Labas. That’s right. Labas. To all my Lithuanian friends: Labas! In fact, I’d like greet everyone reading my blog: Labas! That’s hello in Lithuanian. My Lithuanian friend Vito taught me that word because he always insisted that we greet each other by saying Labas. Now, I always greet Lithuanians with Labas and they always smile. I especially love to greet them with Labas especially if they didn’t think I knew they were Lithuanians. I’m not sure why, but they’re always thrilled to hear me say Labas. So to all my Lithuanian readers: Labas! I guess sometimes I go on and on, don’t I? Well, my friend Vito taught me another Lithuanian word: tylėk. Sometimes we would go to the show, I would just keep on talking even after the movie started. He would keep telling me tylėk until I finally shut up. That’s right, tylėk means shut up in Lithuanian. But I never did. And I never will.

For as long as I can remember, I have always lived near Lithuanians in Chicago. In Back of the Yards, Holy Cross was the Lithuanian church I attended. At Holy Cross School, the nuns always praised The Jungle by Upton Sinclair because the protagonist was Lithuanian and the novel was set in Back of the Yards. When we moved to Marquette Park, 2509 W. Marquette Road, many Lithuanians lived there and they even had a street named Lithuanian Plaza Court. In fact, that neighborhood was the unofficial capital of Lithuania during the Soviet era. Maria High School, run by Lithuanian nuns, was at Marquette Road and California Avenue. Right on the same campus was the retirement convent for the Sisters of Saint Casimir at 2601 W. Marquette Road. The Lithuanians also had their own Holy Cross Hospital at California Avenue and Lithuanian Plaza Court. I met my friend Vito when I lived in Marquette Park. Vito and I used to eat at the Lithuanian McDonald’s at 68th and Pulaski. I don’t know if it was actually Lithuanian, but Vito told me that the tiles on the wall were typical Lithuanian colors, so it became a Lithuanian McDonald’s in my mind. When I moved to Bridgeport, there weren’t that many Lithuanians there anymore, but they did have a street named Lituanica Avenue. My favorite restaurant in Bridgeport was a Lithuanian restaurant named Healthy Foods at 3236 S. Halsted Street. When I saw the movie Chariots of Fire, I was thrilled to learn that the family of Harold Abrams were Lithuanian Jews.

When I was a student at Holy Cross, my best friend was Patrick McDonald, but when he moved away, I became friends with Adrian Stanislovaitis and Anthony Kivenas, both Lithuanians. Whenever I was with them, we spoke English, but when they were with their parents, they spoke Lithuanian. I never understood what they said and it didn’t bother me at all. However, I never even learned one Lithuanian word from them. And when they came to my house, I spoke Spanish with my parents and grandmother. I envied Adrian and Anthony because they got to go to Lithuanian classes on Saturday morning. I wanted to go with them. I wished Mexicans would have Spanish classes for Mexicans. Anyway, Adrian and I spent a lot of time together. For school holidays, we used to take the bus downtown and just wander around, but he showed me a few points of interest, such as the Prudential Building because it used to be Chicago’s tallest skyscraper.

When we moved to Marquette Park, we met more Lithuanians. Marquette Park has a monument for Lithuanian aviators Captain Steponas Darius and Lieutenant Stasys Girenas. This is where I met Vito and other Lithuanians. I went to Lithuanian restaurants and bars with Vito. At one bar on Lithuanian Plaza Court, it might have been Knight’s Inn, we met a Lithuanian improv group that was named Second Village, which is Antras Kaimas in Lithuanian. It was inspired by the name of Second City. We talked to them a while, and Jim, Vito, and I told them that we performed standup comedy. We ended up making a little skit/song/dance for them sung to the tune of “Skip to My Lou.” I still remember it, but don’t know how to spell it because it was in Lithuanian. Vito wrote most of the song. My contribution to the song? Labas and tylėk! No surprise there!

We once went to a Lithuanian festival on Western Boulevard near the Lithuanian V.F.W. Hall, which if I remember correctly was named after Darius and Girenas. Anyway, there were all kinds of Lithuanian food. One vender is selling empanadas, which really surprised me because as far as I knew, empanadas were Mexican food. The Lithuanian cook tells me that empanadas were invented by Lithuanians. He could tell that I didn’t believe him. He pressed on with his explanation and tried to convince me that I really didn’t know Mexican food. He was so convincing that I almost believed him. Almost, but not quite. Finally, he told me that he learned to make empanadas in Argentina. During WWII, his family went to Argentina before they came to America.

