Fried Eggs on Toast

By Ed Staskus

   The first language Edvardas Staskevicius spoke was Lithuanian and until he started meeting Canadian children it was the only language he spoke. All his first friends in Sudbury, Ontario, were other small change in the same boat, visiting his parents with their parents. When spring broke early his second year of life, he started meeting other youngsters, boys and girls on the block of nine houses on their dead-end street. 

   They all spoke English and many of them spoke French. They stuck to English on the street, which was how he picked up enough of it to get by. French was for talking about cooking fashion politics and popular culture.

   His close friend and arch-enemy Regina Bagdonaite, who he called Lele, lived a block away. Eddie and Lele played together, burning up the pavement, except for those times that she spied him dragging his red fleece blanket behind him. When she tried to take it away and he resisted, starting a tug of war, she resorted to biting him on the arm. It was then the squabbling and pushing started in earnest.

   Lele didn’t begin learning English until the first day she went to school.

   “All my friends were Lithuanian during my childhood in Sudbury,” she said. “When I entered kindergarten, I didn’t speak a word of English. Many people over my lifetime had a chuckle when I told them I was born in Canada, but English is my second language.”

   Time is money is the watchword in the grown-up world, but time is candy is what works for many children. The young wife who lived next door to Eddie’s parents, Angele and Vytas, had a daughter and they visited together some afternoons. She always brought candy and while the women talked, Diana and Eddie sat at the kitchen table with a paper bag of candy between them. Whenever one of them was ready for another piece, they jiggled the table vigorously before making a grab for the bag.

   The immigrant couple bought a house as soon as they could, the same as every other Lithuanian who ended up in Sudbury. They had three children inside of five years. They didn’t have a TV, but they had a telephone and a radio, as well as a washing machine and a fridge. They knew their neighbors, but all their close friends were other post-war DP’s, most of them working in the nickel mines. Sudbury was a city, but it was a company town, too.

   By 1950 it had long been associated with mining, smelting, and a broken-down landscape. The environment was said to be comparable to that of the moon. Decades of mining and smokestacks had acidified more than 7,000 lakes inside a circle of 10,000 square miles. 

   “I didn’t like Sudbury,” said Angele. “All the trees were dried up and dead. It was god-forsaken.” 

   More than 50,000 acres of the hinterland were barren. Nothing grew there. Another 200,000 acres were semi-barren. There was substantial erosion everywhere. It wasn’t a wasteland, but it was a wasteland. All anyone had to do was walk up a rocky promontory and look around.

   As early as the 1920s “The Hub of the North” was open roasting more than twice as much rock ore as any other smelting location in North America. The result poisoned crops. The result made it one of the worst environments in Ontario. It blackened the native pink granite, turning the rose and white quartz black. 

   “Vytas worked two weeks during the day and two weeks during the night,” said Angele. “He walked to work, except when it was too cold, and whoever had a car would pick him and others up. In the morning he left at seven and got home at seven at night. When he worked nights, he got home at seven in the morning. The kids and I would wait by the window for him to get back.”

   Sudbury is in a basin. It is the third-largest impact crater on Earth. It was created about 200 million years ago when an enormous asteroid rocketed through the atmosphere and hit the ground with a blast. World-class deposits are found there and mined extensively.

   The city’s reputation as a rocky badlands was known far and wide by the time Angele and Vytas got married in 1949 and bought their house on Stanley Street a year later. Despite the industrial blight of the past half-century, there was a growing working-class population. They were a part of that population. The newlyweds were two of the displaced willing to take whatever work was offered in return for getting out of the Old World.

   “All our friends, the Zizai, Simkai, Bagdonai, all had children,” Angele said. “Since our living room was a little bigger than most, they often came over on Saturday nights. The men played bridge while we made dinner. The kids ran around, we drank, lots of it, smoked and danced. We put the kids away and talked all night.”

   Whoever had the opportunity to get married got married as fast as they could. There wasn’t an overabundance of single women in Sudbury. Henry and Maryte Zizys saw each other three times before they got hitched. The Simkai and Bagdonai stretched it out for a few months. The married men drank at home. The single men drank in bars, usually with other single men.

   The early Lithuanians who went to the New World weren’t Lithuanians, since the country didn’t exist at the time. It had once been its own empire but had since been taken over and was part of the Russian Empire. Many who fled to the United States were mistakenly documented as Polish, since there was a language ban in their homeland and scores of them spoke Polish as a second language.

