My Grandfather's Grandmother: The Secret Baroness
By Alexander Ziwahatan
I have always believed that our ancestors leave whispers behind—small traces of who they were, pressed between generations like dried petals in the pages of time. Some names are carried proudly; others are hidden behind new ones, quietly waiting to be rediscovered.
My great-great-grandmother was one of the hidden ones.
.png)
To most who knew her, she was simply Emily Stassun—a kind, graceful woman who lived quietly, loved deeply, and died peacefully in Los Angeles in 1984. But before she was Emily, before she was an immigrant and a matriarch, she was Baroness Emelia Czechowiczowna—a woman born in splendor, tested by loss, and ultimately redeemed by love.
She did not renounce her title; she concealed it—masking her true identity so that her descendants could live freely in a world that no longer honored the old orders. This is her story.
A House of Two Lineages
Emelia was born in 1894, in a palace of light and stone that shimmered above the rolling fields of Poland. It was a place of symmetry and grace—high ceilings trimmed with gold leaf, velvet curtains framing tall windows, and a ballroom so vast it could hold a hundred guests waltzing beneath crystal chandeliers.
Her father, Baron Marcin Czechowicz, was a man of distinction and compassion, beloved by those who worked his lands. Her mother, Louise Ettinger, came from one of Europe’s most renowned Jewish families—a lineage of artists, philosophers, and educators. Their union was both a love story and a quiet rebellion in an era that frowned upon the blending of noble and Jewish bloodlines.
In their home, privilege and intellect intertwined. Tutors instructed Emelia in French, German, Latin, and Polish history. A governess taught her piano and painting. Servants followed her through echoing corridors carrying trays of sweets, silk gloves, and freshly pressed dresses.
Her father adored her beyond measure. When she asked for a horse, he gave her three. He would often watch her ride across the fields at sunrise, her hair streaming behind her like a banner. To him, she was not just a daughter—she was the living embodiment of hope for a Poland that might one day be whole again.
The Baron spoiled her shamelessly. He hosted grand dinners and formal balls where foreign dignitaries, poets, and royals gathered under the light of hundreds of candles. Emelia, in lace gowns and jeweled ribbons and a glittering tiara would sit beside her mother and observe a world of elegance and ceremony—the clinking of crystal, the swirl of waltzes, the murmur of diplomacy disguised as conversation.
In those days, she never wanted for anything. She had no reason to imagine hunger, exile, or fear. The world beyond the palace walls felt distant, irrelevant, even unreal.
But history has a way of arriving uninvited.
A Marriage of Empires
As she grew into womanhood, Emelia attracted many suitors—some noble by birth, others by ambition. Yet the man who captured her heart was neither a prince nor a landholder, but a visionary: George Stassun, son of Antony Strashun, from the famous Lithuanian Jewish family of scholars and physicians, and Countess Louisa Ostrowska, a woman of distinguished Polish descent.
George was intelligent, magnetic, and idealistic. Their union joined two powerful heritages—the Czechowicz-Ettinger line of Polish nobles and Jewish thinkers, and the Strashun-Ostrowska line of Jewish Lithuanian physicians and Polish counts.
They married at the turn of the century in early 1900's Poland, at the twilight of an era that did not yet realize it was dying. The old empires were crumbling, and whispers of war already floated through Europe. But the young couple saw only hope. They dreamed of America—the land where bloodlines did not matter, where the child of a baroness and a scholar might build a new world from the ground up.
Turned Away at the Gate
Their voyage across the Atlantic was long and cold. Emelia spent her days reading on deck, imagining New York rising from the mist. When the ship finally reached Ellis Island, she believed her life was beginning anew.
But fate intervened cruelly. An immigration officer, noticing her right eye slightly red and irritated, declared her unfit for entry. In those days, a minor infection was enough to send an entire family back across the sea. Their papers were stamped “Denied Entry.”
They stood on the docks, watching other families pass into the New World as theirs was turned away. The disappointment cut deeply, but neither George nor Emelia gave up. Instead, they went to London, determined to wait for another chance.
London: The Years of Loss
London was gray and unwelcoming. The war had drained its color and joy. The couple rented a small room above a bakery and began the slow work of rebuilding. George found labor in a printing shop, his hands ink-stained and raw. Emelia took in sewing, her delicate fingers mending clothes instead of holding champagne flutes.
.png)
Over the next few years, she endured five miscarriages. The palace-born baroness who had once dined with royals now wept quietly behind thin walls, her dreams dimming like the London fog.
