The Tale of Anton and Raisie

Zuberbach, in Burgenland, Austria used to be known as Szabar, Hungary. There, in a little area full of Hungarians, Austrians, Slavs, and Romanes, my great-grandfather Anton Joseph was born in 1874. By 1904, he was traveling into Austria for work. A day’s ride in, work all week, and a day’s ride home. Even the ziguener baron had to make a living, and Vienna had plenty of work—and one very beautiful woman. Teresia, or Raisie, as Anton always called her, worked in a beer garden in working-class Meidling. Day after day he pursued his beer maiden. One day, she said to her mother, “He followed me home. Can I keep him?”

Anton, Teresa, and family (including an uncle or two)

Anton and Raisie were married in 1906, in Vienna. As they traveled to his hometown so his family could meet his new bride, Raisie began to see a curious sight. Along the road the horse and buggy followed, she started to see fellow travelers. At least, she though they were travelers. But they were acting oddly. They would stand on the shoulder, as if to let the buggy pass. But she couldn’t recall having seen them on the road in front of them. And they would give a little wave, or salute, or simply stare as the buggy passed. And Anton would give a little nod, and drive on.

The Burgenland-Roma had turned out to welcome their baron home, in their own little way. Raisie had never seen so many “dark” little men in her life, but she was now family, one of their own, and would soon get used to the sight.

Not long after they were married, they joined the large wave of Germanic emigrants on their journey to America. Taking their newborn daughter with them was not an option. Instead, she lived with her grandmother in Vienna. Anton and Raisie crossed Europe, crossed the Atlantic, crossed through Ellis Island, and half a continent before settling in Chicago. My dad said he could almost see the scene at Ellis that day, as so many hopefuls piled off the boat, and looked to see their futures. Long lines queued up at booths. “Come. Come, Raisie. This is our line,” Anton would say, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. “Come, Raisie. This is our ride.”

Dad says they left the Old World to escape taxation. If that was their intent, it only worked for seven years before the U.S. brought back the income tax. Whatever their reasons, it likely saved their lives. Two World Wars would run over the region. During the Second, the Roma people were almost wiped out. Less than 200 remain in the District Anton called home.

Mom says it wasn’t taxes or prescience that sent across the hemisphere. She says they probably needed to make their own life. It cannot have been easy for Anton to bring home a Gadże wife. Even if the Burgenland-Roma were fairly settled, and somewhat assimilated to their cultural surroundings, it would have been a responsibility to marry within the tribe. On the flip side, I’m pretty sure that Raisie’s family were less than delighted with a Roma son-in-law. Of course, she was four months pregnant when they got married, so there wasn’t much their families could say. And they did love each other.

Anton and Raisie were married for 62 years, and died within months of each other. Together, they produced six children and numerous grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Between them, they spoke 10 languages. While he ran a successful business, employing many a transplanted Roma, she kept a neat home filled with the aroma of delicious foods, and spoiled her grandchildren. From beer gardens in Vienna, to a third-floor walk-up in Chicago, their relationship was the stable core of their lives.