Family History

My mother’s mother, Dora Graubart came from northeastern Hungary near a garrison town called Loeçe.  That part of Hungary now belongs to Czechoslovakia.  The town is now called Levoca.  We visited it, with Eva, many years ago.  Her maiden name was Trattner, a Jewish name, though her father was an avowed atheist.  He had three brothers all of whom became doctors.  One of them, an Army surgeon was decorated by the Emperor of the Austro-Hungarian empire, Franz Joseph. 

Dora Graubart loved her family and the beautiful countryside in which she grew up.  She came to the US because her father said she had to “do her duty,” namely to accompany her husband to the New World, especially since she was pregnant.  She never really adjusted to living in tenements and cheap apartments in the various boroughs of New York.   She was always homesick for “fresh air,” the peasants dancing the Czardas, the gypsy music.  She was old by the age of 30 with false teeth, a weak heart and astronomically high blood pressure.  Nevertheless, she lived to the age of 75.  Weak as she was in body, she had a strong spirit and code of ethics.  She said, “Character is the most important thing.”  And education, hard work and honesty.  All three of her American-born children became well-educated, highly respected and successful Americans.  She always said, “Keep the family together!” which I have tried to do.  She gave me and my cousin John “unconditional love.”

My mother’s father, Samuel Graubart was an Austrian orphan, who came to the US at the age of 15, a draft-dodger.  He loved this country, especially NYC, and became a citizen as soon as possible, though he went back to the old country to find a wife.  He loved ice-skating, Strauss waltzes and Grand Opera.  He found jobs as a super-numerary (a non-singing actor), as a means of hearing operas at The Met. This love has been passed on to Andrzej and me.

He was a salesman, eventually a traveling salesman.  He didn’t earn much, since he felt one sale per day was enough work for him. He preferred to read newspapers and smoke his cigars, seated in the lobby of Waldorf Astoria.  My uncle said he “looked like he owned the place!”  My mother said he was always well-dressed and loved life.  One year he made more money than usual, bought an expensive Hupmobile (with liveried chauffeur) and paid for his family to go to Hungary for the summer.  It was an unforgettable experience for my mother, who was 11 at that time. 

My father’s father, Solomon Richter came to the US from Odessa, Russia, as did his wife, Rosa.  She was 10 years older than her husband. (See photo)  They spoke Yiddish.  My mother never told me that my father, as well as her own Hungarian grandfather, came from a Jewish family.  She may not have known about her grandfather, but she knew about my father’s family.  She and my father became Unitarians when I was very young.  I was raised as a Unitarian and proud of it. 

We have a family plot “in perpetuity” in Hackensack cemetery, in New Jersey.  It is a beautiful quiet park. Big trees and flowering bushes.  My grandmother and grandfather, uncle and aunt and mother are buried there.  Also there is a memorial marker for my father, Henry Richter, who left us when I was 8 years old.  Andrzej and I will also have Memorial Markers there, 1 inch apart, “keeping the family together” even in death.