Yet even through grief, she carried herself with the grace she had been born into. Every morning, she tied her hair neatly, straightened her posture, and reminded herself that dignity was not something the world could take—it was something one chose to keep.
Crossing Through Canada
In 1914, desperate for a new start, they boarded a ship for Canada. By then, nearly all their possessions were gone. They had jewelry, family heirlooms, and money all hidden in their coats and the clothes on their backs. Emily had her purse converted to conceal money and jewels.
They slipped across the Canadian border into the United States—legally for a day, illegally for a lifetime.
That one day turned into generations.
Bridgeport: Building a New Life
They settled in Bridgeport, Connecticut, a bustling industrial city alive with immigrants chasing the same dream. George and Emily (as she now called herself) opened a small delicatessen, selling bread, cured meats, and imported spices.
.png)
Their perseverance was rewarded with life itself: five children—two daughters and three sons. Among them was my great-grandmother, Lillian, whose name would become a thread connecting Europe’s lost nobility to a new American story.
For a while, the Stassuns thrived. Sundays smelled of roasted meats and fresh bread. The shop hummed with conversation in English, Polish, and Yiddish. The baroness had become an American mother.
The Great Depression
Then came 1929.
The Great Depression stripped everything away. One by one, the shop’s loyal customers disappeared. George tried to stay afloat, but generosity outweighed profit. Emily began giving food to those who had none, refusing to take payment.
By the early 1930s, the delicatessen closed, leaving them nearly destitute.
Emily, once surrounded by servants in a gilded palace with lush gardens, now washed dishes until her hands ached. But she never complained. Her bearing remained regal, her voice calm, her faith unshaken. A crown is gold but it's the heart that must be the jewel instead.
A Marriage Unraveled
Poverty erodes even the deepest bonds. By the late 1930s, the weight of loss grew too heavy. Emily and George, who had crossed oceans together, quietly divorced.
There was no scandal—only silence, the kind that follows two people who have loved and suffered too deeply to continue.
George remained in Connecticut until his death in 1949. Emily stayed near her children, watching over them with gentle pride.
The Family Carries Westward
Lillian grew into a woman as strong as her mother and as steady as her father. She married Edward Lake, a hardworking man who shared her quiet decency and resolve. Together, they built a life rooted not in wealth but in love.
When George died, Emily felt a final chapter close. Though their lives had diverged, she wept softly for the man who had once crossed the Atlantic beside her.
A few years later, Lillian and Edward decided to move west—to Los Angeles, California—in search of sun, space, and new beginnings. And Emily went with them.
The Final Home
In Los Angeles, Emily lived with Lillian and Edward, surrounded by the laughter of grandchildren and the smell of orange blossoms drifting through open windows. For the first time in her life, she found true peace.
Their home was modest but warm—a far cry from the marble palace of her childhood, yet somehow richer in the ways that mattered. Emily tended flowers, helped cook family meals, and sat on the porch in the evenings watching her grandchildren chase fireflies.
Neighbors knew her only as “Mrs. Stassun,” a gentle woman with an accent they couldn’t quite place. They never guessed she was born a baroness, the daughter of privilege who had once attended glittering dinners with kings and counts.
She carried her past quietly, her nobility transformed from title to temperament. Her dignity was no longer in palaces or gowns—it was in her patience, her kindness, and her ability to smile at life after everything it had taken.
A Peaceful Farewell
Emily thrived in California’s light. She loved sitting under the citrus trees, humming the old Polish lullabies she once heard echoing through palace corridors.
After decades of endurance, she was finally home.
On October 31, 1984, she passed away peacefully in her sleep at the age of 90. Her long journey—from marble halls to quiet porches—had come full circle.
Epilogue: The Lineage Remembered
Through Lillian and Edward, through Richard, and through every generation that followed, her spirit remains alive. It whispers in the courage to start over, the grace to forgive, and the dignity to endure.
Baroness Emelia Czechowiczowna Stassun (1894–1984)
Daughter of Baron Marcin Czechowicz and Louise Ettinger.
Wife of George Stassun, son of Antony Strashun and Countess Louisa Ostrowska.
Mother of five, including Lillian Stassun Lake, wife of Edward Lake.
Great-Grandmother to my dad and my great-great grandmother.
Our lives began where hers finally found peace.
Born noble. Lived brave. Died free.
And through her, we remember that even when titles fade and palaces crumble, true nobility endures forever.
.png)
.jpg)
.png)
Comments
Post a Comment