Ron Sdraulig: Another Time Another Place - Part 1

And Now the Waltz (C'est La Vie) - Slade

This is a story I wrote a very long time ago and I am ready to share it now to coincide with the 30th anniversary of my brother's passing, June 4th, 1984. 

Ron Sdraulig: Another Time, Another Place

Ron Sdraulig March 1984

By: Gigi Sdraulig

“Another time, another place.  We’ll be together again.”

from: And Now the Waltz (C’est La Vie) by Slade 1984

This is about a young man who had the courage to save the life of someone else but could not save his own. This is about the bravest person I have ever known. This is about my brother, Ron Sdraulig.

Thursday, March 21st, 1974.  It was the middle of the school March Break and in Thunder Bay, Ontario there was snow on the ground still.  The roads were clear and the weather was warming.  We were taking a family trip-Mom (Livia, 32), Sandra (13), myself (Gigi, 12), Ron (11) and Linda (10).  Although I am not sure why, on this occasion we had an extra passenger: Mom's friend Jenny.  I am not sure how this came about because Jenny was not one of my Mom’s closest friends. In fact, I still know very little about her. Maybe just the adult company, for Jenny never took the wheel to drive.

Linda, Sandra and I holding onto Ron

Mom had planned to get away early in the morning for the eight-hour drive to Minneapolis and then on to Rochester, Minnesota, but it was almost noon before we left the house. My Mom was notoriously late, she had the best of intentions but I think there was just too much on her mind and she often forget. She forgot appointments, things she had to do, where she put her car keys. We were late for everything – that’s just the way it was. Mom would have benefited greatly from writing herself reminders – if she could remember where she left her lists. She was also very fastidious and the house had to be neat and tidy before we left, so that when we returned we would enjoy it rather than worry about having to clean. After a long trip we could come home and relax.                 
        So even though we left late from the house, Mom still had a few errands to run and we had to make a quick stop to switch cars with Nonno (our grandfather). We took his 1966 Pontiac and left him the loaner we had. Mom had hit a deer on a previous trip stateside and our old Meteor was being repaired. Then we were off on what I considered to be an adventure despite the fact that we had made this very trip on a fairly regular basis. Mom's brother and his family lived in a Minneapolis suburb, so we got to visit our cousins, but the primary reason for the trips was cancer treatment and check ups for Ron, who had Hodgkins Disease.

It was Boxing Day 1972, just before his 9th birthday, when Mom first noticed the large egg shaped lump on his neck.  As children, we knew he was sick but cancer wasn’t so commonplace back then, and we did not associate death with his having to go to the hospital all the time.  We did not experience his hospital stays or his pain, because all his treatment occurred at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester. We stayed home with various caregivers.  We went as a family only for check-ups that fell on school breaks, as it was on this March day.

Dante and Livia Sdraulig Jan. 8, 1960

Mom was a great mother, who amidst chaos and uncertainty, made us feel as though we were a normal family.  But we weren't.  We had no Dad, Mom was widowed.  When forms came home from school asking for Dads' occupation and we matter-of-factly wrote - Deceased - almost as if that was his occupation.  We didn't know him to miss him.  Dad (Dante) died, along with Mom’s brother, Feruccio (Frank) Babudro, in a car-train collision on February 17, 1964. Mom was a strong woman who coped in the face of adversity far better than anyone I know could. At the time of his death, Dad had been building the family home with the help of Feruccio, and they were going to the lumberyard for supplies. They were broadsided by a train at a dangerous crossing in the middle of the day. They didn’t have a chance. Mom was left heart-broken and grieving with four young children and a partially built homestead. Sandra was the oldest at 3 ½ years of age; Linda, the youngest, was just 5 weeks old. There was an ensuing lawsuit that went all the way to the Supreme Court and did not provide much for the effort. So without a breadwinner, Mom struggled financially. The local school board eventually ousted mom, a teacher by profession, when she was unable to return to university for her Bachelors Degree-required since her graduation from North Bay Teachers College. After that she took a variety of jobs to support her family and at one point, I believe, social assistance.

