Photograph by KathyDe La Torre

Ordinary People

When people begin telling their life stories, they see themselves in a different light

By Sandy Sims

Although the central theme of Thanksgiving is feasting on turkey, it is the family gathering on this holiday for which many people are most thankful. Over the years and generations, the stories shared around the dinner table often have proved more memorable than the meals. These stories inspire us, connect us to family history and help us to see our elders as young people.

In honor of the occasion this year, we asked several students from Sheila Dunec's "Life Stories" class (offered through the Los Gatos-Saratoga Department of Community Education and Recreation) to share their stories with our readers. Dunec, a counselor and teacher in Palo Alto, has taught this class in Los Gatos for three semesters.

"Most students think their lives are ordinary until they start writing and sharing in class," Dunec says.

The class helps students, many of whom are older adults, take stock of their lives and identify what has given them satisfaction and continuity, what choices they have made, and what obstacles they have overcome.

These are some of their stories.


Photograph courtesy of Pauline Stonehill




Pauline Stonehill

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Pauline Stonehill, who lives near Los Gatos and is active in the community, came to class with the book A Barrelful of Memories: Stories of My Azorean Family already under her belt. The book fulfills a promise to her father, who died 54 years ago when she was 24. Stonehill is now writing about growing up in rural America during the Depression. She says writing for the class encourages her to go on. Stonehill's husband, Len, is also taking the class.

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Cadmium yellow!

Fields of mustard

Paint the hills.

It's nature's golden epaulette;

A poorly marshaled troop.

I think of nature's palette.

My grandmother would think of soup.

Madrinha's soups are part of my heritage. There was always a large kettle of some kind of green soup on the stove. She used kale, fennel or turnip greens from her garden--even the beet greens.

A stand of wild mustard was cause for much excitement and soup; but the discovery of watercress growing in a ditch sent her into ecstasy.

How well I remember Vavo's reporting his find and the excitement of being allowed to accompany her to harvest this treasure from the swiftly-flowing irrigation waters.

"Stay back, child," (Fica' p'ra tras, filha.) "I don't want you falling in the ditch."


Photograph courtesy of Pauline Stonehill

This 1926 photograph captures Pauline Stonehill at age 5 and her brother, Frank, at age 3, with their grandmother, Madrinha.




The basic recipe was pretty much the same: a lot of onion fried in home-rendered lard; some garlic, lots of water, diced potatoes and when those were almost done, the chopped-up greens. For special occasions spicy linguica was added. This was the main dish at most dinners and suppers--with thick slices of buttered homemade bread to fill in the gaps.

To this day when I'm cooking, I hear her voice as she stirs and tastes, "Prova, Maria" (Taste, Mary). She holds out the big stirring spoon towards my mother. "Tem bastante sal?" (Is there enough salt?")

Mama gave me her recipe for Madrinha's cabbage soup made with lima beans and finely-chopped cabbage. The secret is her use of allspice for flavor. It's one of my husband's favorites. Madrinha lives!

But for some reason the most vivid picture of soup in my mind is of a very large bowl of a watery acorda, a garlic broth. Because the hens were laying, there were eggs poaching in the hot liquid sitting in the middle of the big dining room table. I stood on my chair so I could see their yellow eyes staring back at me until my grandmother turned them over with the ladle. Each plate received ladles of broth over its slice of bread and an egg neatly centered on it.

I have looked in various Portuguese cookbooks for acorda recipes and tried them out on Len to his dismay. None taste as I remember. Perhaps the missing ingredient is her love.


Photograph courtesy of Wanda Kownacki

Wanda Kownacki was 7 years old when this photograph was taken in 1923, shortly after she and her parents traveled from Moscow to Poland in a cattle car. She now shares the story of discovering her artistic talent.




Wanda Kownacki

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Wanda Kownacki, a Los Gatos resident for 40 years and an accomplished artist, was born in Petrograd (now Leningrad), Russia, in 1916, during the Russian revolution. As a child, she left Moscow with her parents in the cattle car of a train. As an adult, she escaped Communist-occupied Poland in a harrowing story that included hiding in a coffin. Kownacki and her Polish-Russian husband came to America in 1952 and eventually moved to the Bay Area. With rheumatoid arthritis making it almost impossible to paint these days, Kownacki is enjoying writing her life story for her grandson. For the "Accomplishments" segment of class, Kownacki writes to her grandson about how she became an artist.

