THE HANDSTAND
june 2005
The Soul of Small Town Ameryka - A trip to a childhood home
by Bruno
A trip up north Iıd like to describe this as an adventure into the indoctrination of todayıs Amerykanski masses. I believe that, in many aspects, it represents the core of changing times. Iıll alter names of relations, friends, associates and others. In many ways, this trip across Yankee lands, if youıll pardon the expression, reminded one of a time machine into the era of Bolshevik family planning. Commie patriot act propaganda was for the protection of the masses. Back then, Communistic unity opposing nationhood- was translated by Karl Marks and Leninıs slogan as ³Workers of the World Unite!²
Here, Iıd like to mention Jolly Jim V. In many ways, heıs representative of Amerykaıs educated John Doe. He was a childhood companion. We played baseball together, chased young girls, sowed seeds amongst the weeds and took trains to other cities. We drove my Honda 250 cc across America.
Today Jimıs environment consists of his house and an Italian restaurant (owned by Greeks). I went into Jimıs home around noon and chewed the fat with his mother. I remembered her as a young attractive woman. When we were teenagers, she was a gorgeous gal who served us spaghetti. She was now about 90 years old. She was dressed in a bathrobe, her hair no longer was a radiant black. To be kind, I would have to say that her memory was challenged. As a young wife, her traits turned male heads as she ambulated with my best friend, her son, Jimmy. She took us to Little League baseball games and I loved to look at her . She had a melody voice, a kind heart and was an image of female beauty (she was simply ravishing). She never wore war paint and seemed to provide the air with oxygen. Her Italian husband would wrestle with us and I loved him like an uncle. He died when I was in the Baltic States. Now, decades later, I listened to the inner being of his confused wife.
Jimıs mother told me what she could remember and I got a background image of a city and region. About two hours later her son Jimmy came home. It made my heart happy to see his old and tired face. Jim had a thick gray beard and he wore a matching dark coat. He told me that the passions of friendship are the real window of oneıs soul, to excuse the manifestation of his home. It was a complete catastrophe and it looked like it had not seen paint or soap in years. To me, it was all irrelevant. I had to come to hear what was in encased in Jimıs temporal lobe . As a versatile young man who had aged, he would be a symbol of an ongoing part of my life. To be more explicit he would represent a perfect example of what was both decent and appalling in America. As an intelligent and successful individual, Jim had studied philosophy at a nearby university. Being practical, he later flourished as a chief in one of the cityıs bureaucratic administrations.
He reiterated that he had lived with an attractive girl for about 22 years. He described her legs, posterior and face. Jim informed me that he suspected she was cheating on him. Thus, they would occasionally separate. He feared marrying her. Eventually, because she was shrewd, beautiful and conniving, she would somehow manage, with intrigue, to wiggle her way back into his home. One of the reasons she was able to do this was because she was a friend of one of our best buddies (Michael). She was not merely the perfect example of a beauty clothing herself in the foxıs attire. Hell, no! She could feed the gawking, unsuspecting male, desserts of poison. Jolly Jim hungered for her junk food treats.
Ultimately Jim discovered that his common-law wife was also copulating with his best friend, Mike. Incredibly, when she recognized she would be able to obtain possible economic enhancement, she initiated a legal complaint against Jimmy. After falling on a rug this petite lovely creature called the police. When the policemen arrived, the striking redhead informed them that JV had physically whacked her. Mike, and Jimıs common-law wife, had devised a scheme to steal, by legalized endeavors, Jimmyıs home. It seemed that this lovely lady had lived in JVıs house for decades. Therefore, she reckoned that the tactical legal maneuver of being a common-law wife would enable her to prosper. As a product of Amerykanski culture, she could see shekels for half his dwelling.
Mr. J spent a day in jail. It seems he was given one opportunity to make a call. JV tried to phone his mother, but the number was busy. Finally his mother came to the prison facility and she bailed him out at a cost of $2,500. A decent hearted Jim was perplexed and initially bewildered by the intriguing web. He could not believe that his Common-law wife the person he had fed and sheltered- and his best friend had tried to embezzle him. A completely innocent victim, Jim had to spend thousands of mortgaging dollars on a shyster. Additional thousands were spent to prove JV did not punch his common law mate.
