Mount Vernon Place Once Upon A Time

My father, George Cokinos and Billie Stathes became fast friends when he was six, and she was five  in 1922. Greek immigrants had put down serious roots here in Washington by then, raising families and funds for a church of their own which they wanted to call St Sophia. In 1922, Billie remembers the church was still meeting in an upstairs room rented from the synagogue on 6th and G.

Billie  (front and center)

As she tells it, my father loved to entertain the Sunday school class whenever the teacher had to step out. He would make silly faces and wag his fingers- anything to make everyone laugh. They remained good friends for life. My brothers both lived with her after she moved to Florida to teach at Miami High School. She became my sister's godmother, and she took it upon herself to make sure my children had books every Christmas.

George with the bow

Billie is 91 now, and she recently attended my father's funeral here in Washington. She flew in from Florida where she is retired though she still finds the energy to translate Greek verses which are published in a tiny book. She gave me this remarkable map of the St Sophia neighborhood - drawn specifically from her memories by her cousin, Nick Chacos who is an architect.



 Billie also included this narrative with the map:

 I called the two blocks of Eighth Street near Mt. Vernon Square where I lived from 1922-1933 "the village." Mount Vernon Square with its beautiful park and library was our landmark for an every day visit after school.

On the corner of 8th and L was the Greek Orthodox Church. There was a social hall in the basement where dances for teenagers were held every Friday night. You had to be fourteen to attend. 



 Next to the church was a small two story house where the caretaker Alec and his wife Koula Cokinos lived. Their home was always open for cookies and a visit.

All of the houses on the right were brownstones, three or four stories high. On the left was a row of small homes where the colored folk lived. We all played together.
Dr. Fred Repetti, the village doctor, lived on 8th and L, too.  Every family went to him for advice and medicine. During prohibition, he would give prescriptions for bourbon, Four Roses and rum. The drugstore at the other corner gladly filled them in medicine bottles. We made wine in our basement every year, and even the policemen would be waiting for it. Around the corner on M street was the grocery store and the Chinese laundry. 

Our pride and joy was the corner of 8th and M where there were four gas stations. We were very very proud of them. No one on our blocks owned an automobile. We would go to the corner every day to look at the marvelous cars which stopped for gas. Two blocks were torn down in the late 1930s taking our village with them.

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(9th and L today)

Most of the neighborhood is gone now, although the 1905 Carnegie library is still in tact. The new convention center has obliterated blocks of Billie's history with only a a historic sign to remind people of the past and preserve a few pictures and anecdotes of the way things were.

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St. Sophia moved uptown in 1951- just off Massachusetts's Avenue where it stands today.
Click on the maps above to see details of the gone away village.

Birthday Are Greek To Me

Tomorrow is my father George’s birthday, and it's hard to believe he is in his ninth decade.  He still drives his own car with the top down and acts like a much younger man. The true "Grecian Formula" may be the tradition of Name Days. Your Name Day is set by the saint you are named for and by that saint’s feast day. Traditionally name day are celebrated instead of birthdays, and years are not counted.

I know my Greek grandparents Pete and Pota probably did not know their own ages except that he was somewhat older than his bride.  When Pete had to fill out official documents here in America,  he made himself younger for insurance agents and older for census takers.

When Pete was about eighty in the 1950s, he had to go take the newly implemented driver’s test at the DMV on Indiana Avenue. George took him over there and watched through a little window. He saw his father was struggling. Even after forty some years in Washington, Pete still didn't have a firm grasp on the English language. After a few minutes,  somehow George managed to meet Pete in the bathroom. He proudly recounts that “they” got a 98 out of 100.

Next came the driving portion which involved a lot of orange cones. Pete hit every one. Fortunately, the inspector had been a customer at Churchill’s Bar and Grill, the family restaurant. George took the man aside and promised him that his father would only be driving to St. Sophia’s and to his daughter’s house and only on Sundays. He passed.

At that point in his life, Pete was wielding a large Cadillac which he kept in a tiny garage with tires hanging on the walls as parking cushions. George says he often drove right over the curb into Aunt Catherine’s yard, and she would yell at him from her kitchen window.

George is still passing any driving tests he has to take. He was born in DC where we have birth certificates, and we celebrate birthdays. George remembers he often received a five dollar gold piece on his birthday. He gave them all away over the years, but wishes he had kept one. To this day he gives his grandchildren and other kids he loves "gold" dollars as gifts. His favorite present, however, was the birthday gift that he bought himself at the age of eighteen: a used 1932 maroon DeSoto with black fenders.