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When my husband retired after a long career of teaching in American universities, UNESCO offered him a two-year contract to teach in a Polytechnic school in Annaba, a large town by the Mediterranean Sea in Algeria. It gave us a chance to travel. With our [two] daughters in colleges, we were free to go.

Stan went several weeks in advance, which was a mistake because he was not a practical man. After a lot of searching, he rented a house. Algeria, after seven years of war with France, got its independence, but the country was in bad shape with a shortage of houses.

When I arrived, I found our new home situation rather odd. It was a large house or villa by the sea, lovely no doubt in the past. It was owned by an Arab family with several children and grandchildren. It looked as if they were planning to share it with us--to live "en famille." Children walked all over the house, shrill Arabic music blared all day, and Madame in her flowing black garments and veil felt free to come to see me without a warning or invitation.

The situation was utterly unacceptable. After a long conference, we explained our conditions. The necessary repairs have to be made, walls painted and a solid partition had to be built separating the house in half. Madame would have to visit us the proper way through the front door. We ignored the hurt expression on her face but later became friends. Gradually, life became organized and orderly, and I could start investigating the town and its rather limited possibilities.

Algeria is a beautiful country--northern mountainous coast, very much like California with a mild climate--south led to the Arab settlements, tents, camels, desert. In spring, we went hiking all over the nearby hills, and I brought bundles of wild flowers. One day I sat down and started to sketch some, and to my pleasure, the drawings didn't look bad at all. I bought some painting supplies and proceeded to paint more.

As soon as we were back home to California, I enrolled in the local college and started my long and happy art education. I was lucky to find a wonderful teacher who encouraged me a great deal. After several years of hard work, I became good enough to enter local competitions, shows, galleries.

These were almost the best years of my life. I've accomplished something that gave me a true satisfaction and happiness.

Betty Roberts

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When Sheila Dunec told Betty Roberts, "This class is not an English assignment," Roberts went home and wrote all that afternoon and most of the next day. Dunec had just handed out the assignment on death. "I know something about that," Roberts says. She lost her husband and both her daughters within a three-year period. People of Los Gatos gave them amazing support. Her son-in-law, Dan Blue, built a guest cottage for her and her husband, where she still lives. "Writing it out and reading it to class was a wonderful release," Roberts says. "I'd kept it all inside for so long. When I got done, I felt like I could finally let go of it." Roberts shares the story of those terribly difficult years.

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Considering Death

The past 10 years have been a real test of my beliefs and convictions on both life and death.

In April of 1992, when I was here in Los Gatos to help following Mary's surgery for lung cancer, Dan said, "Why don't you and Kenn come back to California? We'll build in-law quarters for you in the side yard!" Mary and I nearly fell off our chairs laughing. For years I had believed that no house is big enough for two women--and for Mary and me the same yard was even questionable. . . .

Roberts and her husband, Kenn, did move to Los Gatos that year. And today, Roberts believes her son-in-law's, idea was divinely inspired because of all that followed. The family needed to be together to support each other through a siege of illness and death.

. . . The first year was consumed with building our place and getting used to only 800 square feet of space. No real problems developed between Mary and me sharing the same yard.

However, in December 1993, their focus shifted to Roberts's oldest daughter, Margaret, who was diagnosed with rapidly growing breast cancer and then a brain tumor. The illness left Margaret unable to do even simple addition.

As a family, we all agreed to help her--moving her into Mary and Dan's guest room.

The family shifted focus again when Mary's cancer resurfaced.

We turned our garage area into a big sunny room, and Margaret moved in [to the guest house] with Kenn and I. Friends and family arranged that Mary would never be alone, and Los Gatans showed amazing support.

The last three months of Mary's illness, I witnessed something I shall never forget. The mothers from Blossom Hill School catered evening meals five nights a week for three months.

Although Mary had sworn off organized religion during her late teenage years, during her illness, on her own, she called the local minister of the faith she had been brought up in. She informed him of her wishes, hymns, readings and prayers for a memorial service. He was amazed at how completely she had it all planned.

