Evangelo Klonis

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Published Sunday, April 14, 2002

JOPLIN (AP) – The photo is so vivid you can almost taste the water coming out of the canteen. One look and you have a sense of what the cool drink must have meant to the weary soldier caught in the camera lens of Life magazine photographer W. Eugene Smith. That image of the World War II infantryman will be used on a U.S. postage stamp to be released this summer – part of a series of stamps featuring famous war photographs.

And the thirsty soldier?

He was Evangelo Klonis, the father of cardiologist Demo Klonis, whose main office is in Parsons, Kan. He also has patients in Joplin. “If my father were alive, it would have been the greatest honor to him,” Klonis said. “He was so proud to be an American, and he was so proud to have served his country.”

The elder Klonis, who died in 1989, also was featured in another famous Smith photo. In that shot, Klonis is looking off to his right, teeth tightly clenched around the cigarette in his mouth. The photo, which graces the covers of several books on World War II, has become a symbol of the actions of one of this country’s most heroic generations. And while Klonis™ face in that photograph represents an era, his life story, his son says, represents the country he loved.

Evangelo Klonis was born on the tiny Greek island of Kefallinia. One of nine children, he left his home at the age of 9 to find work and help support his struggling family. The young Klonis found a job in Athens taking tickets on a bus – a bus that would serve as his home for several years. Desperate to emigrate to the United States, Klonis would go down to the docks and watch the ships come and go. But, after taking out the money he was sending home to his family, there was little left from Klonis’s meager salary to pay for a ticket on one of the huge ships. He began casing the docks, looking for a way to smuggle his way aboard. After a while, he noticed the huge bags of coal that were loaded onto the ships. Those bags, which carried the coal that fueled the ships, would become his fathers ticket to the United States, said Demo Klonis. “He took one of those bags, dumped the coal into the water and sewed himself into the bag,” he said. He eventually was loaded onto a freighter. The elder Klonis spent seven days in that bag, his son said. “He wanted to stay hidden until the ship got past Gibraltar so it would be more difficult for the captain to turn back,” he said. After seven days, Klonis, emaciated and covered with soot, emerged from the bag and presented himself to the ships captain. With little choice, the captain allowed the boy to stay aboard and put him to work. Klonis spent a year on the ship before it reached the United States, docking just off the coast of northern California. “The captain refused to let him leave the ship, so my father jumped ship and swam to shore,” Demo Klonis said. Klonis, who spoke no English, somehow made his way south to Los Angeles and wandered the city for days listening for anyone who spoke Greek. He finally found a Greek restaurant, and from contacts made there he got his first job in a florist shop.

Like thousands of men in the Depression of the 1930s, Klonis traveled across the country in a constant search for work. He spent some time in Denver, finally settling in Santa Fe, N.M. With the outbreak of war in 1941, the U.S. government made Klonis an offer he couldn’t refuse: Any illegal immigrant who enlisted in the service would be granted U.S. citizenship. Since Klonis had received word that German soldiers had killed his family in Greece – it would not be until 1946 that he would learn that the report of his family’s death was not true – he was more than willing to sign up. “He received his citizenship papers during the Battle of the Bulge,” Demo Klonis said. Proud as he was of his service during the war, his father seldom spoke about his experiences, Demo Klonis said. “I don’t know all of the campaigns he served in, but I know he fought in North Africa, Omaha Beach and in the Battle of the Bulge,” he said.

The publicity generated by the rerelease of the Smith photos has allowed the younger Klonis to learn more about his fathers war years. “We have been getting calls from people from all across the country who say, ‘I served with your father’ or ‘My dad remembers your dad’ ” Demo Klonis said. From those calls and from the bits and pieces of information his father had shared, Klonis has gathered a more complete picture of his dad. “People call and say, ‘Did you know what your father did?’ and then they tell me great stories,” he said. Like the time Klonis’ outfit was overrun by German soldiers. “This man said, ‘We were getting our butts kicked, and your dad had had enough and climbed up on an anti-aircraft gun and turned it on the Germans.’ He told me my father saved 2,000 soldiers by doing that,” Klonis said. After the war, Evangelo Klonis returned to Santa Fe, opened a restaurant, married and raised three sons. Klonis said his fathers business career had its ups and downs, and the family split time between Santa Fe and Greece. “We were poor at times, but he always provided for us,” he said. As Demo Klonis got older, he became more aware of his father’s life and his war experiences. His father mentioned that Smith, the photographer, had traveled with his outfit and told him about the photographs. “I used to ask him, ‘Father, why didn’t you save anything from those days? and he would say, ‘I don’t need anything. I was there,’ ” he said. The family has been invited to a White House ceremony at which the stamp featuring Evangelo Klonis and others will be unveiled.

