Gram (Mary Homen)
February 1st, 2024 (Draft) by Maryellen Quinn Thirolf & Kāli Quinn
I promised what seems like a long time ago to give you some information about my grandmother on Gramma Jule’s side, Mary Homen.
I hope the information in the Coming to America section is accurate, but I can’t guarantee that it is. Deciphering ship manifests is challenging because of the handwriting, variations in the spelling of names, and possible inaccuracy of self-reported information. I think we have to be satisfied that this is not a final draft.
Thanks to Kali and my cousins Mike Homen and Gail Spittler Rose for their wrestling with the primary documents. I relied on their information to give you much of my grandmother’s backstory, and I asked them to correct any errors they found. I also give some of my impressions and memories about Gram, as her grandchildren called her. Gail added her memories, which I will share at the end, as well.
Coming to America
Mary Sukmanowska was born on March 2, 1892, to Sarah Luzman and Daujtro (Andrew) Sukmanowski. (There seem to be variations in spelling of her mother’s name. I assume that the Ukrainians did what the Russians did regarding surnames; it gets complicated, but it seems that, in my grandmother’s case, the female surname ends with “ska” and the male surname ends with “ski.” Then again, the names sometimes end in “sky.”)
I’m including the photo (above) of Mary’s wedding in 1913 to Michael Homen who was born November 11, 1883, in the town of Blasowa, in far southeastern Poland (see map). There’s plenty of confusion about all of this, especially because the borders of these Eastern European countries changed over the years as the land was invaded and annexed by invading armies. (Sounds familiar.) From what I can tell, Michael was born in what was then Poland in an area that was once part of Austria and afterwards became part of Ukraine. (Confusing.)
My grandparents always identified as Ukrainians, and when I asked Gram, she said her family were peasants/farmers. They spoke the Ukrainian language, prepared Ukrainian foods (borscht, pierogi, and holubtsi), and followed Ukrainian customs when celebrating Christmas and Easter. By the way, the name Homen derived from other spellings (Chomyn, Chomin, Chomen). As my cousin Mike points out, census takers probably just reported what they could understand from the pronunciation.
Kali has a document (above) that says Michael Homen possibly sailed on the USS Leeland from Antwerp to New York on June 18, l907. My cousin Mike, however, did his own research and thinks that our grandfather immigrated through Halifax, wandered around Canada for some time, and entered the United States through St. Albans, Vermont. (A legal immigrant? I wonder if he had a visa.)
Mike also remembers that Gram told him she arrived in the States in 1912. I’m amazed that she left the Old Country, as she called it, when she was only 20 years old, knowing no doubt that she would never see her relatives there again. That took no small amount of courage. She learned English so that she could understand and communicate in her new environment, but she always had a fairly strong Ukrainian accent.
I wish I knew more about how and where my grandparents met, but it seems likely that Michael and Mary met in Buffalo shortly after 1912. I think that both Mary and Michael had relatives in Buffalo who emigrated from Ukraine before them and no doubt encouraged them to come to the States. I remember some of those relatives: Uncle Bill, who was Gram’s brother; Uncle Gus, my grandfather’s brother (pictured with him below); and possibly my grandmother’s sister Anna, although I don’t have any information about her. I remember my mother’s cousins Ann Sukman (the Americanized version of Sukmanowsky) and Helen and Walter Slipko. These cousins lived on Smith Street in the First Ward and often came to our house on Pries for parties like christenings, first communions, and bridal showers, along with other cousins including Ukrainians named Myron, Iona, and Olga.
The Homens in Buffalo
Through Ancestry.com, Mike found 1920 and 1930 census information about the Homen family living in Buffalo on Perry Street, Mackinaw Street, and Bolton Place in the First Ward. (Have you read Richard Sullivan’s novels about the First Ward in Buffalo? If you have, you know that the trilogy gives an interesting and entertaining description of life in the Buffalo’s First Ward in the 19th and early 20th centuries and the immigrants who lived there. I enjoyed the first two books but couldn’t get into the third one.)
Michael and Mary had three children: John, Julianna (Gramma Jule), and Anne (whom all the nieces and nephews referred to as Nonnie or Non). I’m including a photo of my mother’s family here, which I’m guessing was taken circa 1924.
My mother told me that her father worked in the railroad yards in Buffalo and was hit by a train. His naturalization papers note that one of his legs was amputated. After the accident, he became a shoemaker and set up a shop, I think, at the 178 Mackinaw Street residence. (See Buffalo telephone book with their residence and his profession listed below on the left.) It was difficult to get my mother or grandmother to talk about what happened to Grampa Homen and what effect the accident had on him and the family. Like many other immigrant groups, they kept negative information to themselves, apparently preferring not to share their sorrows.
Here you can also see a WWII draft registration card of Michael Homen - interesting to see how he signed his name at the bottom right corner.)
