Tim Samoff // Weblog (old)

February 20, 2005

Mary Samoff

Mary Samoff, my grandmother, was a first-generation Russion immigrant. She and some of her family came to America, via Mexico, in the early 1900s. After finding there way to America, they settled in Montebello, California (a quiet, unassuming section of East Los Angeles). There was a large community of Russian Molokans in Montebello, interspersed among the Latinos; though the Russian population is on a decline, there still is a fairly noticeable representation there to this day. “Grandma Samoff” never knew exactly what year she was born in and she didn’t get her green card until she was in her mid-thirties — long after moving to the U.S.

Grandma loved money: money earned, money spent, money won, money lost… But she didn’t take money lightly in any circumstance. In fact, she’d probably argue that she didn’t love money at all — that it was a source of sorrow and grief for most of her life. Growing up as Russians during that time in American history, she and her husband struggled and fought for every penny they earned. Grandpa was a hard man who owned a number of laundry mats in Los Angeles for most of his life. He was in the Navy during the Korean War, worked hard every day of his life, was beaten up during the Watts Riots, and eventually died from lung cancer.

When us grandkids were children, Grandma would throw a bunch of loose change out into the middle of the room, so she could watch us all fight for it. It was survival of the fittest from an early age with her. Grandma was the first to teach us how to gamble too — from poker, to cribbage, to betting on any little thing we did around the back yard.

Grandma and I had a special connection. It seems like we alway got injured in some way around the same time. Whenever we got hurt, we would tell each other about it and laugh about it. Sometimes, the way she revelled in my pain seemed cruel to me, but I know it all came from a place that I would never know: years of hard life and hard work, where pain was the only break you got sometimes.

Grandma never lost her wit. She always had an intensity in her ice-blue eyes that defied age even though her body would not. Her mind was sharp as a tack and she could still beat the best of them at cribbage. Grandma had a fire that not many in this world have.

Grandma was also one of my biggest influences in what what it meant to be a tight-knit family and what it meant to be hosptable… She planned family reunions repeatedly throughout the years and always made coming to her home — or wherever we got together — feel special. Another reunion was planned for this coming July.

My grandma — Mary Samoff — died peacefully, early this morning in her sleep.

I will miss her more than I will ever be able to express here.

Posted at 4:56 pm

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