Evangelo’s

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Evangelo’s has got to be the liveliest bar in Santa Fe around the Palace of Governors once the sun goes down, a rather disapointing discovery. No wolves howling at the moon, no wind talkers, wind walkers, or pub crawlers to be seen. Maybe Canyon Road is a better choice, although the one bar visited there was quiet, maybe too early in the day for the local artisans – will research that more on my next visit.

But regarding Evangelo’s…one can’t help but notice behind the bar, the wall-sized reproduction of the photograph pictured aove.

It was taken by W. Eugene Smith (1918-1978), titled “Frontline Soldier with Canteen, Saipan” June 1944

Highly respected for his brilliant and compassionate photo-essays, Smith was one of America’s most acclaimed photojournalists. During World War II, he gained a reputation for pictures that showed both the horror of war and the heroism of soldiers under fire, including “Frontline Soldier with Canteen, Saipan,” June, 1944.

From a couple reviews about Evangelo’s -‘it is one Santa Fe bar that has also gained a reputation of sometimes showing the horror of too much drink. I liked the place, it was blues night, the music was great, the drinks were strong, but it was standing room only.’

French Quarter

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The French Quarter, known locally as “The Quarter’ is the oldest and most famous neighborhoods in New Orleans. When the city was founded in 1718, it was centered around the French Quarter, or the Vieux Carré (“Old Square” in French).

Boundaries
The most common definition of the French Quarter includes all the land stretching along the Mississippi River from Canal Street to Esplanade Avenue (12 blocks) and inland to Rampart Street (seven to nine blocks). Some definitions, such as city zoning laws, exclude the properties facing Canal Street, which had already been redeveloped by the time architectural preservation was considered, and the section between Decatur Street and the river, much of which had long served industrial and warehousing functions. Any alteration to structures in the remaining blocks is subject to review by the Vieux Carré Commission, which determines whether the proposal is appropriate for the historic character of the district.

History
Many of the buildings date from before New Orleans became part of the United States, although there are some late 19th century and early 20th century buildings in the area as well. Since the 1920s the historic buildings have been protected by law and cannot be demolished, and any renovations or new construction in the neighborhood must be done according to regulations to match the period historic architectural style.

Despite the name, much of the architecture was built during the Spanish rule over New Orleans rather than the French. A great fire in 1794 destroyed much of the Quarter’s old French colonial architecture, leaving the colony’s new Spanish overlords to rebuild it according to more modern tastes — and strict new fire codes, which mandated that all structures be physically adjacent and close to the curb to create a firewall. The old French peaked roofs were replaced with flat tiled ones, and now-banned wooden siding with fire-resistant stucco, painted in the pastel hues fashionable at the time. As a result, colorful walls and roofs and elaborately decorated ironwork balconies and galleries from both the 18th century and 19th centuries abound. (In southeast Louisiana, a distinction is made between balconies, which do not have roofs over them, and “galleries,” which do.)

Long after the U.S. purchase of Louisiana, descendants of French colonists lived in this part of town, and the French language was often heard there as late as the start of the 20th century.

When the Americans began to move in after the Louisiana Purchase, they mostly built just upriver, across modern day Canal Street. The median of the wide boulevard became a place where the two contentious populations could meet and do business. As such, it became known as the “neutral ground”, and this name persists in the New Orleans area for medians.

Lucky Dogs, Inc.

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History – Starting in 1947, brothers Stephen and Erasmus Loyacano first bravely wheeled their first cart out onto the streets. By 1949, they considered marketing the carts, but reconsidered and turned to franchising or leasing. An advertisement touted the potential for investors: “Cruise the midway. Get around town. You and Lucky Dog follow the crowd.” “A red hot steam job that will roll up profits everywhere you go.” “Steam cooks 100 dogs, buns, and chili. Stores everything for 300 more.”

But by 1952, they had given up on the franchising idea. And in 1970 they gave up altogether and sold the business — Lucky Dogs Novelty Carts, Incorporated — to Doug Talbot and Peter Briant.

After a difficult period of dealing with health restrictions that almost caused the business to fail, they developed a sneeze guard and a fancy hand-washing system that made it possible to continue steaming buns and dogs the old-fashioned way — right in the carts. The rest is history.

Hot Dog History – although the ‘sausage’ is mentioned as far back as in Homer’s Odyssey, it is thought to have originated in Germany, although not without some controversy as to when and where; in the late 1400’s in Coburg or the late 1600’s in Frankfurt. Austrians stake claim as well pointing to the term ‘wiener’ and it’s tie to Vienna [Wien]. If not enough to argue about, more doubt is cast on who and when served the first dog in a bun.

