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In search of my grandfather's past … and maybe a book deal

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Helen Brenckle

The Results are In

EthnicityCapture

My DNA test results are in (cue the Maury Povich music).

Actually, they came back a few weeks ago. The fact I’m posting now should tell you they were fairly unremarkable.

I knew my background regions all along. So, no surprises there. But what did shock me was how little of my DNA seems to come from Italy.

My profile states that I am 51 percent Western European, 24 percent Eastern European, 11 percent Great Britain and only 8 percent Italian. Whaaaat??? My grandpa was 100 percent Italian, as in, both his parents came from Italy and I’ve traced their roots very far back.

My grandmother was 100 percent Slovak. My other grandparents were 100 percent Polish and 98 percent Irish, with a little French Canadian thrown in because the Irish branch emigrated through Canada rather than the US.

I was expecting more Italian. But, ah, perhaps ol’ Fillipo Aristodemo had some other types of blood running through his veins!

I suppose it depended on what was in my spit that morning I took the test. Maybe the Italian portions were still sleeping.

I do take a lot of comfort in knowing that the majority of “me” is made up of the DNA most closely associated with my wonderful Grammy and my equally gentle, loving and kind Grandpa Krajenke (the Polish portion, if you couldn’t tell.)

I’ve been thinking a lot about how comforting this notion of inheritance is, at least for me and in my circumstance.

My mother-in-law, you see, is not doing well. She’s in the end stages of a progressive and ultimately fatal disease. My daughter, despite visiting her every week along with her Daddy, will only know her in pictures. However, there is a portion of her that will always be with her, that will always be with Jason, too.

My mother and father will be with me and with my daughter long after they are gone. A part of me will be with my daughter until the end of her days.

So, that means Grammy, and yes, Phil, are with me right now.

In physics, you learn that matter is neither created nor destroyed. With this test, it shows that is indeed the case. Lives echo on and on, catching the shore of the present day like the tide.

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Questions answered

PhilandJoeonthefarmI just got back from the Brenckle Family Reunion. And oh boy, did I once again hit the motherlode.

So, to answer your question, yes, there’s a significant faction within the family that believes Howard Lager did get away with murder. And there were other concerns, as you can imagine, as well. Particularly with the female members of the family. No one had a definitive answer, though.  A few people thought they heard that Howard had gotten Marion pregnant and that was what the fight on the night of the fire was about.

There was also a rift, apparently, among the Brenckle siblings over the use of these farmed out children. A certain part of the family thought it was unethical and it got pretty heated.

But no one could say anything for certain, and because of that, I’m still wary of pinning criminal labels on anyone — even though you can’t defame the dead.

I shared all the stories I had, and also the research I’d done on the Brenckle family itself. I had copies of Raymond and Myrtle’s marriage license, census records for branches of the Brenckle family and a few odds and ends.

After dinner, we went down to the basement because they had a surprise for me.

“I thought you should have them,” they said as they handed over two envelopes of pictures.

If I was shocked by seeing my grandpa on the front page of the newspaper, these two envelopes shocked me even more.

The picture at the top of the page is Phil (right) and Joe (left) the summer after they came to the farm. This is the youngest I have ever seen either boy. Unless I stumble on a trove of baby pictures by a forgotten Venezia relative, it maybe as young as I get.

I look at their faces and I can see that they are happy. It makes my heart soar. They look like they are having a terrific time. After all they’ve been through, they’re in the summer sunshine, together, with clothes and shoes. Grandpa looks a little silly. I’ve seen my brother make that same face when he’s being goofy and someone’s trying to take his picture.

PhilonthefarmThis next one is just Phil with another one of the farmhands. It might even be Howard Lager. I think it kind of looks like him.

These pictures make me think again — if you’ve got dozens of kids passing through your farm just to do work, why take their picture? Why treat them like members of the family if you were just going to cast them out when the season was over? That wasn’t going to be my grandfather’s and great-uncle’s fate, it seems.

Joe's weddingThis next one cracks me up. Joe, even though he was the baby brother, was the first Venezia boy to get married. In 1932, he married Ruth Broglie. Joe, looking almost like a movie star, is on the left. Phil, on the right, was his best man. Awwwww.

I laugh because my dad looks like that in a tux. He stands the same way, with his hand at his side, fingers curled almost the same way. They look so Godfather. I’m not sure who the little girl or the maid-of-honor are. I’m also shocked to see how much both boys look like their parents. Joe is Francesco with Saverina’s eyes and forehead smoothed over the sharp edges. Phil is his mother, with his father’s thin face pulling what could be too round into a squarish-oval. Two more generations, and my face is what my Grammy always admiringly called “the perfect oval.” I never thought so, but I guess that meant something back in the day. 🙂

I’m full of good food and good memories now. I may not have concrete answers, but I have ideas. And as I think about writing the book, those ideas will surely guide my imagination.

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For Grammy

WeddingPicsGrammy Helen would have been 95 today. I am missing her something fierce because I wish I could share all these amazing discoveries with her.

So, instead, I’m posting this. When Jason and I got married, I carried my bouquet. But all the way into the church, I carried these. A picture of Grammy and Grandpa on their wedding day, along with a picture of my mom’s parents, Doris and Richard Krajenke. They were married on the fly in California just before my grandpa shipped out for World War II, so that picture is the closest we have.

The picture of Helen and Phil came from Mary Ann, along with a necklace. The necklace was made out of the only piece of Grammy’s trousseau to survive — a faux pearl earring. It was one of the best and most meaningful gifts I’d ever gotten in my life. And you can imagine the tears of two dozen women when I read the sweet note she included out loud at my bridal shower. It was awesome.

Before she was Mom or Grammy, she was Helen Dorothy Spock, born in Uniontown, Fayette County, to Slovak parents. Her father, John Spock, ran a general store that was a popular destination for recent immigrants. Her mother, Mary, raised the kids and sometimes worked the meat counter.

Helen was the middle of seven children. She never said so, but in the subsequent years I’ve learned her childhood was not exactly a happy one. But she was extremely smart. She graduated the valedictorian of her class in Uniontown.

She came to Allegheny County because her parents refused to send her any sort of secondary schooling. So she moved to Dormont to live with one of her sisters, who was already married. She found work at Donahoe’s Market as a checkout and stockgirl.

And guess who was working the produce section.

Funny story. Apparently, Grandpa used to like to tease Grammy before he got the courage to ask her out. The story goes that Grammy hated overripe bananas. She loved almost-green ones. So, on her break, Grammy used to go back to produce and Phil would give her a banana. “I saved the old ones for you. Just like you like,” he’d always say. And she’d get so mad because she’d had told him over and over that she didn’t.

And of course, he totally did remember. He just liked to see her get feisty and then have a chance to make up to her.

They got married in October of 1943.

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