For her service, the church was packed, families with children included. I will always remember the grin on 10-year-old Christopher's face when he looked up at me and said, "Nana, my team is all here." They were all sitting in the second row dressed in their Little League uniforms ... .

Roberts also was amazed at the turnout at the house after the memorial service, especially all the children who came.

The next-door neighbor brought in several large tables early that morning. Chairs materialized from I don't know where. Everyone brought picnic and finger foods. The children swam while the adults visited. It was the best thing that could have happened for my son-in-law and the children. A wonderful tribute to the heads up, no tears way Mary had faced her impending death. . . .

A year later, Roberts' husband of 56 years, who had suffered years from Parkinson's disease and dementia, passed away.

After her husband's death, Roberts and Margaret lived together in the guest house and helped her son-in-law with his three children.

We began having Sunday dinners as a special time each week. We traveled, we went to Boise for a granddaughter's wedding, and for several days vacation in Sawtooth Valley. We were enjoying each other's company. Then once again bad news struck.

Margaret was diagnosed with three inoperable tumors in her brain. Roberts, her sister from Idaho and the hospice staff kept Margaret home until she passed away. Friends came from all over to pay Tribute to Margaret.

Of course I'm lonely. I miss them all. Now and then depression sets in. But each day I try to find something amusing--maybe its a cartoon--maybe a newspaper article. Humor is so much easier to live with than countless tears.


Photograph by Kathy De La Torre

Linda Brown recalls her introduction to basic training when she joined the U.S. Navy.




Linda Brown

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Linda Brown, 43 years old, has taken the class three times. She moved to Los Gatos two years ago after living 10 years in Singapore with her husband, who works for Seagate. Looking for ways to get involved in Los Gatos, Brown stumbled onto this class and loves it. She has filled her binder with memories to write about. This is an excerpt from a much longer piece Brown wrote about joining the U.S. Navy when she was 19.

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My friends had going-away parties, goodbye dinners and lunches for me. It was a whirlwind of excitement. I told the girls at the office that I intended to marry myself an Admiral. I have always set my sights high with all intentions of reaching my goal. Saying goodbye to my family was easy. I was ready to go. Kerry [Brown's boyfriend] was heartbroken, but I'd outgrown him and needed to move on. My friends sent me off feeling very loved and cherished. The day my recruiter picked me up, I had my picture taken, my mother stood and waved, and my father turned his back to sob and walked away.

Off I went, an hour's drive to Newark, where the recruiter dropped me off at the recruit center. We were all mixed, Army, Air Force, Navy, Marines, men and women. We filled out paperwork, had our physicals, got sworn in and boarded buses for the airport, where we flew our separate ways to Basic Training camps all over the country.

I flew to Orlando [Fla.], and in the airport I followed the signs to a meeting place for the women who were about to change their lives forever. As I neared the area and came around the corner, what I heard and saw was quite unbelievable. Girls and women from around the country. None of them knew each other before. They sat on seats, benches, the floor, and their suitcases, playing cards, chewing gum, looking at magazines, dirty magazines, talking, laughing, screeching and hollering. The noise was amazing. The sight was incredible, and I was part of it.

I don't remember feeling any sort of unease. I probably looked for the girls making the most noise and just joined them. I just remember the fun starts here and now , and I wasn't wasting any time. I hadn't brought any contraband like these other girls, so I borrowed, and soon I was a part of the group. The deal was that girls flew in from around the country, and when the last scheduled girl arrived, the buses came to pick us up. Some of us had been there since morning.

When the buses arrived, everyone stood and cheered. Wrong emotion! This guy in uniform walked in and started shouting, "Lose the gum, candy, cards, and magazines." So we stashed or tossed them. He screamed most of the way to Basic, and we didn't have a clue what we were in for. He wanted complete quiet, and no contraband. We passed the "Playgirl" around and giggled. Isn't this the way the guys did things?" By the time we arrived at Basic Training, we were all old friends.

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For information about the upcoming Life Stories class (in January), call the Los Gatos-Saratoga Department of Community Education and Recreation, 408.354.8700.

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