Across the country –
Americans eat 20 billion hot dogs a year.
The New Orleans/Mobile area in 2004 ranked 7th in a top ten list of hot dog eating cities.
Although similar in that they are served from a mobile stand or out of a cart – be aware there are definite differences when buying a dog from the local vendor depending on where you are across the country…

Chicago – served with yellow mustard, relish, chopped onion, tomato slices, celery salt, served on a poppy seed bun.

New York – served with pale yellow mustard and steamed onions.

Kansas City – served with sauerkraut, melted Swiss cheese, and served on a sesame seed bun.

My personal preference is by far the Lucky Dog. This midnight snack, or more realistically 3:00am snack when stumbling along Bourbon Street, is just what’s needed to fuel up for that stretch between 3:00am and dawn..

Honey Island | Pearl River

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Although the alligators are real and the guide doesn’t carry or shoot a cap gun at an angry hippopotamus, the boat is not on a track and we don’t get to see the ‘backside’ of water as we glide behind the pretend falls…the swamp tours still have a little of the Disneyland “Jungle Cruise” feeling. Yes, the alligators are real, but also now know that the boatload full of curious “yankees” means food. No, not the passengers, the guide has a bag of marshmellows, and even that seems to downgrade any fears one might have of these creatures – marshmellows – couldn’t they be thrown some sort of meat? I suppose that a swamp tour without seeing an alligator would certainly be dissapointing – so, I guess this is all done to ensure everyone gets what they paid to see.
History:
Honey Island swamp is unique because it’s one of the least-altered river swamps in the country. It’s pretty much in its original condition, almost a pristine wilderness. The 250-square-mile Honey Island Swamp, nearly 70,000 acres of it is a permanently-protected wildlife area – the Nature Conservancy’s First Louisiana Nature Preserve.
Honey Island earned its name because of the honeybees once seen on a nearby island. A tract of bottomland timber lying between the East Pearl and West Pearl rivers, Honey Island is between three and seven miles wide and 15 to 20 miles long. It is located 50 minutes from New Orleans in Southeast Louisiana.
Tours:
One tip: the smaller the boat, the better. No cover, there is really a lot to see and not all of it swims. Blue Heron, Egret, Owl, Nutria [I believe this South American “rat” is now a State approved meat – much like the mystery meat pies you buy at an Australian sporting event.

Abbey Bar

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I can’t exactly recall how we came upon the Abbey. I know it started with a load of laundry at Check Point Charlie, along with a few beers at the bar while the clothes washed and spun dry. A great idea – laundromat, bar, food, pool tables and live music – all under the same roof [see Check Point Charlie]. We were told that Coop’s Place was where we should go to eat, and since we had to pass the Abbey just a few doors up from Coop’s – I suppose we just walked in. The place isn’t much to speak about, not a bar you’d find listed in any tourist guide, and not an entrance that welcomed one by any means. Decatur Street is not short on available bars, the Abbey was just one of many on one side of the street, there were just as many across the street.

The Abbey is located at the butt end of the Decatur Street pub crawl and has a well-earned reputation as the place for serious drinkers to congregate. Visiting sailors and merchant marines once headed straight for this tiny bar in order to get as drunk as possible, as quickly as possible; these days, it’s a little less divey but still dedicated to the art of power drinking. The bartenders have made no secret of the fact that they’ll match shots with absolutely anyone, and I can atest to the fact that I bought a few rounds for myself, Genevieve and her sister when she was bartending.

Her sister…a beautiful blonde, out of the pages of a magazine. She was our bartender the first couple nights. But sadly, one morning at a coffee shop, she pops in and orders a coffee to go. She said she was on her way to Florida for a few days and we’d be on our way to Santa Fe before she returned. A last goodbye and the realization that stopping off at the Abbey wasn’t going to be the same without her. Yeah, there was Captain John, he lived above the bar, but I’d heard his stories, more than once depending on how long we sat at the bar, and the place is only open 24 hours. Later that evening, our feet automatically knowing the route…we once again found ourselves at the Abbey.

Our new bartender seemed to be the complete opposite of the beauty who should have arrived in Florida by now. After trading straight shots with her and talking about everything from jazz to the World Cup, there was something about her face that seemed familiar. I asked and we learned the two were sisters. Hot and cold, day to night… these two seemed like complete opposites. Like most of the patrons at the Abbey, she had tattoos on her arms, shoulder back, and later showed off her latest – she also reinforced the Playboy monicker “the naked bartender”, as she dropped her jeans revealing her new tattoo and the fact she wasn’t wearing panties… “Genevieve, another shot of Jack, please.”

