agreed to return in the fall.

I spent the summer in Newport with my friends, working again in the shoe factory. I managed to save a little money and, in the fall of 1917, I returned to Tilton Academy.

I worked conscientiously until the mid-year examinations. To my dismay, they flunked me in English IV and I barely passed English III. I realized that they were not really helping me and that I had been tricked into losing an entire college year. I took my examination papers and went to the office I told the Principal and Mr. Smart that they had been pulling the wool over my eyes long enough and that I was leaving at once. They tried to make me stay, but this time I was adamant. I packed my few belongings and took the train for Newport the following day.

I was bitter and discouraged so I went at once to my good friend, Mr. McCrillis, and asked him what I was to do, as it was now too late to enter college for this year and anyway, how could I go with no funds and no job.

He told me not to worry, everything would be all right. He advised me to go to Boston University College of Liberal Arts for my premedical training. He went to his desk and picked up a piece of paper; on this he wrote that he was lending me fifty dollars, to be repaid with interest as soon as I was able to do so. I signed this agreement and he gave me the money and also a letter of introduction to the Dean of the College.

I was very much disappointed, he was so rich and I had really expected him to do more for me. I have since come to realize that if you do too much for a person, he will no longer do anything for himself!

(To be continued)