That’s how I think of Lithuanians. They’re always ready to play a friendly practical joke on you. Vito was always the joker and had a great sense of humor that not everybody got. I could tell he got it from his father. Once I went to Vito’s house so we could go to the show. His father answered the door and I asked for Vito. He knew very well that I was asking for his son, Vito, my friend, but he said, “You’re talking to him.” I said, “No, Vito Junior.” He said, “I am Vito Junior!” This went on much longer than was comfortable for me, but Vito’s father was really enjoying this. Finally, he said, “Vito’s not home.” Why didn’t he just tell me that in the first place? Well, he wanted to play a joke on me. I laugh now that I think of it. But that day I learned that both Vito’s father and grandfather were named Vito. What really made me uncomfortable about them was how they greeted each other and how they said good-bye. Vito would always kiss his father on the lips. Talk about culture shock! For a while, Vito lived with his grandfather Vito. Before we would go out, Vito would kiss his grandfather on the lips before he went out. It was as shocking since I had finally gotten used to him kissing his father. But one day we were talking and Vito told me that his father was adopted. Suddenly, it hit me. “Vito, you kiss your grandfather on the lips and he’s not even related to you!” He thought nothing of it. I still can’t get over it!


11 thoughts on “Labas

  1. Labas my name is Paul Sacauskas I was born in Bridgeport Chicago,Il move to and grew up In Canaryville 48th and Halsted Attended Graham School and Tilden tech high School then lived In Marquette Park My eldest sister when to Maria High School later entered the Sisters Of Saint Casimer Convent.
    I had gone to the Knights Inn and the Litz Club. after getting married moved to 67 and Maplewood .Reading your Blog brought back so many memories of places the I also recall. I now live in Ocala, Florida with my wife of 54 years also our oldest and our youngest daughters also live in Florida with their families. I happen upon your blog by chance hope to read again if I can remember how to find it.

  2. Hello there (Or should I say “Labas..”) My name is Andrea Kivenas. I am Anthony (Tony) Kivenas’ daughter. I came across your blog by accident (I was bored and typed my dad’s name into the Yahoo search engine).. Wow.. When was the last time you spoke to my dad? Do you still live in the Chicago area? We moved to Racine, WI in 1990.. Were you guys really good friends? If so, maybe we could set up a reunion?? Please reply to my email, as I’m not quite sure when I’ll be on your site again 🙂 Thanks ~Andrea

    1. Labas Andrea,

      Thanks for reading my blog! Say labas to your father for me.

      Well, your father and I were very good friends through the eighth grade. We were also friends with Adrian Stanislovaitis. After we graduated from Holy Cross School in 1971, we never saw each other again. Now that I´m older (and hopefully wiser), I’ve been reminiscing about the good old days.

  3. How are you doing Dave? Haven’t seen you since graduating Holy Cross. How are your brothers?


  4. It’s nice of you to write about Lithuanians, especially the Vito Junior story because I forgot it and because I miss my father, since he died.

    I’d like to give you the correct spelling of the second word you learned. I think this would be especially important for web searches done by Lithuanians who are seeking the peace of silence on the Internet. It is ”tylėk”. Unfortunately, it is in the commanding, imperative form, so even when it is spoken in a whisper, it sounds quite jarring, to the native ear. Maybe your blog listings will catch the eyes of Lithuanians who very agressively seek silence. I hope they are able to share their aggression with you in this blog comment area.

    Now I know why you write a blog instead of telling me your stories in person: Over the Internet, I can’t tell you Tylėk

    The monument to the fallen pilots is for Darius and Girenas. On top of that, the street you mentioned in Bridgeport is named after the plane they flew, on their final voyage.

    (The improv group was called ”Antras Kaimas”. Our Irish friend, Jim, gets credit for the stringing the various Lithuanian words into the song that we did, to our improvised jig and for adding an extra syllable to the uttering of tylėk, among us. It’s Da Southside Poetic License.)

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