Coop’s Place

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Coop’s is the place for good food and a good jukebox. On second thought, great food and a great jukebox is a more accurate description.

Who it was or how it was that we were directed to Coop’s Place as the place for food is forgotten. Coop’s, however, will never be. This was maybe our third meal in New Orleans and up till then the food hadn’t been anything that tasted like I’d hoped for, one calendar ratings. Coop’s isn’t listed in any restaurant guide, but after sitting at a table and taking in the surroundings we recognized a couple locals we’d met the day before – a good sign. In walks our bartendress from the Lafitte’s located over 10 blocks away – an even better sign. Eat where the locals recommend is the best rule of thumb, but to see one or more actually eat there too is certainly proof of the pudding.

The Jambalaya Supreme – is just that. I could have had that for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and I don’t recall eating anywhere else. I think we did, but why and where escapes me.

 

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Check Point Charlie

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Where’d that come from? I knew after ordering the beer that the guy behind the bar was one piece short of a puzzle. Drugs, too many for too long… Just order a beer, don’t confuse him with a mixed drink, and don’t ask him what’s on tap. Just say “a beer”, and point to the spigot that he’s standing nearest to – everything should be just fine. Even the simplest thought or idea went in through one or both ears, but where it traveled once insiside his head was unknown. Check Point Charlie was not far from the Lamothe House where we were staying. Out to the street turning right would take us to Bourbon Street, or make a left turn towards Jackson Square, past Charlie’s, the Abbey, and Coop’s Place. Usually it was more of a circle… head down Bourbon Street and rest in the Blacksmith Shoppe, then follow the arc to Coop’s for food, and then on to the Abbey. Later in the evening the process is just reversed.

At any rate we’d done our laundry, sat at the bar and talked to the bartender for a couple hours one morning. We stopped in the next afternoon for a couple drinks and that’s when his world stopped for a brief moment. He was cleaning up bottles and glasses when he just froze in the middle of a sentence. He was staring at the floor, standing frozen with a dish towel in one hand and a glass in the other. I looked left a couple barstools down to another patron who was looking back at me, both of us wondering what the hell was wrong with our bartender. Although time has a way of appearing to move slower than it actually is – this time warp did allow for me to look left at my neighbor, raise my hands to indicate I had no idea what had struck the barman, and then actually lean over to look at the floor to see just what he was staring at… nothing unusual I could see. A glance back down to my neighbor and a shake of my head indicating I hadn’t discovered anything, the mystery freeze was still just that – a mystery. Then barman came back to life – just like that. He just started talking and going about his business as if nothing had occured. Again another glance down to my left and this time my neighbor was shaking his head. I think we just had to reassure ourselves that our world was intact – wherever barman had just gone for that moment in time was not a part of the world as we knew it. Yes, his body stayed behind, so did the dishtowel and glass, but his mind had timed out, his thoughts were elsewhere, and I’m sure he had no idea this had happened. I was about to axe him if he’d found Spock, but on second thought didn’t want him to short circuit.

A couple days passed without having setting foot in Check Point Charlie’s. It is a far better place to visit if you really do need to do laundry, or at night when a local blues band is playing. Genesha [Smiley] our batendress at the Blacksmith Shoppe and Genevieve matching shots with us at the Abbey were our hosts of choice. But this day, on the way to Coop’s for some lunch, we decided to rest our feet after having walked two blocks. We’d introduced ourselves once, three days and 300 drinks earlier, when we first shot-the-shit at the bar. I can say I haven’t a clue, NFI, what his name was, and after witnessing his brain call a timeout, I wasn’t positive he even knew. Most people realize after hearing Wayne’s Aussie accent, he’s not a local, and maybe you might remember alittle something more about a patron, maybe. But on this day…Barman greeted us by our first names as we took our first step in the door. “Hey, Wayne, Dave!” …Where’d that come from? Where’d he pull that piece of memory from? After what I’d seen a couple days earlier, it was like watching the lotto – spin the basket and see what ping pong ball of a thought will pop out. This spin drew our lucky numbers. Well, don’t try to analyze it, just order up… “Two beers, and stick around in our world for awhile”. “huh?, two beers?, stick around where?”, “Damn it!, I’ve confused him!”.

Check Point Charlie
[open 24 hours] is the place to do your laundry in the back, sit at the bar while the clothes spin round, play pool, get a bite to eat, and in the evening listen to local blues bands. It ranks second to the Abbey in patrons with body art and holes in both jeans and tongues, but patrons of one often frequent the other, so because of Genevieve, I rate the Abbey #1.