Many of them were told by Alma Adamkienė herself in Arnas Ališauskas’s book “Life Under the Sign of Love,” and later life events were supplemented by Valdas Adamkus. An idyllic childhood in interwar Telšiai, a dramatic withdrawal from Lithuania, life in Germany, building a home in the USA, a fateful decision to return to Lithuania, and the duties of the First Lady.
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The book reveals not only the publicly known pages of Alma Adamkienė’s life, who passed away on May 21, 2023, but also little-known stories. We invite you to read one of them.
During Christmas 1961, Juozas Bačiūnas – an “old Lithuanian” (as Lithuanians who emigrated to the USA after World War II called those who had settled in America earlier) – invited Alma and Valdas to visit. The book publisher, public figure, and owner of Tabor Farm offered the Adamkus family to take over the resort. He convinced them. A new stage in the Adamkus family’s life began: Valdas Adamkus spent most of his time in public service, Alma Adamkienė managed the activities of Tabor Farm, and when needed, she herself set tables and made beds. Tabor Farm became an important center of Lithuanian culture, hosting the annual “Santara-Šviesa” federation meetings.
– During the post-war years in the Soviet Union, there were occasional campaigns to persuade people who had fled to the West to return to Soviet Lithuania. Some did return. Did you receive such invitations?
Alma Adamkienė: No, we did not receive such invitations. I know that most people returned from South America: the living standards there were different, immigrants struggled the most and worked the hardest. When they were invited to return to Lithuania, that choice seemed better to them: if you have to struggle, it’s better to do it in your homeland.
No one came from America: people fled communism, so no one risked returning to its embrace.
And no one came from America: people fled communism, so no one risked returning to its embrace. I remember very well: when we still lived in Rosenheim, Germany, the Americans arrived, their clubs opened immediately, refugee support organizations started operating, and many began telling us: the war is over, your homeland is liberated, go home. Lithuanians immediately distanced themselves from such proposers and avoided their eyes.
But it was quite different with Ukrainians. Maybe the communists wanted as many refugees as possible to return to Ukraine, or maybe they feared the world would hear how they behaved in Ukraine… Ukraine, after all, was much more affected by Bolshevism than Lithuania: communists were in Lithuania for a few years, but in Ukraine for decades. The Ukrainians who fled, as far as I saw and communicated, were mostly, about eighty percent, educated people, intellectuals: doctors, engineers. And then the Americans told them to return: they provided trains, some money. But no one wanted to return because everyone knew the train would not stop in Ukraine but go straight to Siberia.
There was a cruel incident in the town where we lived: a Ukrainian family received a notice that they had to go back to Ukraine. The husband, wife, and child, born already in Germany, went to the commandant’s office and explained that they could not go because they would be sent immediately to Siberia. The American did not believe it: they are our allies, that will not happen, I can guarantee everything will be fine. In short, whether they wanted to or not, they had to go. So the Ukrainian man pulled out a revolver, shot his child, wife, and then himself. Then the Americans started thinking: if a man, relatively young, a doctor, shoots his family and himself, something is wrong. And from that moment on, no Ukrainian was forcibly taken away.
We could not say a word against Bolshevism or the Russians for a long time until the Americans themselves saw what was happening and their eyes were opened.
There was a real fear that we too would be returned to the Soviets like the Ukrainians. We could not say a word against Bolshevism or the Russians for a long time until the Americans themselves saw what was happening and their eyes were opened. They saw what was happening in the territories handed over to the Bolsheviks, from which the Germans fled with nothing, only taking children in strollers, on foot… Only then did the world slowly start thinking that something was wrong.
– You said that your life in America was very poor at first.
– When we rented an apartment in Rockford, we had no furniture, local Lithuanians brought a bed, table, chairs, pots… Those old Lithuanians helped us a lot. I remember we lived near the Savickas family – smart people, he was the community leader, helped us find jobs.
Since we had nothing, we all went to work except mom. And we saved money very carefully, bought nothing. In summer, we really wanted ice cream, I remember it was very hot and a long summer, but it was expensive. Actually, not that expensive, but we only allowed ourselves and my sister to buy ice cream on Saturdays. We saved, saved, saved. And my father kept saying: you can’t buy until you have money. If you buy on credit or borrow, you will never have anything, you will always be in trouble. So we saved a lot.
And little by little, we started to prosper. But it was not very important to us then: the apartment was clean, bright, we managed, and it seemed quite good. Valdas came and even brought friends. My sister and I already had bedroom beds with dressers, parents had a gifted bed and a fold-out sofa where you could sleep, also gifted. We had our dining table, a couple of armchairs, a rocking chair…
My father always said: we are not so rich that we would buy poor clothes or things because you will have to replace them quickly with new ones; you need to buy good ones that last long.
When they bought all this, my parents already had money and paid for everything at once. The furniture seller, a Jew, understood that all this was from hard-earned money, so he gave my mother the rocking chair as a gift. When we traveled from America to Lithuania, my mother kept asking if we would take her chair. We said: of course. Wherever my mother moved, that chair traveled with her. That’s how we prospered without spending much. My father always said: we are not so rich that we would buy poor clothes or things because you will have to replace them quickly with new ones; you need to buy good ones that last long. And that’s what we did.
