My Latino Siblings

Here is a recent photo of three of my Latino siblings in Puerto La Cruz, Venezuela: (left to right) Mark, Monica, and Matthew. Monica is planning to come to the U.S for a visit this spring with her husband and baby, while she and our brothers are working on a permanent move to the states. Lorena, who is formerly a lawyer and currently serves as a nun, intends to remain in Venezuela.

A Musical Legacy

Isn't it funny how sometimes certain traits tend to run in the family, such as career choice, interests, sense of humor, wanderlust, musical or other creative talents?
When I lived with my father in Caracas, he was working at General Telephone and Electronics (GTE), but when my older brother, Cliff, spent the summer with him, he owned a fancy nightclub called "Lloyd's of Maracaibo" in another city. Cliff described it as a cool disco bar for its time (late 1960s), with black wood and red velvet walls. A full suit of armor stood in one corner with a speaker hidden behind the face mask. The DJ would speak through the mask and get interesting responses. My father is pictured here with the suit of armor and with a couple of young ladies at the disco.

Although Cliff was only 15 that summer, he said he enjoyed "spinning records, drinking screwdrivers, and watching girls dance." He brought home an awesome record collection, including Santana and Xavier Cugat. I still have the Cugat album, and I enjoy listening to the big band music with a Caribbean flair.
Cliff played the drums in the high school band, and was a drummer in a local rock and roll group in the late 60s and early 70s. Having retired as an air traffic contoller, he recently mentioned a desire to get back into playing. I write song lyrics, and our Venezuelan brothers, Mark and Matthew, are also musically inclined. Mark is lead guitarist in a pop-rock band on weekends, while Matthew plays classical piano and guitar. Mark's son is a student at Brown University in Rhode Island, where he is studying art. He is part of a Latin music and dance group there called Mezcla.
I mentioned that Cliff was an air traffic contoller... Mark has been interested in flying since he was a little boy, building and collecting model airplanes, and our sister Monica's husband is a commercial pilot.
In addition, sister Ivonne teaches English to Hispanic children in the Bronx. My father's sister, Dorothy, also taught English as a second language for years, as did her cousin, Frederick, who is Professor Emeritus at UCLA.

My brothers

I got to thinking... Yes, sometimes I do that. I know it can be dangerous...
I suppose that with today's on-line communication tools and worldwide connections, it really makes no sense to try keeping the names of my siblings a secret. After all, one only needs to type in "Burwick" and "Venezuela" on a search engine and see what pops up. How many Burwicks could there be in a South American country where the dominant language is Spanish?
Mark and Matthew are working on completing the necessary paperwork to come to the U.S. to live. I am doing what I can to help in that regard. People come and go all the time, and their home country hasn't closed the borders yet, like Castro did in Cuba some 40 years ago. Give it time...
Meanwhile, I am looking forward to meeting my brothers, and my sisters Monica and Lorena as well. It will be a JOYFUL DAY for all of us.

Anticipated gatherings

I recently sent copies of some paperwork to assist my two brothers in Venezuela in getting their visas, etc. I hope it will help. Sending messages by e-mail and viewing photos on Facebook just isn't the same as meeting face to face.
Having family members who I have never met is such a strange thing, especially knowing they are Latino while I am Scottish-Irish-English-Dutch-Polish-Swiss-German, etc. It makes me realize that we are all members of the human family and should treat each other with respect.
Still looking ahead to that joyful day here on earth, and another one beyond that.

Roots & Herbs and Babies Don't Cry in the Dark

While thinking about the upcoming birth of my first grandchild, who is due in May or June, I started thinking about various people who have come before me.
My own father, who I hadn’t seen since 1966, was not much of a family man. He drank, and he had a fondness for women. He had a total of nine children at last count, through five different women. He married four times but only had children (five) with the first two wives. I was his second child. His other four children were born out of wedlock… but that wasn’t their fault. In fact, the four who still live in Venezuela have grown up to become intelligent, exceptionally talented adults. One is a law school graduate who is currently serving as a nun. Another has a civil engineering degree. There is also a bank auditor who plays in a pop-rock band and another who is a classical guitarist and pianist and operates his own business.
My father’s father was a fine man who at one time served as the mayor of Pomona, Calif. He was known for his honesty and integrity from an early age, and actually got a patent on an invention.