Mary Homen worked as a domestic for some years, and then my mother, starting when she was a teenager, worked alongside her mother on the assembly line at the Burt Box Factory on Seneca Street in Buffalo. That would have been during the Depression, a time when both of my parents dropped out of high school and went to work to help support their families. I remember my mother saying that her mother worked very hard, knew how to manage money (she was very frugal), and owned the houses at 20 Bolton Place and 143 Pries Street. I think my grandmother bought the house on Pries in 1941. My parents moved into the downstairs flat after they were married in June. My brother Bill was born a year later and Butch was born a year after that.
My grandfather died in 1944, two years before I was born. I’m including a photo of the holy card from his wake, which mentions that he was waked at home on Bolton Place. Eventually, Mary and Anne Homen moved to the upstairs flat on Pries.
Gram was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes, most likely sometime in the early 1950’s. I remember that when they all lived on Pries, my mother would go upstairs every morning to give Gram a shot of insulin. Gram was very strict about what she ate every day - cottage cheese with homemade canned peaches for lunch, nothing with sugar, basically the same food at the same time every day, as I recall. You might be interested in knowing that autoimmune diseases run in the Homen family, especially hypothyroidism, diabetes, lupus, osteoarthritis, rheumatoid arthritis, and the rare disease known as polymyositis, which Thom had.
My mother expressed to me from time to time how much she loved and admired her mother. My memories of them are of their closeness. If my mother was working in the kitchen or in the yard, my grandmother was right beside her. Literal closeness, but, I have to admit, I never even saw them hug. Their bond was strong but largely invisible.
The Homen Grandchildren
Here you can see a photo of my grandmother and Non taken in the backyard on Pries on Non’s wedding day in 1949. Non married Duke Spittler and moved to Lake View, Duke’s hometown. Duke graduated from Cornell University with a degree in wildlife biology, was awarded the Bronze Star for his service in the Battle of the Bulge, and was a retired U.S. Army Reserve colonel. You can read more about him here. The Spittlers raised four children in Lake View: George, Gail, Chip, and David. The Spittler’s house is on Schultz Road, and my cousin Chip still lives there.
Some time after Non moved to Lake View, Uncle John and his wife Aunt Stephanie “Stephie” (Melnyk) left the projects in the First Ward and moved to the upstairs flat on Pries. My grandmother lived with them. My Homen cousins are Carole, Nancy, Mike, and Marianne. In 1955, my Uncle John built a beautiful, brick, single-family house at 115 Crystal Avenue, a few blocks from Pries. Uncle John was a talented jack-of-all-trades. He acted as his own architect and contractor and did most of the work on the house himself in addition to working fulltime on the assembly line at the GM plant in Tonawanda. After the Homen family left Pries, the upstairs flat was rented out.
My grandmother had a total of 12 grandchildren, divided evenly among the Homens, the Quinns, and the Spittlers. Over the years, Mary Homen moved between Crystal, Pries, and Schultz Road in Lake View, spending a lot of her time babysitting for all three families. Besides helping to care for her grandchildren, she partnered with my mother on projects around the house on Pries and loved to garden in the Homen’s backyard and in Lake View, where the Spittlers had a huge garden. As a babysitter, she was always calm, kind, and patient (especially with the Quinn kids when my parents took their occasional weekend trips to New York City).
Gram’s Death
Gram died suddenly and unexpectedly on March 10, 1965, when I was a sophomore at D’Youville. I remember being called out of class and rushing to the house on Crystal. My Aunt Stephie, Non, and my mother were there at the kitchen table; I think their cousins were there as well. A Buffalo police officer was sitting in the living room. (Apparently, it was required that when a person died at home instead of in the hospital a policeman had to stay with the body until the coroner arrived.) Gram’s body was covered on the kitchen floor where she collapsed, most likely stricken by a heart attack. We were all in shock. I’ll always remember that when my father died in 1962 at age 48, Gram was very upset and heartbroken. She cried that it should have been her instead. Just 3 years later, we lost Gram.
Memories
My cousin Gail sent the following endearing, and sometimes humorous, memories of Gram:
I was only 10 when Gram died but I have lots of memories of her spending time with us during the summer. She taught me how to iron and she made us "pie eggs" for breakfast. She scrambled eggs and cooked them in a pan and then she put them on toast. The eggs were not scrambled as they cooked, and she would cut it in quarters on the toast. I still make them like that today!
My parents always had a garden and Gram would make us go outside and weed the garden with her. She was always on the look-out for snakes because she was afraid of them.
There was a big wicker rocking chair on our front porch and Gram would spend hours out there just rocking. I don't know if she enjoyed quiet time by herself but I am actually that way now.
My dad took my brothers and me to the Fair every summer. I remember coming home once and my mother had gone to Buffalo to bring Gram out for her visit. I didn't know she was there until I climbed into bed and there she was. Scared me half to death!
My dad had several green woolen Army blankets and Gram made jackets for us out of them. She put fancier buttons on mine. I wish I still had it.
