The Palikari Project: Voice of My Father
By John Kass
July 21, 2024
His was a good death if there is such a thing, a self-made man who would not be bossed, a man determined to drive himself to the hospital during a heart attack.
My father didn’t make it.
His blue Cadillac de Ville got as far as the fire station. I was covering City Hall for “the paper” when I got the call from my brother Peter.
“It’s dad,” said Pete. “Hurry.”
But he was gone before I got to Christ Hospital in Oak Lawn. My two brothers and I later named each of our first-born sons Spiro after him.
We prayed the church words at the funeral that his memory would be eternal. But if you’ve ever lost someone you love, you eventually learn the truth of this:
Memories like ghosts fade no matter how tightly you squeeze them.
Unless you’ve recorded their voice, quietly talking to you over cups of coffee.
These were tapes of an interview made years ago, tapes in which my father talked about his life in Greece, our small village Rizes, the most beautiful village in the universe.
It is called the root of the mountain for a reason. It is literally at the root of the mountain.
With my first paycheck as a reporter, I bought a tape recorder. He didn’t want to talk about his life or the wars against the Germans and Italians and most vicious enemies of all, the Greek Communists. He wasn’t much of a talker.
But he loved his daughter-in-law, my wife Betty. She was a dancer/choreographer and had asked him to tell his life stories. She wanted him provide his voice for a modern dance ballet she was doing for Columbia College and the Illinois Arts Council.
My dad and a modern dance concert ? No way.
“Please dad,” she said.
He said yes.
So we sat in the kitchen in the house I grew up in, and we drank coffee and smoked and he told the stories of his life from the village:
The story of Truman the mule. The battles against the Italians in the mountains of Albania. Survival in the frozen winter and the retreat from the Germans.
The occupation. The blond blue eyed Italian officer of the carabinieri speaking perfect English pretending to be a British pilot needing help. And then a platoon of them descended on my grandfather’s house, grabbing my father for torture.
The blue eyed Italian officer returned another time and took him into the mountains to kill him.
And one story about best his best friend in the war in Albania, the communist leader Takis Mourlopoulos. who gave my grandmother a letter to show any of his soldiers so they’d leave the family , house, its provisions and livestock alone.
And my father hated the communists. He hid under an onion truck to sneak into the capitol city of Athens, and once there, walking past communist checkpoints, screaming invective at the King until he could sneak past the machine gun emplacements to join the anti-communist forces.
Years later, as he was becoming an American citizen, a federal judge asked my dad if the U.S. needed him to fight against Greece, would he do it? Would he fight against the country of his birth?
The judge and my father stared at each other for a long time. He was young then, and had been broken by holding a rifle in his hand for 10 years of fighting against foreigners and his own fellow Greeks in the Civil War.
All those stories and more were on those tapes. But we lost them. It had been 20 years or more. I thought they were gone forever and I let my brothers down.
Then miraculously Betty found them in a forgotten box in a back closet. We could hear my father’s voice again.
We heard some stories. His memory to us was reborn.
My friend Jeff Carlin–co-host of our Chicago Way podcast–loves this sort of thing. He wanted to put the tapes all together online as the Palakari Project.
A palakari is a Greek word for a brave young man, usually a Greek warrior defending his homeland against invaders like the Turks. Years ago, Betty titled the modern dance ballet she’d created about my father’s journey by the same name: Palakari.
I hope you listen. And what I hope for you is this: that you find a tape recorder and sit with your mom, or dad, uncle or aunt, all those who you love.
And then you pour out some coffee–maybe even a coffee cake from Weber’s Bakery, or Calumet Bakery–or some other nice bakery that they like. They’ll smile when they see it. I promise. You’ll sit with them at the kitchen table, just leave the recorder on and ask the questions about the stories when you were a child, when they were young and when they were children.
Ask them to knit a tapestry of your lives. You can give those tapes to your children someday, and the memories of your loved ones will not fade away.
They’ll be right there, with you, like my father is with us on the recordings polished up by the best producer in Chicago radio, Jeff Carlin of WGN.
You’re welcome to sit and listen. And you realize that they are no longer ghosts. They’re alive and you can hear their calling.
Because you love them, and they love you, and you decided to record your own memories with theirs, and make that tapestry of your lives together.