I remember Valdas came to Rockford, we were already married, and my father had bought a car. Hearing the price he paid, Valdas couldn’t believe it, thought my father was exaggerating, embellishing. He said: I want one like that too. Valdas had a car, we called it a “clunker,” but it was such that no one ever knew if it would make it from Chicago to Rockford. He drove to us for Christmas – it got stuck… In the city, Chicago, he could still drive it somehow, but to us – everything held only by God’s word.
So we went to look at the car – Valdas, father, and my sister and I. The two of us were outside inspecting the cars, and Valdas and father were inside. Valdas had already picked out a Dodge, but when the seller said the price, Valdas said: I don’t have that much money and won’t soon, it’s too expensive, but I can borrow. The seller offered: you can buy on credit. But my father said no, that kind of business won’t happen. He asked how much Valdas could pay, and said: I will help with money. And then the negotiations began.
Valdas couldn’t believe his ears, then told all his friends how his father bargained for the car. Few would have believed it was possible to bargain that much.
My sister and I waited, watching the door – they wouldn’t come out of the seller’s office. Finally, Valdas appeared, wiping sweat, we asked: what happened? He said: I can’t stand it anymore, father is bargaining so stubbornly. He argues that he doesn’t have that much money, and won’t take credit because Valdas still needs to study… In short, he bargained.
Valdas couldn’t believe his ears, then told all his friends how his father bargained for the car. Few would have believed it was possible to bargain that much. Father bargained. We had that car for a long time.
– Did you yourself like driving?
– Very much. When I worked at Tabor Farm, if I had any problems, if something was wrong, I would get in the car and drive around the forest, the village, I had a regular route. When you drive in nature – everything around is beautiful, you relax, forget problems. You come back – and everything is fine. I never needed sedatives – the car calmed me.
– But, as far as I heard, you passed the driving exam and got your license after one adventure?
– Oh yes. I drove for a long time without a license.
– And weren’t you afraid of the police?
– It never occurred to me to be afraid: I drove carefully, drove around the village, and there was no police there. I only drove to town, but once I almost got caught. Father always said: go and get a permit! Why are you doing this? One day you’ll end up behind bars and we’ll have to bring you food in jail! But I wasn’t afraid. But that time I got scared.
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I was driving from town to Tabor Farm and saw the police stopping and checking all cars in a row. I was without a license, and in the trunk and on the back seat – boxes of alcohol without any documents. We bought drinks from a store that served not all customers, only those with permits. We had a bar – that was the permit: I would come, give a list of what I needed, and they loaded everything, and we arranged the documents later.
We had a bar – that was the permit: I would come, give a list of what I needed, and they loaded everything, and we arranged the documents later.
When I saw they were searching cars, I thought: I’m caught, now father will definitely bring me food in jail. But – coincidence: among the officers, I saw a familiar policeman. He saw me in line, came over, and explained that they were searching all cars because a bank robbery happened near the store where I bought alcohol, and now the police were chasing the criminals. I explained to him that we had to start setting tables at twelve o’clock, I was already late picking up all those liquors, and I had to return on time. He thought and said: okay, follow my car. And with his car, he drove around the whole line, and I followed – that’s how we got onto another road.
While driving, I was sweating and thinking: Lord, now I will definitely get a permit! And I did – I went the next day, but I hadn’t read any rules, so naturally, I didn’t fill out the exam sheet properly. The examiner asked: have you read the rules? He gave me a booklet and said: read it and come back in a couple of days. So I did: I came back in a couple of days and passed. My father was extremely happy – he laughed, teased me for making me get a permit, and even more for not passing immediately. Because father had that rulebook and constantly told me to read it, but I thought: oh, I don’t need it.
Since then, I drove legally and never received any fines. I drove from Tabor Farm to Chicago very often, probably every other week, because my doctor was there, I needed medicine, and other matters came up. Valdas didn’t always have time; many things had to be handled by myself after going there. So, sometimes I would set breakfast tables at Tabor Farm in the morning, leave, and try to return by dinner. I would spend about three to four hours in Chicago and take care of everything. I also had to stop by home – Valdas lived alone. But we were young, somehow we had enough strength for everything.
– Did Tabor Farm tire you a lot? What was the beginning like?
– In general, I didn’t really understand what was going on. I will never forget how we went there. We hadn’t decided yet – Valdas maybe was, I definitely wasn’t, I kept thinking: to take on such a debt, leave Chicago, separate from all friends… I don’t want to, I don’t need it!
Valdas was fascinated, and I thought: no, it can’t be! Then Valdas took my father to see it. Father looked and said: of course, buy it!