My mom’s parents were a very big part of our lives – my paternal grandparents were still in Italy. What I didn’t realize then, was that her parents were both a source of comfort and anxiety and stress at the same time. We often heard Mom and Nonna (grandmother) arguing, and once I asked why they fought so much. “Because we love each other” is the answer I got. Love, it seems now had very little to do with it. Nonna didn’t approve of my dad’s side of the family and the marriage…and us children? She also blamed my father for the accident that killed both him and her son. As a matter of fact, it seems that Nonna approved of very little that my Mom did. There certainly was a one-sidedness when it came to the parents supporting the remaining son and daughter. The son, his wife and family wanted for nothing. It is just another testament to the strength and courage of my Mother that she obviously passed on to her children. Strong, honourable character.

With the last of the errands completed, we crossed the set of railroad tracks where I mistakenly believed my dad was killed. Perhaps because of the pain it caused her, perhaps because we never asked, but Mom never really talked about Dad. I knew nothing of his personality, his height, his character, his likes, dislikes, habits, hobbies. One framed picture was on the bookshelf. The same picture that adorned his mausoleum.  I knew how he died and that my parents were in love. That’s about it. We visited his final resting place often but never went to the scene of his death. So the tracks that intersected Thunder Bay between the twinned cities of Port Arthur and Fort William were not were my Dad breathed his last breath. Instead, the crossing was nearer the Port Arthur waterfront on Clavet Street.

All together!
Linda, Mom, me, Ron, Sandra

Spirits were high and excitement building with chatter of fun to come when the song “Photograph” by Ringo Starr came on the radio. It was one of Sandra’s favourites and a lively discussion ensued about everyone else’s favourites. Mom’s was “I Am Woman” by Helen Reddy; Linda’s was “Time in a Bottle” by Jim Croce. I, like Ron, could not pinpoint any one favourite. I liked too many.  To this day hearing those songs evokes a rush of emotions. Both sad and comforting but mostly hurt. Music was always important in all our lives. The stereo was a more prized possession than the TV. Of course, that was in part due to the fact that my dad built the stereo cabinet and put together (possibly with help from my Uncle who died with him) the interior components complete with the old tubes. No electronics back then. Many nights we would sit by the stereo as a family, listening to the Top 10 hits of the day on CKPR radio and then trying to be the first to call the radio station with the names of all ten in hopes of winning. I don’t remember the prize, or even winning. But I do remember the excitement of playing the game. Rewards and treats came in the form of new albums or 45’s. I still own the first 45 I ever earned. It cost $.33 in 1971 and was Day After Day by Badfinger. We all learned to play the piano and had aspirations to expand our musical abilities with other instruments. Singing as a family was another activity we enjoyed together, there was a host of traditional Italian songs that we learned (and I still remember), but there was one that came to impact my life in later years for reasons I have never really understood. The song was “Farewell to Nova Scotia” and I did not know what if any importance there was in that song for her. Perhaps it was because Nova Scotia and Halifax were the first things she saw in Canada when she came through the gates at Pier 21 as a pre-teen girl leaving her homeland. Perhaps she had hopes of one day returning for a visit. I’ll never know.

It was getting dark when we stopped at a Perkins Restaurant in Duluth, Minnesota for supper. With four hungry bellies whining, it probably wasn’t that late at night but the daylight hours are significantly shorter in the winter months. Perkins was a real treat because we liked the food, Mom liked the prices and we could only go when we were in the States. Downstairs, near the washrooms, we found a telephone and called Nonna to tell her all was well. Nonna was concerned with the darkness of the hour and the journey ahead. Mom assured her we would be fine, she was not at all tired. We only had another four hours or so to go, mostly on divided highway and with good road conditions. Mom was also very accustomed to this journey, having done it so often before.

            We didn’t make the rest of the trip.