Kay A. Yankoski

A Sentimental Journey

Kay Yankoski is a world traveler and an active member of the Washington Lithuanian-American Community.

On a bright and sunny Sunday, September 19 (Mother’s 84th birthday), she and I began our "Sentimental Journey" back to our old neighborhood in Wilkes Barre, Pennsylvania. This was something I’ve wanted to do for a while and Mother was interested in joining me.

We drove up the Pennsylvania Turnpike to Wilkes Barre where we quickly found Holy Trinity, the Yankoski family Lithuanian church. It was locked (as many churches are these days); so we went to the Rectory where the pastor welcomed us. We explained that this was Daddy’s church, I had been baptized there, etc., and he unlocked the church for us.

It was ornate and beautiful. They have not had a Lithuanian priest in years and there are no more grandmothers to make potato pancakes in the church basement as I remembered — the stoves hot, the door open for some fresh air, and all the women busily grating potatoes. The priest said he was losing parishioners and that soon churches like this would only be seen in books. There is no one left there to uphold the old Lithuanian traditions. While the neighborhood looked nice enough, the church had been vandalized several times and could not be left open.

Actually we had proceeded to Grandma’s house first, then we had visited the church. We were delighted to see Grandma's house white and bright with siding, the garage and everything else as we remembered it — although the back door/side porch was now enclosed. We strolled down Kent Lane to the end and those houses too were well kept. Next we went to Sheridan Street to see our house and thought we remembered the right one. After that we proceeded to Holy Trinity and then to Kingston to see the maternal side of the family.

We got within a block of River Street and it was closed. We headed toward the Square and found Market Street Bridge closed too — there was a wheelchair race scheduled. We lost about an hour because we could not get across the river; other bridges were closed too. It was disappointing because the bridge and avenue into Kingston loomed very large in my memory. Finally we were able to get over Cross Valley Bridge after waiting in line for a long time, but at least we moved along and were finally in Kingston — despite somebody’s best efforts to keep us from crossing the river! Finally we spotted East Vaughn Street; we used to live on West Vaughn Street. So, we backtracked and began the Kingston portion of our journey at the end instead of the beginning.

We stopped for lunch at the corner of Wyoming Avenue and West Vaughn Street — who "da thunk" that we’d be eating Chinese here? Back then, Chinese food was what Chinese people ate!

Refreshed, we proceeded a few car lengths to Schuyler Avenue Elementary School (we moved away from Kingston when I was in 5th grade). It looked old and tired. The field across the street where we picked violets was now part of the small shopping mall where we had lunch.

Down toward the next intersection was #78, our house. It too had matured nicely — white shingles, still with upstairs and downstairs back porches. The garage that seemed waaay down at the end of the yard was not that far down now. We went to our friends and neighbors, the

Dodsons and the Hathaways: the former two houses down, and the latter right across the street. Again, they seemed larger in my memory (that of a 10 year-old). The neighbors are long gone, but the houses reminded us of some good times and good neighbors.

The aforementioned school was on the corner of Schuyler Avenue and West Vaughn — Aunt Mary (Mother’s other older sister) lived at the corner of Schuyler Avenue and Newitt Place. We proceeded there and found it also in good condition. Newitt Place is a one-way street (as were many now). I remembered the hanging tiffany lamp in her dining room and wondered if it was still there.

On to St. Mary’s Annunciation in Kingston, where Mother and Daddy were married. We naturally stopped at the Rectory first (since I made memorial gifts to both churches in the names of both families) and spoke to the priest. He showed us some Lithuanian artifacts — two pictures made of thin pieces of light wood on darker wood and a small one made of shards of amber. He keeps St. Mary’s open, so we went inside. It was not nearly so ornate as Holy Trinity: paintings on a solid color ceiling unlike the other with a patterned ceiling. Compared to my current modern “box” church, both were vestiges of another time and place.

Because of the one-way streets, we turned the corner to look for Penn Street School, my first one. But, it had been torn down. Mother’s family lived next door to the school at one time and because the school was gone, we could not find the house either. We headed over to see Aunt Martha (recent widow of Mother’s baby brother, Uncle Chuck). We had a brief visit and headed back toward Grandma’s house on Pringle Street. It too had weathered the years, but the house next door was gone. In its place, was a small parking lot. We admired the stained glass windows that remained in Grandma’s living and dining rooms and remembered the man who brought those wonderful chocolate covered donuts through the neighborhood in his truck. On to our last stop -- Aunt Annie’s house. She is Mother’s elder sister and they are the only survivors of nine children.

It was with a sigh of relief that we left for home; we had seen everything on our memory list. BUT, not before stopping for a frozen custard — Aunt Martha’s “hot tip” and a small seasonal business partly-owned by her daughter and son-in-law. We headed down Zerbey Avenue to Edwardsville. It was a good stop and great custard. Her grandson happened to be working there and Mother recognized him. He led us on our way to Rutter Street and home.

We made a minor detour — I went the wrong way on the Turnpike — but we were home before dark. It was an exhausting day, but also a one-of-a-kind day, unlikely to happen again. u