His father – my great-grandfather, Edwin Burwick (pictured here with my mother, Dorris) – was a rather eccentric man, with a fondness for beer. On Christmas Day, 1940, Edwin wrote a letter to the man who had just married his daughter, Iva. In the letter, he told his new son-in-law, Lawrence, that he might want to know a little Burwick history. Edwin then proceeded to tell Lawrence about two brothers who came from Wales and settled in Ohio. Edwin’s father, William, was the son of one of the pioneering brothers.

“He finally drifted to Missouri in time to get in the Civil War and joined the 21st Missouri Infantry volunteers at the close of the war. He came back to a Missouri girl (Louisa Carter Creason). I don’t know for sure, but I think she went barefooted most of the time,” the letter stated. Edwin said he himself was born on a 160-acre tract of barren Kansas prairie that his father was given “for being a good soldier.” Edwin’s Scottish grandmother came to live with them at that time.
“She was a most remarkable woman and a great gardener. She would stroll over those prairies for days gathering roots and herbs, and when anyone got sick she would make some tea from this stuff. Anyway, we got well. She lived to be 90 years old, raising her own garden the summer before she died, including her private blend of smoking tobacco.”

Edwin’s father, William, traded his prairie land for a general store in Wilmington, Kansas, expanding to Osage City where he did a good business with coal miners until a strike began.
“Pa was a big-hearted guy like all the Burwicks, but he soon ran out of groceries and had no money to buy any more. Dead broke and no place to go. Suffering from ailments contracted in the service, Pa was unable to work.”
Edwin said his father was a very honest, conscientious and religious man. He described his mother as “opposed to everything what is, which is another trait of the Burwicks.”

Edwin’s mother, Louisa Carter Creason, came from a farm in Galena, Kansas. His Grandmother Creason was an English woman who came to Kansas from North Carolina, by way of Kentucky.
“She would tell us kids about being in the fort with Daniel Boone, and all those Indians battles and how babies didn’t cry in the dark,” Edwin wrote. “She told us about our Grandfather Creason, a red-heeled Irishman and the best man that ever lived. She said he treated her as though she was the Queen of England. It seems he was some kind of contractor for the way she talked. He brought home the bacon.”
Edwin related how Grandfather Creason tended to throw things whenever he got drunk.
“Sometimes he would break every dish on the place, and the next day go to town and buy a complete new outfit. So the mark of my Irish grandfather is deeply imprinted in the Burwick family.”

Although growing up poor, Edwin said his family got by. He went to night school and worked in a machine shop to help support his family until his father died.
“Went out with the boys and had a few fights (but not me). I was too busy drinking, no time to fight. Finally I met a Pennsylvania Dutch girl (Louisa Ellen Spencer). Her ancestors were Quakers (See March 7 entry).
“Well, after lying to her for three years, she finally said all right so we got married and here came the babies… Everything was all right with me until she gave birth to a little dwarf girl baby. My first thought was to drown her in the fish pond, but we didn’t have no fish pond and it was too far to the river, and before I could go to the river with her she opened her eyes and gave me that smile. So I said let’s keep her, and sometimes I think we done the right thing.
“Iva and I have had great times together. I hope you and her have had great times together. We hear what others don’t hear. We see what others don’t see.”

Signed, “Dad”

I get the feeling the Burwick family, at least on the male side, tends to alternate between good, honest men and those with a tendency to drink and carouse. I don’t know if that means I’m one of those good men that crops up every other generation. I guess history will show…