Bigger Than He Looks

When I started this quasi and inconsistent journal, I wanted to document some of my thoughts and feelings, and record my ancestors’ lives.

Papou at his sweet shop in 1929.

In January 2010, I started digging into my ancestry. I noticed that, over time, an entire life gets reduced to statistics and a tombstone. I want my great-grandchildren and beyond to know me better than I know my great-grandparents and beyond.

I’ve praised my sweetheart, Amy; I’ve written about fatherhood, journalism, stupid things people say to the disabled, and buying a rat for Christmas; but not much about my ancestors on either my father’s or my mother’s side.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been focusing on my paternal grandfather, Louis Daravanis. I knew that Papou (the Greek word for grandfather) was born October 15, 1899 in Saranda Exclesis, Turkey; emigrated to the United States by himself at 16; owned and worked in eating establishments in Chicago, Illinois and Gary, Indiana; married my Yia Yia (the Greek word for grandmother) in 1933; had four children, my father being the second child; and died on June 16, 1978. Of course, Louis Daravanis had a much more interesting life than one long sentence divided by semi-colons.

Louis was a “rabble-rouser” as a teenager. At 16, he was arrested for participating in a student protest, most likely opposing Turkey’s military aggression toward Greece. Though he was born in Turkey, Papou’s parents and grandparents were Greek, and Papou always considered himself a Greek. Papou’s father and brothers broke Papou out of jail and put him on a ship called the Patris heading for America.

My grandfather was a fugitive.

“He never wanted to go back to Greece, even as a tourist, because he was sure he was going to be re-arrested,” my father told me. “We (my dad and his siblings) told him, ‘Dad, that was many years ago. No one would remember,’ but he wouldn’t do it. He was too afraid.”

It’s been more than three decades since I was 16, but knowing what I was like at that time in my life, I can’t imagine going to a strange country where I did not know the language. Papou did, and survived.

The Patris docked in New York on September 13, 1915. He was placed in quarantine until his admittance hearing three days later.

“First and second class passengers who arrived in New York Harbor were not required to undergo the inspection process at Ellis Island. The Federal government felt that these more affluent passengers would not end up in institutions, hospitals or become a burden to the state,” a report on the history of Ellis Island states. “This scenario was far different for ‘steerage’ or third class passengers. These immigrants traveled in crowded and often unsanitary conditions near the bottom of steamships with few amenities, often spending up to two weeks seasick in their bunks during rough Atlantic Ocean crossings. Upon arrival in New York City, ships would dock at the Hudson or East River piers. The steerage and third class passengers were transported from the pier by ferry or barge to Ellis Island where everyone would undergo a medical and legal inspection.”

Five years later, Papou’s parents and siblings made their way to America. Their immigration papers note they would be staying with cousin Christos Georges in Hart, Michigan. I assume that is where Papou lived between 1915 and 1920. How he got from New York to Michigan – if that is what happened – I do not know.

2467 N. Clark in Chicago as it looks today.

The Daravanises eventually settled in Chicago. Thanks to the research desk at the Chicago Historical Society, I learned that Papou, his older brother George and his younger brother Nick owned and operated the Blackstone Sweet Shop at 2467 N. Clark during the late 1920s. Papou probably made and sold chocolates, pastries, candies and ice cream, along with coffee, soda and lemonade. A regular – maybe even daily – customer at Blackstone Sweet Shop was gangster George “Bugs” Moran. I remember my Yia Yia, who passed away in 1991, saying that, one day, Papou could not make Moran’s favorite treat because Papou was out of sugar, so Moran drove Papou to a warehouse packed with sugar. Sugar was an item gangsters hoarded so they could make beer and moonshine during prohibition. Yia Yia said from that moment on, whenever Papou was out of sugar, all he had to do was get word to Moran, and Papou could get as much sugar as he needed.

I wouldn’t be surprised if Moran’s biggest rival, Al Capone, also was one of Papou’s customers. The Blackstone Sweet Shop was three blocks north of Moran’s meeting place, which on February 14, 1929 was the location of the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. Capone’s men, dressed as Chicago police officers, used the guise of a police raid to enter Moran’s hideout and kill seven of Moran’s henchmen. Capone’s goal for the fake raid was to “rub-out” Moran, but he wasn’t there. According to history books, Moran was five minutes late to a planned 10:30 a.m. meeting. No one knows why he was late. I’m going to theorize that earlier that morning, Moran made a sugar delivery to my grandfather. I have no proof, of course, but it sounds cool. My “fugitive” Greek grandfather saved the life of one of America’s most notorious criminals.

In the early 1940s, Papou moved his family to northwest Indiana, and after working as a cook for a time, bought the People’s Lunch Room at 1420 Broadway in Gary. My dad told me Papou, again with his brother Nick, cooked and served a variety of meals 24-hours per day. You could say the People’s Lunch Room was a precursor to today’s Denny’s Restaurant.

Papou’s rules for the People’s Lunch Room were Gary police officers could get a free meal every day and free coffee whenever they wanted, and no one should spend the day hungry, such as Tom “the appliance guy.”

Yia Yia and Papou in 1973.

“Tom repaired appliances a few doors down the road. At that time, it was nothing to take a fan or toaster to someone to repair,” my Aunt Mary told me. She said Tom slept on a cot in the back room of his shop. “Every day, your Yia Yia or I would take meals to him. One day, your Papou found Tom dead in the back room. I remember your Papou telling the funeral director that this man had no family, that he was going to try to sell the stuff in (Tom’s) store, and whatever your Papou made was all this man had. After everything was done, I remember going to the cemetery and visiting the grave. There was just a small marker on the ground. Your Papou said that that was unacceptable. We went to the (cemetery) office and he bought, out of his own pocket, a head stone for the man. Who would do that today?”

My paternal grandfather was not a big man physically (maybe 5’ 5” and 130 pounds), but Louis Daravanis stood up for those in need and those who protect, and against those who sought to oppress and destroy. That is very big in my book.