And because you’ve given each other something more precious than a coffee cake and a good cup of coffee. You’ve given them the gift of time, your time and theirs.
That’s love, isn’t it?
Tune in this week to listen to the first part of The Palakari Project on the Chicago Way Podcast at johnkassnes.com
(Copyright 2024 John Kass)
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About the author: John Kass spent decades as a political writer and news columnist in Chicago working at a major metropolitan newspaper. He is co-host of The Chicago Way podcast. And he just loves his “No Chumbolone” hat, because johnkassnews.com is a “No Chumbolone” Zone where you can always get a cup of common sense.
Comments 37
Very moving.
And good advice!
Thank you, John.
Best. /s/ MORRIS
What a wonderful story! I have found out more things about my 87-year-old father just by asking simple questions like what he and his friends did for fun when they were growing up in Cicero, or about his favorite car. He has kept a list of every car he’s ever owned. Our daughter is now doing the same on her visits. It’s a wonderful generational connection. I’ve written things down but never recorded. Our daughter and I are visiting in August, so maybe then we’ll do that.
Blessed to be a blessing.
Thank you John…and Betty!
God Bless you and your beautiful wife and Sons John.
God Bless you and your beautiful wife and Sons John.
Simply beautiful idea. The wide range of wisdom that spring from this page or podcast never ceases to enlighten me and the rest of your cohort that gather here. Be it political, personal or just a cup of good midwestern common sense, always a good start to a day. Going to need to suggest this to my son and daughter.
John, I don’t think it was an accident that Betty found that old box of recordings. Our dear friend and spiritual teacher, Father Bill once told me that when he would really miss someone gone from his life, he would take a favorite photo of that person, close his eyes, and holds it against his cheek. In doing so, his heart opened. While experiencing happiness it is sometime difficult to be conscience of it. It is only when the happiness is long past, that we are astonished to be given the gift to return there.
I remember sitting with my grandmother while visiting her in Peru. I was asking her about her life. Unfortunately I didn’t have a recorder and with age I’ve forgotten some of her stories but I’m fortunate enough that my great aunt, who was a renowned historian, wrote a book about my great grandfather. Daddy passed away in 1981 and as hard as I try I can’t remember his voice. After reading this column I’m going to sit down with my 98 year old mom and record her stories. Bless you for writing this today.
Thank you for the reminder to get the voices recorded of those we love! I’ve been blessed with 8 years of conversations with my now 93 year old Mom since my Dad passed, during our visits together, some of which I have written down! But your point about hearing their voice triggers memories in our minds that otherwise can be lost! And it brings a dose of the reality of their lives that can be shared with our children and maybe even theirs! Great perspective John!
A fantastic idea! If you’ve already done this, please digitize the tapes ASAP, before tapes stored in a crawl space are flooded and ruined, or a fire destroys those tapes.
What a beautiful story. I love that your father hated communists. When you think about WW II, it’s usually the European occupation, and for me most recently learning about the pacific front. What a time for your father to live through. I will try to listen to the tapes when I can find them. I’m up with my husband and youngest son on Lake Gogebic with limited service.
Γιάννη,
So now while I sit with my two nephews in Ikaria, island of our ancestors, I’m the one relating those same stories to them that were related to me by my Father, their Pappou. Funny isn’t it? Each new generation replacing the old, and carrying on our family lore and history so it will never be lost…hopefully!!
Γιάννη,
Where can we hear your Dad’s voice recordings? Let us know.
Thanx,
Leo
This is outstanding. I love how your dad couldn’t say no Betty. It illustrates beautifully the love in your family. My oh my how amazing that the Mediterraneans know what’s important! It’s uncanny. Family. Food. Wine. Music. Opinions! My own father was somewhat ahead of his time. An orchestra singer as a hobby, he created a recording studio in the small den in our apartment in the city with a then state of the art reel-to-reel recording system. Mom and him used to have singing parties for family and friends and then play back their voices for them to critique. He would sometimes just record my siblings and cousins and me as if he were interviewing them. I literally have seared into my memory his voice asking us kids silly questions – sometime with mundane things happening while the tape was rolling. “Mal, the baby threw up.” But when mom and dad retired to AZ I lost track of what happened to those tapes. I know my cousins have a couple where our parents were singing with ‘60s vocalist/jass pianist great Buddy Greco, a family friend. Oh how I wish I had those now. Gold! Pure gold! I love this John. I love your family. I love how your life parallels mine. The Palikari Project – love it! It’s so familiar. Thanks also to Betty for knowing a way to your dad’s heart!❤️
God bless. Your father is an inspiration.
