Mission Accomplished

The first home my parents owned, where I and my two brothers were born, was a two family flat at 761 Aubert Avenue. My sister had been born a few years earlier at 4724a Olive Street.

My father owned a dry cleaning store in partnership with another Greek man, Nestor Papaspanos. Before the Depression, the store was doing very well. It did enough business to support two families, nicely, our's and the partner's. My father and Nestora each worked half-days. With the painful economic decline, it was decided my fahter would borrow on his John Hancock life insurance policy to buy out his partner, since the economic downturn had affected the business, and the store now would support only one family. We had enough money for our daily food and expenses, plus the additional income from the rent from the flat upstairs, which was paid promptly every month; but there was not enough money left over to pay the monthly note on the house mortgage. For almost two years,no house payment was made.

For our family, we began to emerge from the financial setback of the Depression about 1934. By that time, my mother had convinced my father to allow her to work at the cleaners, doing alterations. She would stay home during the day, cook the meals, and do her housework. When my older sister and I came home from school at 3:30 in the afternoon, she would leave for the cleaners. My sister would babysit my two younger brothers, ages four and two, and me everyday, including Saturday, until my parents came home at 9:30 in the evening.

My parents were able to and wanted to resume mortgage payments on our home. We had been extremely fortunate in that the mortgage lender, a woman, had not demanded payment, or foreclosed on the property. Either way, it would have been a losing proposition for her because the real estate market was so depressed and glutted with foreclosed property, the flat would have been a liability on her hands. Property was just not selling.

My mother convinced my father she should take me with her to the real estate company, and tell the realtor to contact the holder of the mortgage to completely write off the two years of non-payment of interest. My parents would resume again the monthly payments. Since my mother spoke no English, my function would be interpreter. My sister had to babysit my younger brothers. I was considered proficient in the matter of translating the two languages, English and Greek, even though I was only ten years old.

My father was shocked. Stunned. It was unbelievable to him that the mortgage holder would agree to such an outlandish suggestion. However, my mother's mind was made up, she would not be deterred from accomplishing her objective.

One afternoon when I came home from school, my mother took me and we walked to the Botorff Realty Company. It was only two blocks away, on Delmar Bolevard, past Euclid Avenue, next to the West End Lyric Theater. The realty company was in a storefront office. On the large plate glass window, facing the street the name BOTORFF was printed in large gold letters in a half-moon, and below it in a straight line, the word REALTY. As my mother and I entered the office, Mr. Botorff was alone, sitting at a high roll top desk. I noticed he was a tall, thin man. He wore glasses, and there was a smile on his face. He was a man of a pleasant disposition, and I had no reason to alter that impression after our conference with him. He said to us, "Come in, come in ladies. How can I help you?"

My mother said to me in Greek, "Tell him our name, where we live, and that we want to talk about paying on the mortgage of our house."

I was not confident in initiating projects, but guided by someone else, in problems of negotiations, I did very well. I could easily follow directions. In English, I bravely related our mission.

He smiled and said, "Fine, let me get the file and we'll see what there is to be done." He went to a green filing cabinet, opened a drawer, rifled through it, and took out a manila folder. He smiled at us as he came back to his desk and said, "Well, here we are", breaking off into a puzzled look saying, "Oh, yes, now I remember. No payment has been made for some time, almost two years to be exact."

I relayed the information in Greek to my mother. She said, "Tell him I know that. That's the reason we are here." Once again I interpreted and gave the message to Mr. Botorff. He said "Yes?" I looked at my mother. She said, "Tell him to get in touch with the holder of the mortgage and tell the lady to forget about the unpaid interest of the last few years. Tell him to tell her we will start paying next month again, the new interest."

I had no great idea about money, let alone knew anything about payments or interest. I didn't know the relevancy of the statement or its impact. I did as I was instructed. I relayed the message I was given. All during my recitation, the realtor kept shaking his head from side to side, side to side. After a prolonged moment of silence, he finally said, "No, that cannot be done. Impossible."

My mother understood his reaction without my clarification. She said, "Tell him to approach the lady. She will agree to it." I repeated my mother's proposition. Again the head shaking, the moment of meditation, and the answer, "No, it cannot be done. Impossible." Again the request, "Tell him to approach the lady. She will agree to it."

Whether Mr. Botorff recognized that my mother would not be put off, and that she was definitely adamant in her request, or whether he felt such a request was legitimate, or whether he felt he should give up and call it a day, he wearily shrugged his shoulders and said, "All right, I will call the lady and ask her to do as you ask. We'll see how she feels about this dea. I will let you know."

At that, my mother stood up from her chair. I followed her lead. She instructed me to thank the kind gentleman; they shook hands, and we left the ofice. On the way home my mother's feet seemed to have wings. I could feel the lighthearted steps matching her lightsome air.

My mother went on to work at my father's cleaners, and I stayed home with my sister and brothers. I don't know what my father's verbal reaction was to my mother's visit to the realty office, but that evening when they came home from work, my father was very quiet. For the rest of the evening, as I looked at him,I thought I saw a half-smile on his face, a feeling all was well with the world.

One afternoon about a week later, when my sister and I came home from school, my mother was waiting at our front door for us. In her excitement, she thrust a letter from Mr. Botorff to both of us.

"Read, read this and tell me what it says", she said to us, urgency strong in her voice. Quickly, we simultaneously read aloud the letter, and started yelling happily.

"Mom, Mom, it's okay," I said. "It's okay. Mr. Botorff said the lady said it's okay, you don't have to pay the money you missed for the last two years! It's okay!" That evening, when my parents came home from the cleaners, I can't recall seeing two happier people. A difficult and unusual mission accomplished; my father beaming from ear to ear, my mother quietly pleased with herself. They looked and acted like two people vey much in love, and in love with the world.

© 2003 by Jennie Constantinides Vlanton

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