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Wednesday, Oct. 28, 2009

Greek man counts his blessings

WARNER ROBINS —

When it comes to Greek food, it’s all Greek to me.

I don’t know the difference between pastitsio, moussaka and souvlaki on the menu at Papouli’s. I usually play it safe and order a gyros sandwich. Boring me.

When I asked Tom Zdrakas about his favorite Greek food, he threw a lot of the alphabet at me.

The guy does love his spanakopita and baklava.

Of course, Tom had a head start. He was born 78 years ago in Athens (Greece, not Georgia). He and his wife, Christina, were part of the second annual Central Georgia Greek Festival at Holy Cross Greek Orthodox Church this past weekend.

(My wife bought lunch for us there on Saturday. I confess. I had a gyro.)

When you hear Tom’s amazing story, you may wonder how this delightful man ever become part of an event that featured such an array of wonderful food.

After all, he grew up uncertain where his next meal might come from. He spent most of his childhood without a home. He never knew his mother. He was told she died in a flood. His father left him in the care of relatives, who taunted and abused him.

He was not allowed to sleep in his uncle’s house. Sympathetic villagers sometimes took him in, but he mostly sought shelter in churches, caves and sheds. He had no shoes. He used donkey skins to cover his tiny feet.

He ate roots and bark off trees. He sometimes stole melons, eggs, bread and cheese. He often had to fight off the mountain goats to find enough food to put in his mouth.

“My stomach was swollen,” he said. “I thought I had died so many times.”

He had to stay in survival mode. He watched the German soldiers push through the Greek villages during World War II.

Were it not for another uncle, a kind man named Achilleas, he would not be alive today. Achilleas took Tom into his home and reunited him with his father, who was living in America.

Tom arrived in New York Harbor in a blizzard on Christmas Eve in 1946, two weeks after his 16th birthday. He was wearing only shorts and weighed 90 pounds. He did not speak English.

He found jobs selling newspapers on the streets of New York. He cleaned floors and worked in a sweatshop sewing furs.

It was a piece of cake compared to the deprivation of his childhood.

Tom joined the Navy, married, had three sons, worked three shifts and nearly died of double pneumonia. At Montgomery Ward, he became a legendary automotive salesman and earned the nickname “Tom Tires.”

A young man Tom described as a “protester” once told him he had no idea what it was like to be hungry.

So Tom sat him down and recounted his life story.

He met his second wife, Christina, in Hudson, N.Y. She was a reporter for a local newspaper that was sponsoring a hunger drive. Most donations were for $5 or $10.

She noticed Tom had donated $500 and contacted him for an interview. He asked her to dinner. They’ve been together since 1979.

The immigrant who once had nothing to eat now has fig trees growing in his yard in Warner Robins.

He is retired and drives a Mercedes with a license plate that reads: YASSOU.

It is Greek for “hello’’ and “goodbye.’’

He considers himself a blessed man.

Reach Gris at 744-4275 or gris@macon.com.