Big Fat Greek Funeral

Greek funerals are not for the feint of heart.  I took my parents to one today for Jimmie George Deoudes which started at 10 a.m. and lasted most of the day. We kicked things off at St. George's with prayers, incense, a bit of weeping, and some pomp. My mother admired the big windows. She liked that the room was so much brighter than St Sophia's my family's usual church. She pondered having her own funeral here. Afterward, we got into cars tricked out with tiny flags to protect us as we took a hair-raising ride around the Beltway. When not crawling at a dignified pace, we were jack rabbiting and braking abruptly trying to stay together without crashing into another car.

Finally we arrived at the cemetery. The graveside service gave everyone a chance for a breather and a short walk. The ceremony involved more holy things, but it didn't last very long. It seemed a bit sadder than church as we had to leave Jimmie behind here.  Then it was a free form reverse commute back to church for what always feels like the main event: lunch.

By now it was well after 1 p.m. We stood politely milling about the foyer waiting for the priest and family to arrive. We could not sit until after the priest blessed the meal, but we were pleasantly surprised when the church ladies started passing out little squares of Ledo pizza. This took the edge off things, and my mother announced that she would like pizza handed around at her funeral. While we waited to be seated, my sister ordered us to take off our coats so she could drape them over multiple chairs. The exact number we needed was unknown, but my sister and mother liked to avoid sitting with anyone they might not know.  

We definitely needed places for my mother, my father George. my cousin George and two or three other people named Nick or George. And possibly a Pete. Cousins near and distant swirled by. The deceased, Jimmie Deoudes, was our cousin by marriage.  Here's your cousin, John, my sister told me brightly. John who? I said. "I'm the bad one," this John said. "That's all you need to know about me." Then he showed me his bad-ass, silver studded belt buckle which gave a certain credence to his claim.

Many of the old school Washington Greeks were bound together by the food business. Jimmie Deoudes was the commissioner at Union Market where the Pappas family sold tomatoes.

Charlie Poulos was the coffee guy.  Harry Magafan imported Greek and Italian goods and started a company called Alpha Foods. Blackie Auger had a restaurant empire which started with Blackie's House of Beef.

My father first worked for Quick Service Laundry, and much later started his own company with my Uncle Mimi called Modern Linen.

People got up to tell stories while we ate lunch. The first man had a very thick Greek accent. He told us once upon a time, his Cousin Jimmie couldn't get into some fancy joint because he didn't have a tie. "So Jimmie- Jimmie he took out a hundred dollar bill and ah-ah- how you say-- ah- ah paper clip-- and he put it there- there on his collar. So the manager looks around and says, Who IS this guy?? But of course, he got in."

Everybody laughed.

After lunch the church ladies come scurrying through taking plates and serving coffee. The church ladies rock. It was almost 3:00, but no one was in a hurry to leave. There were cookies on the table - the twisted buttery kind that my Yiya used to make for me. After dessert, it was finally time to go. The room was beginning to empty. We stood up to put on our coats, but then my father started circling the room, making his hearty goodbyes, we sat back down again. We weren't leaving anytime soon. Have another cookie, my mother aid. My sister put a couple in a paper napkin and lodged them in her purse. We might need a snack on the way home.