He looks like a palakari, even with white hair.
Great story, John. There have been times over the years when at family gatherings where we would talk about our parents, aunts & uncles, all of who are gone now, and miss the fact that we couldn’t ask them something about whatever we were talking about from the “old days”. It’s cool that you have the tapes.
There is an underlying message here. My “hoo-ha” radar went up reading this. By hoo-ha I mean the supernatural or religious happenings, people coming back, stuff like that. I get into the interpreting aspect.
With that, the tapes went missing for whatever reason. Sounds a little bit like dad was “hiding” so he wouldn’t have to talk about those stories like when he was alive. When you spoke of how he hated the Communists, the radar went up again. The fact you found the tapes, through Betty no less, was him coming back to remind you of those stories and his
dislikes. He liked talking to Betty and it was she that found them. Given the times, sounds like he’s trying to get some kind of message to you – maybe think about how to deal with what’s going on. Whatever it is, I think he’s talking to you maybe not as much about then, but more about of being alert to actions now and what you would need to do to deal with current day survival. Maybe there is something he said that will hit home now. Maybe something will stand out above everything else contained. You’ll have to listen close and see what he is trying to tell you. Maybe a little far fetched, but it all fits.
Glad Betty found those tapes, enriching the recollections of your father. What images in this morning’s column! Your dad unable to refuse the dance concert too charmingly requested. His cursing the king while sneaking past the communists.
Right now I’m also enjoying reading fine fellow JKNers such as Erin, C W, Leo, and James moved by this column to share their valued memories. My own is a 20-year-old guy from tiny Onarga, Illinois and a GI buddy staying silent in a ditch for many long minutes as two Germans traded guttural chat at the open port of a Panzer (a WWII episode we had to drag out of my dad).
A happy recent memory: a columnist standing up to Guild thought police, then quickly banished by the new-owner hedge fund boys but just as quickly creating a new platform to keep writing for his loyal readers. Certain actions and values are always worth recalling.
Great stuff!
Great stuff Kasso!
Wonderful advice John! My father passed away many years ago. I wish I had the foresight to record his life’s story when he was a young boy,…living along the Mississippi River in Wisconsin. Or, whom were his boyhood pals that he chummed around with? What jobs he held before joining “the paper.” Yes,…that newspaper. But that’s when “the paper” had moral standards.
I wonder if one can still purchase a cassette player today? Maybe on Ebay or Amazon.
I got teary eyed reading this.
The loss never goes away. To have found those precious tapes is Gods work.
I’ve learned each day is a gift. One doesn’t learn this without paying the price of loss.
Thank you for your words and Betty for finding those tapes. Cherish them.
Most excellent. My children have been after me for years now to talk into a tape recorder and tell “my story.” I haven’t yet – but your moving family tale has relit the fire. I’ll do it. Thank you and you family for sharing!
Ahhhh, matia mou ❤️ Beautiful story!
Several years ago my father, then a widower, came to visit us, and my husband interviewed him and recorded his memories.
Dad told about growing up in Gary, his experiences on a bomber crew in WWII, coming home, getting married, and building (with his own labor) the house in Crown Point in which I grew up.
Dad passed away in 2019 at 95. My husband still has the recording. It’s a good thing it’s digital, because I still can’t listen to it. But it’s there, waiting.
Wow. John got it right again. When I was a kid I delivered papers in the South Deering neighborhood in Chicago where I grew up. On the weekends we started at 5 in the morning. Didn’t matter if it rained, snowed or anything else. You went and got your papers and went to work. I was maybe 12 or 13 years old. I delivered them to the Trumbell Park housing projects and surrounding areas. No one bothered us. The neighborhood was pretty much asleep that time. I would deliver to the Trumbell Park elderly homes, most of the elderly would already be awake to get their paper. I never thought about it but I later realized a lot of the ladies were survivors of the Great Wars that consumed our country. They were either widows or they outlived their husbands. They would give you thanks for bringing their paper at six in the morning despite the cold , rainy weather. You would find out if they were missing their TV guide. By the time I was done delivering they would call Ray to complain and have one delivered asap. The original Calumet Bakery was on East 106th street and you would go to the side door and knock and the bakers would let you in to pick from the freshly baked goods. Calumet Bakery has since moved further south along with the people who once lived there. Thanks for the memory John. It really makes me think as I’m drinking my coffee after a few too many Guinness last night….