Interestingly enough, after having lived with Jolly Jim for years Ms. Beauty found herself on the street. Justice being justice, her lover Mike dropped her like a hot potatoe. She begged Jim for another chance to no avail. She ended up with no health insurance. What she had accomplished was to break a strong and healthy moral character. Her married friends, amongst themselves, referred to her as a kurwa (whore). Aging and weakening, she was unable to acknowledge that she could no longer wear the skins of a lioness. Even with her attire of the fox, Jim and Mike would no longer consume the sweets of Ms. Beautyıs rhetorical candy.
As we ate at an Italian-Greek restaurant, Jim rambled on and on about our acquaintances and the city environment. Ethnic neighborhoods had vanished. There was no Italian, French or Polish bakery. One couldnıt have authentic French Vanilla ice-cream at the bottom of the hill, buy fresh Polish kielbasa or Italian sausage. The monopoly supermarkets replaced ethnic stores. Each neighborhood no longer had a baseball team. Today Spanish was the second language and it was in all the banks, taught in schools.
As I ate fish, I could see that Jolly Jıs soul was now a chalk eggshell. He was all alone in the world with his aging mother. In other words, this patriotic veteran, who had worked years and risen to the top, would see his assets disappear. He had no children. A charming petite woman had destroyed the man who loved her, his best friend, an elderly female and herself. Jimıs diatribe was that she resented his bio-Italian heritage. As a superior Heinz-57 woman, she laughed at the WASP, Pollock, Wop, Jerry and FrogsS Jim told me that she was the new American woman.
At night, as I stayed in a hotel, I thought about JVıs New England observations. In the next room there were two college women. They knocked on my door and asked me if I would like to come over for a drink. They reminded me of our changing and foreign world. I was exhausted because of
venturing all around one of my ancient regions.
The next day, while driving, the old Lithuanian church was observed. On the lawn was a sign informing new citizens that the red brick building was a community center. The Lithuanian neighborhood had vanished.
Later, about a mile away, I found myself in a rented vehicle with eyes upon an old Polish church. I had been baptized there. Polish Saturday school and songs were in her cellar. I attended many picnics and barbecues at this center. The church signs were now in Spanish. The area had lost its Euro ethnic charaker. The city was the same everywhere. For example, about ten streets away was a magnificent two-story red building. It was once called the Polish National Home. From its steps, I had won a ten mile road race, over a hilly course, in 53 minutes. Back then, runners wore leather shoes and the Polski Narodowny Dom had been the site of thousands of weddings. It had been sold and the neighborhood had completely transformed. As I sat in a red car, I looked at a semi slum that once contained manicured lawns. Even my beloved Sonıs of Italy Club had disappeared. Few Italian, Lithuanian or Slavic names were listed in the phone book.
Being down in the dumps, I decided to drive to the next town. As a youngster I had won road races along her streets. I stopped to see an old buddy, Bob. Bob wasnıt home and his wife Alice gave me a complete rundown about the city and its population. Her brother had just died of carcinoma and she herself was a cancer survivor. Alice was also was disillusioned with her city and had bought a house in the mountains of New Hampshire. She said she had to get away from ethnic alterations. After approximately two hours, I decided to leave northern Massachusetts and I drove on back roads to Worcester.
I arrived at an old comradeıs place of business. It was around noon. It was so exciting to see my old chum Ted that the keys were left in a rented car. He called AAA and we waited around for hours. The street was no longer Slavic-Am. Polonian stores were gone and I was approached by a prostitute, ahustler and a bum.
Ted has about eight people who work for him. A high school graduate, born in Europe, he owns a few apartment buildings. He resides on a hill in a cool $750,000 home. All his children are successful students and athletes. All can speak Polish, English and Spanish and each had their own story to tell.
Most intriguing was the narrative about their attractive next-door neighbor. One of Tedıs kids whispered she was the product of the tube; a Heinz-57 gal, she was like millions of other newly created American woman. She has had different common-law and legal husbands and been divorced on four occasions.
Her million dollar house has a revolving door. The present, as in her past, provides an excellent example of her cunning but mischievous and promiscuous behavior. Unbeknown to her supporting husbands, she has had hundreds of sexual escapades with various aficionados. The neighborhood wives all detest her. Tedıs wife said that her kind were a threat to moral women and stable families.
Tedıs wife, Basia, was a good mother. She emphasized that she fears for her daughterıs future and the influence of her teenaged school friends. Basia, herself, said that itıs difficult to prevent female predators from destroying home stability.
