Angelo
Haros (Ευἀγγελος
Χαριλάου), my
papou, was born in 1900 in the city of Constantinople (today knows as Istanbul,
Turkey) and moved early as a child where he grew up living with his family in
the city of Argyrokastro in what Greeks know as “Northern Epirus” (today Gjirokastër,
Albania), also the
birthplace of Albanian Communist leader Enver
Hoxha in 1908.
According to shipping manifests
I was able to view at EllisIsland.org, he arrived in America in 1923, at the age of 23, (which is how he
always gave dates when speaking of his own life history) and went to live in
Waterville, ME. While in Waterville he worked, as most immigrants did, in the
textile mills along the river, even living in a mill-owned boarding house with
several other men. In 2008 I was blessed to travel to Waterville in search of
his first American address. I found no building at that location, but after
inquiring at the town Assessor’s Office, I was given a copy of the property tax
files WITH A PICTURE from, if you can believe it 1922. Though the boarding
house was gone, I was able to somehow connect to my papou’s first home thanks
to the Assessor’s meticulous files. (As an aside, while investigating
Waterville, ME, I can across the name of a “famous” Greek who went to Colby
College in Waterville, the current Metropolitan of Pittsburgh, His Eminence
Metropolitan SAVAS.)
After living is Waterville for
only a few years, my papou returned to Argyrokastron. According to my father,
Waterville was too cold. After being married to my yiayia (that’s Greek for
grandmother) and having two children, my two aunts, the family returned again
to America, this time settling in Chicago where my father was born in 1939. I
laughed when my father said Waterville was too cold, because I couldn’t imagine
Chicago was any warmer. I don’t suspect, though, that cold was the only reason
he settled in Chicago.
There were two things about my
papou my father has shared with me that helped fill in the blanks. When my
papou arrived in Maine he was told they didn’t “like Greeks” so he changed his
name from Harilou to Haros, also a common habit of Greek immigrants. While back
home in Argyrokastron, war was rampaging the region among Greeks, Albanians,
Germans, and Italians. When he arrived back in America, I imagine living among
the large Greek population of Chicago was comforting to him and the family. My
father also shared memories of his father hosting several men in secret in
their home in Chicago. These men were discussing how they could assist the
freedom efforts of the Greeks in Northern Epirus. For his efforts to assist the
Greeks in Albania, he was honored by Patriarch Athenagoras, but was also not “free”
to return to his homeland.
He spent the remainder of his
life dedicated to his family and his Church making Chicago and America his
home. He had a deep love for his homeland, but he never returned as the
Communist Party held tight control over the only officially declared atheist
nation in the world. He fell asleep in the Lord in 1984, at the age of 84, only
7 years before the fall of communism and the restoration of freedom and the
Orthodox Church to his homeland.
When I read stories of the restoration
and expansion of the Church in Albania I am comforted and smile when I think of
how proud my papou would be to hear of the heroism of today’s freedom fighters
such as Archbishop Anastasios of Albania who has led the Orthodox Church’s
revival throughout Albania following the collapse of Communism.
Freedom is a gift from God and
must be defended at all times. Learning my papou’s story helps me understand
this. When I celebrate “OXI Day” this Sunday, the day the Greeks refused to “hand Greece over to the Axis Forces” of
Hilter’s Nazi Party, I will fondly think of my papou, the first freedom fighter
I ever knew.