   The first Lithuanians in Canada were men who fought in the British Army in the War of 1812 against the Americans. For the next 130 years most of those who left the Baltics and went to Canada did so for economic reasons. After World War Two they fled toil and trouble after the Soviet Union reincorporated Lithuania into its realm.

   “All of us hated the Russians for what they did” Angele said.

   The Russians deported hundreds of thousands of Lithuanians to Siberian labor camps during and after the war. Sometimes they had their reasons. Other times the reason was slaphappy. The neighbors might have complained about you. The new Communist mayor might have taken a dislike to you. A cross-eyed apparatchik might have thought you were somebody else. It didn’t matter, because if you ended up in a boxcar going east, your future was over.

   The house Vytas and Angele moved into was on a newer extension of Stanley Street north of Poplar Street. It wasn’t in any of the city’s touted neighborhoods, but Donovan was nearby, and so was Little Britain. Downtown was less than two miles to the east. 

   Stanley Street started at Elm Street where there was a drug store, tobacconist, five-and-dime, fruit market, bakery and butcher shop, restaurants and a liquor store, and the Regent movie theater. The railcars were being replaced by busses and the tracks asphalted over. The other end dead-ended at a sheer rock face on top of which were railroad tracks. The Canadian Pacific ran day and night hauling ore. When the train wailed, the kids wailed right back.

   Angele shopped on Elm Street. When Eddie was still a toddler, he rode in a baby carriage. After his siblings were born, they rode in the carriage. He didn’t fit anymore, having become a third wheel.

   “He was unhappy about it,” Angele said. “I told him he was a big boy now and had to walk to help his brother and sister, but he still didn’t like it.”

   Vytas spread topsoil in the front yard of their new house and threw down grass seed. The backyard was forty feet deep but sandy and grass wouldn’t grow. He built a fence around it to discourage their kids from climbing the rocky rounded hill over which the railroad tracks curved west. 

   Even though children imitate their elders, they don’t always listen to them.

   “We always told the kids they weren’t allowed to climb the rock hills,” said Angele. “One day I couldn’t find Edvardas. He wasn’t in the house or in the yard or anywhere on our part of the street. I called and called for him. When he didn’t answer, all I could do was wait outside. When he finally came home, he had pebbles in his pockets. Where have you been? I asked him.”

   “I was looking for gold, mama,” he said, handing his mother pebbles that had a glint of shine. “I found some and brought them back for you.”

   Their house on Stanley Street was ten blocks from the vast open pits on the other side of Big Nickel Mine Drive. Logging and farming were what men worked at in the 19th century, but after 1885 big deposits of nickel, copper, and platinum were discovered in the basin. The impact over decades of roasting ore on open wood fires killed most of the trees, except poplar and birch, which dotted the city and their street.

   “We had two bedrooms, a small kitchen, and a nice living room,” said Angele. “Upstairs was a half bath and two rooms We rented those rooms. We usually rented to women or a couple who were new to Sudbury. Where they took a bath, I don’t know. Vytas charged $11.00 a week for a room and he saved all the money we got. Right before we left for America, he was able to buy a used car.”

   When Bruno and Ingrid Hauck came to Sudbury from Germany, they rented a room for several years. “She watched the kids sometimes, so Vytas and I could go to the Regency to see a movie,” said Angele. They saw “The Greatest Show on Earth” and “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.” The kids saw “Lady and the Tramp.”

   They had a New Year’s party at their house, inviting their friends. A few minutes before the magic moment Angele cut her eye adjusting the elastic strap of a party hat under her chin while sliding it up over the front of her face.

   “I had to lay down and didn’t see New Year’s Day,” she said, disappointed.

   When she woke up her husband and Rimas Bagdonas, her dancing partner in the local Lithuanian folk dancing group, were washing the night’s dishes. Rimas worked in the mines, but wrote plays in his spare time, staging them in the hall of the nearby French Catholic church hall. They went to church there once a month when their visiting Lithuanian priest made his rounds. It cost ten cents to sit in a pew. The children sat for free. Piety was mandatory.

   “I was just in my twenties, but in one of Rimas’s plays I was the mother of a dying partisan,” Angele said. “I made myself cry by thinking about the time I cut my eye.”