After leaving the once-Pol-Am sector of Worcester, I returned to the New Hampshire border. There, I met the Konor sisters. One is married to a old pal of mine. The other got divorced after 20 years of marriage. According to her, she committed psychological suicide when she decided on a younger spouse. We kissed and hugged and she spoke about old Slavic, Italian, French and German clubs, associations, neighborhoods. Euro-America had expired. Even the Lithuanian prep school, attended by Krajewskiıs kids, had been sold!
The next day, while pressed for time, I drove to my favorite Auntıs house. Aunt Dolly was always special to me. She now lived in a condo. Her place had once been part of Polonian farm land. During this visit, ole Dolly was full of tears and crying. She spoke of the new generation, the break up of American families. She told me that her son Wally (Wlodek) had been married for decades. His beloved Amerykanski wife now desires a divorce. His greedy spouse not only wants child support for their two children, she wants to stay in the house until their kids are 18 years of age. Wally, a decent industrious fellow, had been making about $35,000 a year under the table. He did this laboring of two jobs for his beloved wife and children. His wife prodded him into this. She wanted them all to have more material goods, to live a better lifestyle. One day Wlodek became acquainted with new info. It illustrated that his wife was having cyber sex. Wlodek soon grasped that his wifeıs infatuation had taken first place; that he and his children had fallen into her distant universe. Their home had become a scheme of her new narcissistic values.
Aunt Dollyıs second son Scott married a Polish-American and they live in a old farm house. Dollyıs younger daughter lost her mate and is now dating an alcoholic. The eldest daughter, Jean divorced her first husband -of 17 years!- due to his alcoholism. She said that if she had had children with him she would have coerced herself to dwell in Michigan. Today she is married to a handsome fellow with little ambition. Consequently, she works at odd jobs and is always fatigued. Jean declared that she would remain married to her mate until one of them expired. He was the father of her children and loved her. According to her, an old fashioned gal, nothing can replace genuine love and a faithful heart.
Before leaving for the airport road, I met a former cheerleader. She was an old childhood friend, a once-thin angel. Her name was Donna. She said she was married for 27 years, got tired of cleaning and taking care of kids; she became bored of the daily unexciting marriage routine. She wanted to be romanced and had loved dancing. Today sheıs obese, miserable and she lives with her fat sister.
On the way to Bean Town, I discovered that one of my sisterıs boys, Robert, will be getting a divorce. His wife has discovered that she is gay, and would rather be with a woman than with a man. Her children are secondary to her own egotistical needs and greed.
As I drove down the street, where my family had lived, I was unable to recognize our old home. The street had become unrecognizable. Still residing in the old quarter was a childhood chum named Krisia. She cried and noted that she had been married for 25 years. She got bored of her daily monotonous habitat. Today sheıs chubby and lives with another female. A lonely and lost soul, she kept suggesting that we once had something in common. She feared the neighborhood. Her children had been relegated to minor concern and she keep reiterating that now no one loved her!
On the way to Boston, I picked up my cousin Jean. I drove with her noble soul by cities that were once filled with Italians, Germans and Frenchmen. Returning a rented auto in the Logan area, warmed my heart. Everywhere I went I could see Irish-American faces. My soul sang.
Suggestion: Visit your childhood worlds. If youıre in Boston, visit the Old State House. Youıll hear how a black was the first to die for American freedom. Youıll see the second floor with a complete room dedicated to Jews and their Synagogue. Youıll be able to watch a film about American history. The movie will be different than those of your youthful lessons. If youıre lucky, youıll witness teachers distorting the Euro-Americansı past. Youıll become educated in comprehending how insignificant the once-great WASP majority has become. If you use your imagination, youıll see the vanishing EuroAm. The pain might be excruciating, so be sure to carry your i-pod.
Tomorrow Iıll try to type the conclusion about Amerykaıs small town evolution, sex, the family and the Amerykanski woman. If I donıt have time, skim the brief above and look around your neighborhood. Better still, start paying attention to the girls who flirt with you. If you do, youıll comprehend the raison dıetre and accomplishments of the tube and; (2) what zydokomuny indoctrination signifies.
The above didnıt involve some cat-in-the-hat hypothesis. It was an actual picture of Zydeo-Christian Amerika. Several small town cities and their foundations of women and families were seen for what they are. Although it would be politically incorrect to make a comparison of the Amerykanski wife with her Muslim counterpart, you can look into your own small town backyard. In all probability, the average American female might not be similar to her sister in Italy (where the divorce rate oscillates around 12 percent); or (2) her Central European cousin. On the politically correct brighter side, sheıs almost a twin to the contemporary British gal.
Nuff.
bruno