We went to Tabor Farm, the Bačiūnas invited us for a long weekend, there was some celebration. And there Bačiūnas explained, showed what his wife did. He said, you won’t have to do anything, you just enter the dining room, greet the arriving people, talk a little with them, check if the girls are properly “serving” the tables, if there are no problems, and that’s all, the whole job. Valdas was fascinated, and I thought: no, it can’t be! Then Valdas took my father to see it. Father looked and said: of course, buy it!
– Did you like it?
– Father was a businessman, it was probably in his blood. And he had a good job in Chicago. When he moved from Rockford to Chicago, at first he couldn’t get a better job, so he supervised an apartment building and got an apartment there. But no one in the family liked it, so we all thought something had to be done. Even in Rockford, advised by a local Lithuanian Žvirblis, father attended evening school courses, learned to work with machines, so he decided to look for a similar job in Chicago. And he found one.
The Ford factory had a department in Chicago where they made some car parts. He worked about a month and was promoted – got a better job and earned very well. Valdas joked: I graduated in engineering, and father, after finishing courses, earns more in the factory. But when the men were tempted to buy Tabor Farm, father told Valdas: I will help. And he really helped a lot, quit his good job, and worked at Tabor Farm.
– Alma’s father died in a car accident?
Valdas Adamkus: Yes. He died in America when we already had the Farm. He supervised the Farm’s economic side – took care of food orders and similar things. Around the Farm were only farmers’ farms. It was an orchard area; nearby was a large modern fruit buying and processing company. Farmers brought milk there, so we bought dairy products from that company.
Empty road, no soul around, I don’t know what happened to that young man, but – an accident, and Alma’s father died on the spot.
Breakfast at the Farm was at eight o’clock, and the kitchen staff started work at six. He went to that company at six in the morning. It was about two kilometers away. After taking milk for the kitchen, he returned. There was practically no traffic on the road – two cars were driving. The father-in-law was driving straight, and about two hundred meters from the entrance to the summer house, a fifteen or sixteen-year-old young man, without a driving permit, in an old car, also going to the Farm, crashed into the father-in-law’s car from the side. Empty road, no soul around, I don’t know what happened to that young man, but – an accident, and Alma’s father died on the spot.
At that time, I had to fly from Chicago to one of my region’s cities on official business. Walking through O’Hare airport corridors, suddenly I hear my name over the loudspeakers and that I have to answer the phone. I answered – the official said: we just received news that there was an accident in your family, and they ask you to return. I turned around, went back, called the Farm, and was told that Alma’s father had died.
Alma endured this blow of fate and continued to lead the Farm. I worked in federal service and could only help on weekends. We worked, but seeing it was too hard for us, at first we tried to hire someone to organize the work, but it didn’t work out. Then we decided that having reached such a level, we needed to withdraw before we fell, and announced the sale of the Farm.
One of the things that brought people to our Tabor Farm was the food – steaks, lobsters, top-quality products. The second thing was the golf course.
It was hard to sell, but then a dental office decided to invest money that way. We explained the business subtleties to them, and after selling Tabor Farm, we moved to Chicago. I don’t know why, but they went bankrupt within two years. We worked at the Farm for twenty-two years, and the Farm served Lithuanian affairs for almost a hundred years. It was never very fancy or modern, but it was a cozy summer resort, arranged in a country spirit.
One of the things that brought people to our Tabor Farm was the food – steaks, lobsters, top-quality products. The second thing was the golf course. Golf is an expensive pleasure, and in other courses, you had to pay from thirty to fifty dollars for one session. And our guests, having paid a total amount, got food, accommodation, and unlimited golf sessions – go and play as much as you want. So guests played from morning till dark.
The Farm’s success is also evidenced by the fact that we started the season on the last Sunday of May, on Memorial Day, and ended on the first weekend of September, when “Santara-Šviesa” gathered. On April 15, we started reservations by phone. Calls began at six in the morning. By the end of April – almost everything was sold out.
Guests came with children, those children grew up and came with their own children. At first, we sold reservations for two weeks, but when many wanted but couldn’t get free rooms, we started selling by the week. But for regular guests, as we called them – old-timers, we made exceptions and quietly reserved longer periods. We didn’t need advertising or extra funds – just to ensure the whole organization worked well.
The Farm’s success is also evidenced by the fact that we started the season on the last Sunday of May, on Memorial Day, and ended on the first weekend of September, when “Santara-Šviesa” gathered.
Of course, it would be unfair to say that it was only our merit. We received many tips and instructions from Juozas Bačiūnas on what and how to do. He still appeared at the Farm for a year, watched how we were doing. But from the moment he showed what and how to do, Alma took over the management and did it very successfully. Students worked with us, about twenty people served the dining room alone, so Alma herself never left the dining room during breakfast, lunch, and dinner and watched over order. It was not only work but also warm, sincere communication.
When Alma couldn’t be on duty or went to Chicago and I substituted for her, I constantly heard the question: where is Mrs. E? What happened? Why isn’t she here? Such was the mutual attraction between guests and Alma. Her day started at seven in the morning and ended at two at night. During the day, she would nap a little and then return to work – she was truly a person of iron will.
