My uncle Albert Banis, known to his family as Abe, was part of the Greatest Generation who grew up in the Roaring Twenties, experiencing growth and prosperity; they faced hunger and severe poverty as they weathered the Great Depression. Then came WWII, and they sacrificed much – sometimes everything – to save the world.
Abe fought in the war. His war experiences are inspiring, but there is more to his story than only the events of 1944 and 1945.
Abe is gone, as are many of his brothers and sisters, including my mom, Abe’s sister Ruth. I miss them. They deserve to be more than just a few black and white photos with names scrawled on the backs or a simple headstone etched with a name and some dates. So I wander in the past staring at those faces in the old photos and reading old newspaper clippings and listening for ghosts. There needs to be a place where we can experience them as children, adventuresome teenagers and young, happy newlyweds with hopes and dreams. A place where we can realize all that they have done for us and where we can say thank you.
I find the Albert Banis story inspiring. I hope I got it right.
— Steve Nance
Most of what follows comes from a few pages of notes from Albert’s younger sister, Fanny Banis Kisling who interviewed Albert in the early 1990s. In addition to Fanny’s notes, I have gathered comments and stories as well as a few black and white photos from Abe’s brothers, sisters and children.
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PROLOGUE
The Gathering, 1950s: an eight-year-old’s view
The Banis family held annual reunions in the 50s and 60s. These were crowded affairs attended by my aunts and uncles and their hordes of children. In addition there was my grandma along with some of her brothers and her sisters and their kids and their kids’ kids, etc. I played with my cousins: we trekked in the woods or tossed a Frisbee. Often there was a softball game. Many adults and children played which, for example, might mean several left fielders. I suppose someone kept score, but no one cared – unless there was a close play at one of the bases, then the Banis competitive spirit would join the Banis temper in shouts of “You’re out!…What?? I was safe…No, you were OUT!” As a family not often given to compromise, these debates might continue for a while.
To me, the best part of the picnic were the several large metal tubs filled with ice and bottles of soda pop: a special treat. There I stood knowing that I and I alone (without parental approval!) could select any bottle of pop I wanted but only one. The chipped ice in the tubs glittered in the summer sun. Imbedded in the ice like large gems were bottles of green, red, purple, and orange pop. How to choose? The bright green pop is so pretty, but would I like the flavor? So maybe the red pop, but it was cream soda, and I kind of like cream soda but maybe not a whole bottle. I would at last make a selection and, after one or two swigs, look longingly back at the tubs and think “maybe…I should have picked…”
The food was always great; again so many choices. Just to look at the desserts would make your mouth water and your eyes grow big. Of course, there was the challenge of having to move quickly to secure your dessert while swatting away bees and yellow jackets.
Always there was that general background hum of conversation found at large social gatherings. Adults (old people to an eight-year-old) huddled in small groups, sitting at a picnic table or in clusters of folding lawn chairs, waving their hands in animated conversation punctuated with occasional bursts of laughter. As a kid, I didn’t care what they were saying. My Uncle Albert was just another of those adults who got in your way when you tried to get a second piece of Grandma’s homemade pie.
Now, I long to be able to pull up a chair and sit on the edge of his group and ask questions, but mostly to listen. I hope through this story I get to know Abe better.
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