   September through November are cold, December through February are freezing, and March into mid-May are cold in Sudbury. The first snow by and large falls in October, but it can show up as early as September. The season’s last snow comes and goes in April, although May sometimes sees a late snow shower. There are never any flurries in June, July, and August. 

   Vytas learned to ice skate and taught his children on a rink in the front yard. He hosed water out on the lawn on bitter cold days where it started freezing in minutes. When it was frozen hard as rock, he and the children laced up their skates and went skating. Whenever all the kids on the block joined in it got pell-mell fast. Eddie and his two friends across the street dazzled the girls with their figure 8s.

   In the 1950s in Sudbury sulfur dioxide formed a permanent, opaque, cloud-like formation across the horizon as seen from a distance. There was lead nickel arsenic and God knows what else in it. The ground-level pollution wasn’t as bad, a gray haze, but was worse on some days than others.

   When it was worse, Vytas built igloos for the kids to play in.

   It snows a hundred and more inches in Sudbury. After the streets and sidewalks are cleared there is plenty of building material. He formed blocks 2 feet long 12 inches high and 6 inches thick. When there were enough blocks to start, Vytas made a circle leaving space for a door. After he stacked them, he used loose snow like cement, packing it in. He put a board across the top of the igloo door and another at the top of the dome for support. Halfway up were small windows and around the top several air holes.

   As long as there was daylight there were daylong Eskimos in the igloo.

   The furnace in the basement ran on coal. It was delivered once a week by truck, the coal man filling up the bin in the basement down a chute. Every morning Vytas shoveled coal into it, lit the fire, and stoked the coal. At night either Angele or he banked the furnace, salvaging unburned coal and putting the ashes in bags. They saved some in a container on the front porch for the steps whenever they got iced over.

   Angele told the kids to never go in the basement. One day Eddie started down the stairs to see what his dad did exactly every morning, tripped over his own feet, and tumbled the rest of the way down. He was back on his feet in a second, ran up the stairs and into the kitchen, and started to bawl, even though he was unhurt.

   The furnace heated a boiler that created steam delivered by pipes to radiators throughout the house. The kids were forbidden to stand on the pipes or scale the radiators.

   “I didn’t have to worry about Richardas and Rita, they were too small, but Edvardas was always trying to climb up on the radiator in the living room. I told him he was going to fall off and one Sunday night, while I was cooking, he fell off and broke his collarbone, although he didn’t cry when it happened. He seemed more surprised than anything else.”

   For the rest of the next week, his arm in a sling, Angele fed him his favorite food every morning, fried eggs on toast. He was the envy of his sidekicks, the two Canadian boys from whom he had learned most of his English. After finishing their pancakes or porridge, they ran to his back porch and watched him through the window go one-handed at his sunny side up breakfast.

   He saluted his pals with half a piece of gooey toast.

Photograph by Rimas Bagdonas.

Ed Staskus posts feature stories on Paperback Yoga http://www.paperbackyoga.com 147 Stanley Street http://www.147stanleystreet.com and Lithuanian Journal http://www.lithuanianjournal.com. To get the site’s monthly feature in your in-box click on “Follow.”

3 thoughts on “Fried Eggs on Toast”

  1. OMG- we are the Calvano family who moved into 147 Stanley Street once the original owners you wrote about moved to America. We lived in the house till 2019.

    1. I was told an Italian family bought the house in the late 50s. The street on Google Maps looks much more green than back then, and the house doesn’t look the worse for wear, actually better than the b & w photographs I looked at, given 60-some years is a long time. The house must have served you well.

  2. It was a great family home. My mother and father raised 3 kids there. At one time there were 3 related Italian families living under this roof (the Royals from the Christopher Columbus- as I like to refer to us). At one point a total of 7 kids lived in the house at the same time. Four were born at the home including me. Great story of immigrants making their way to a new land. Lot’s of home-made wine, prosciutto and sausages. Not to mention, a vegetable garden that covered the entire back yard and up the rocky hills. The basement cellar that you describe had a large surface rock which we would climb and play on. The whole street was filled with immigrants. Two families still exist on the street from the late 50’s. The train does the same thing every morning, afternoon and late night. My father passed away in 2005 and my mother passed away just last year in 2020. We all found our success in life and remember the tragedies and faith that carried us through. Can’t say enough of the people who made up this block. Once again, thank you for a thoughtful story. My mother held the original owners in high regard, as it was they who helped our parents secure the purchase of the home and provided them along with my sister a shelter upstairs. Thanks.

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