I remember your Dad. He wasn’t around much (I think he worked most of the time). Even almost 60 years later I recall him as somewhat of a mystery, very strong with something in his background kids weren’t meant to know. Typical of our Dads from the Greatest Generation that endured things we could never imagine given our upbringing in middle class Oak Lawn.
Glad you were able to get a look into this part of his life. Not everyone who tries is successful at getting them to talk about it.
My gosh John, look in the mirror and you’ll see your dad.
Your right about the memories fading. When we emptied mom and dad’s house I found a file box full of his letters home during WWII. I put them in sequence and created a written narrative of that 18 year old kid from the Illinois prairie going to sit in the nose of a B24 dropping bombs in southeast Asia. We don’t have his voice but are lucky to have his words.
What a treasure your column is today! So much is packed in here.
Call 911 at the first signs of a heart attack or stroke.
Still today too many people drive themselves to the hospital when feeling seriously ill.
Do not drive yourself – Call 911, the life you save may be your own.
Great Pictures, your Dad as young man with relatives and the one of you and your Dad and I’m guessing one of your brothers. Priceless.
You look just like your Dad.
I’m so happy for you and your Family that Betty found those tapes, what a gift!
My Family has a few Videos of my parents, with and without sound, again, what a gift.
I only wish we had more.
BTW when moving out of a house, search every inch, including the attic crawl space,
the forgotten storage spaces of long ago.
Old tapes and films, videos, and photos are rich irreplaceable treasures.
I also encourage everyone to talk to older, and younger, Family members
and write down in a notebook the facts of their Family History.
Names, dates of birth, schools, marriage, military service, death, places and addresses
of where they lived, etc. Don’t forget women’s maiden names.
Every person and Family has a story, share this info and talk to one another about what you discovered. And have fun discovering!
Join a genealogy website if you want, but it’s most important you write it down.
As you say, John, memories, “make that tapestry of your lives together”.
It is “the gift of time, your time and theirs”.
Looking forward to hearing your Family recordings soon.
God Bless you and your Family.
Reading this column today made me tear up. I am so happy for you and your family that Betty found the tapes. They are certainly worth more than money can buy. What a beautiful story!
My grandparents raised me, and I can still hear their voices. Pop died when I was 20 and Mom died when I was 35, now all these years later, I still can hear their voices and their laughter. I am blessed! I know Mom’s daily routines and I now follow them. They taught me to be a good student, a loving daughter, a wife, a mother and a grandmother. I wish I had recordings of their voices, but memories will just have to do, and I would swear their pictures are alive and well on the back of my eyelids. I thank God for them every single day.
John, what a wonderful thing that you found the tapes. But I have a question. Do you ever feel some kind of pain or grief when you listen to them because you wish your father was right there in the room with you talking? I never recorded the many conversations I had with my Dad about politics mainly. He would call me on Saturday mornings and complain about Reagan and the Turks. He was a loyal Democrat and although American born, more Greek than a lot of Greeks. I would give a lot to hear him speaking on a tape. But it’s never to be. I do carry him in my heart. May that is enough.
Wonderful writing . As the holiday of Ascension of the Virgin Mary approaches, all Christians should pray for those who served in war and in peace. Our veterans are the reason we are a land of the free and home of the brave.
Love this! Love this picture!❤️
John wonderful story. I heard someone say that you are finally deceased when the last person says your name. Maybe that was you? You just gave your father another life! I am a South sider and no sissy, but that picture of you and your dad, got to admit, your hair frightened me to no end.
An inspiration to help us fight our upcoming battle in November against the socialists.
Thank you John. I plan to listen.
Great column annd a reminder for me. In 2011, I did an audio visual recording of my mother. I posed as a reporter, asking her questions about her life and family growing up in pre-ww2 in rural Southeastern Oklahoma. She told me how she and two of her brothers all rode on the same mule to get to school; about her mothers struggles with depression after losing her husband. So many stories. Glad I recorded her voice and visage. She passed away in 2015.
God bless,