My mother told me when they lived on Mackinaw Street, she had a doll burial ceremony. She used one of Grampa's shoe boxes. I wonder if anyone ever dug them up.
Another funny story my mother told us was when she went dining room furniture shopping with Gram when my mother was getting married. Gram told her to leave her purse open with the cash very obvious. The salesman quoted a price for the set and Gram said they would shop elsewhere because it was too expensive. The salesman saw the wad of money and promptly lowered his price!
You can see Gram at 60-years-old here in the upper right on Halloween, 1952, Thom’s first birthday. My brother Bill is standing in the back and Mike Homen in the front. In the second row, you can see my cousin Nancy, me, a neighbor friend, my cousin Veronica, baby Thom, and another neighbor friend.
A few random memories I have of my grandmother:
When my grandmother lived upstairs with the Homens, she spent a lot of time in a rocking chair set up in the kitchen. I loved to climb up on her lap and cuddle with her when I was little. Over time, she taught me how to play cards. The game of War was everyone’s favorite in those days, and Gram seemed to always be available to play with us. Also, Gram had an amazing talent. I loved to watch her peel apples because she could do it easily all in one long peel. I’ve tried, but I’ve never been able to do it.
Every spring, my mother and grandmother would devote an entire day to canning enough delicious strawberry jelly to last us through the winter. (We always called it “jelly,” although I think the more correct word would be “jam” or “preserves.”) There was an old gas stove in the cellar where they set up a big pot of boiling water, many bottles of Karo syrup, a tabletop loaded with sterilized mason jars and lids, and I-have-no-idea-how-many pounds of fresh, farm-bought strawberries. They used hot parrafin wax to seal the jars before they put the lids on. Quite a project.
I also remember a rather strange activity my grandmother engaged in every spring. After all the snow melted and the weather turned warm, she would go outside to inspect the concrete around the house—the driveway and the front sidewalk. She’d cook up a pot of hot tar (the real gooey black stuff), tell us kids to stay out of her way, and fill any cracks that appeared in the concrete over the winter. I think she poured the tar in the cracks with a ladle, used a thick piece of cardboard to smooth it out, and moved on down the driveway and out to the front of the house until every crack was filled, issuing many warnings to us to stay out of her way as she worked. Like I said, she was a hard worker. A woman on a mission. Also very intent on fixing things (like the sidewalk) instead of replacing them. For example, she spent a fair amount of her time darning socks. Who darns socks anymore!?
Gram was also intent on not wasting things. When she lived with us, we were corrected whenever we left a room without turning out the lights. “You vaste the ‘lectricity!” We heard that a lot.
Every spring and fall, my mother and grandmother tackled a major project, namely, taking down and putting up storm windows and screens all around the first floor of the house. My mother would climb a step ladder while Gram held it for her, and one by one, moving around the house, they’d get the job done. I think Uncle John must have used an extension ladder to change out the second floor windows, but these two tough ladies formed a strong partnership and were determined to finish the biannual task for the first floor. Cut from the same cloth, these Ukrainian ladies were unstoppable when it came to getting stuff done.
My grandmother and her niece, Ann Sukman (Gram’s brother’s daughter), made it their mission to occasionally send packages overseas to their relatives in Ukraine. They’d pack up items of clothing, food, household goods, whatever they could get their hands on and send a big box back to the Old Country. It often turned out that they heard the boxes had been tampered with once they arrived, but that didn’t deter Mary and Ann. They kept sending those boxes overseas to their relatives.
Finally, a very strong, and telling, memory of Mary Homen. The day after March 5, 1953. I was 7 years old, sitting at the kitchen table eating cereal while Bill and Butch were getting ready for school. I looked up to see my grandmother standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room. She glanced down at the newspaper on the chair next to the doorway and let out a scream, the only time I’d ever heard such a sound from my grandmother. The scream was followed by sobbing as she stood in the doorway holding the front page of the Buffalo Courier Express up to her face. The headline read STALIN DEAD. My mother came running with baby Thom in her arms to comfort Gram. We were all shocked to see our usually calm and quiet grandmother in such a highly emotional state. A number of years later I finally understood what happened--Mary Homen’s tears that day were not tears of sorrow but tears of joy and relief. She must have been thinking about the 3.5 million Ukrainians murdered by the Russian dictator in the 1930s and how her relatives and countrymen suffered under the Soviets. You can read more about Stalin’s role in starving the Ukrainians here. When the news came out 2 years ago about the Russian attack on Ukraine and the ensuing destruction and murder of civilians, I recalled this episode that played out on Pries 70 years ago. We can be sure that Ukrainians here and there want nothing to do with murderous Russians.
One big positive effect of my writing about Gram is how much more I appreciate her courage in leaving Ukraine and avoiding having to live through both world wars in Europe. Instead, she made it to this country on her own, married her husband Michael, raised their children, welcomed their grandchildren into this world, and set everything else, including you, in motion.