A Drop of History 129

The tarmac comes to the streets of Athens
When man-carriers protested the paving of Aeolou Street

It was 1905 when the tarmac debuted in the Greek capital. That year, during the second term of Spyros Merkouris as mayor, the first paving works started on Aeolou Street, spreading later to other downtown streets. Until then, the capital choked on its own dust during the summer months, while, as soon as winter set in, mud covered everything. Although the paving was a truly great work, marking the beginning of a new era, it did not go uncontested. Dimitris Lambikis writes in his book The 100 Years of the Borough of Athens: “The first to protest the new works were the coachmen, as the wheels of their vehicles skidded dangerously on the new road surface.” Opposition continued, from other professional classes. The same book goes on: “The press encyclopedists found another drawback: that tarmac would be a thermally conductive material, which would turn the climate of Athens tropical.”

Perhaps the strongest opposition came from another professional group. At the time there were dozens of carriers, whose job involved carrying well-dressed ladies to the other side of a muddy street or square on their shoulders. It made sense that they were not enthusiastic about paved streets. On the other hand, the ladies’ husbands were zealous supporters of the works, because they could not bear to see those rude carriers grope their wives’ buttocks as they carried them over.

It is interesting that the paving of the first street in the country was considered a financial scandal. Ever since, all the roadwork done in Greece, down to the present, has been burdened with that original sin. In reference to the work’s management, Lambikis stresses that there were many doubts as to whether the contractor observed fully the terms of the agreement signed with the municipality. A shrewd, scandal-hunting journalist, in fact, based his accusations on an experiment: He poked his cane into the newly-paved street and found that the layer of asphalt was only four centimetres thick, instead of the eight that the contract stipulated. Still, despite the objections and shoddy workmanship, the paving went on after Aeolou, on other streets, opening the way for the appearance of the motorcar in the Athenian citizen’s daily life.

The first motorised vehicle had appeared in our country in 1897. It was a passenger Gardner with fourteen seats, which was instantly targeted by the coachmen, who suspected that the new diabolical contraption would cost them their jobs. They capitalised on the vehicle being awfully noisy, claimed that pregnant women would risk miscarriage, and demanded the prohibition of its circulation. They succeeded. Up until 1900, the motorcar was practically unknown to the Athenians, and petrol was only sold in chemists’ as a stain removing product. The first motorised taxi entered circulation in 1901, owned by one Moraitinis. It did not have the Gardner’s fate; instead, it survived, despite the coachmen’s opposition, seeing that there were already plenty of cars in Europe and America.

By 1909, there were 37 cars in Athens; by 1915, 203; by 1925, 900, and by 1936, 35,000. However, the streets were still fairly empty and cars navigated unhindered from one end of the city to the other. Serious traffic problems arose in the capital during the 1960s, and they keep getting worse with every passing year.

If we examine it closely, ladies, there is a historical dilemma here too. A Mercedes carries you around with greater speed and comfort than a carrier, but does not grope your buttocks…

© Dimitris Kambourakis 2003, All Rights Reserved
Translation from the Greek © M.A.K. 2008, All Rights Reserved

A Drop of History 105

Old people’s troubles in ancient Greece
Senior pastures, adoptions, and legislation

In ancient Greece, people rarely lived more than fifty years. Those who managed to grow up, that is, since infant mortality was very high. Diseases, poor living conditions and constant wars did not allow people to grow old by today’s standards, while women wore themselves out faster, as they started going through one childbirth after another shortly after puberty. By the age of fourteen, they were generally already married and mothers.

Still, for those who managed to grow old, life was not much different to that of modern old people. Things were hard for the poor and easier for the well-off. The law did obligate children to maintain their old parents, but that is always easier when the old person owns property. For the poor, there were old people’s homes, which were called gerovoskeia (“senior pastures”), but there must have been very few of them. The only parents not protected by the law were those who had prostituted their sons (not their daughters!) and those who had not made sure their children knew a craft to support themselves.

Generally, respect towards the elderly was expected, although generation gap phenomena were not unknown, as mainly Aristophanes’ works show. The old accused the young of irreverence and the young counter-accused the old of having rusty minds. During a performance at the Dionysus theatre, an old man came in but the only people who rose to offer their seats were some Spartan envoys. When the laid-back Athenians noticed the gesture, they applauded. Then one of the Spartans, amazed, said to his companion: “These Athenians can appreciate good manners but cannot practise them.”

Ancient Greek literature offers dozens of different approaches to old age. In Plato’s Republic, Socrates asks Cephalus how he manages now that he is old and has no sexual urges. Cephalus replies with an anecdote by Sophocles: “I am glad to be rid of this thing, as if I had escaped from a wild and savage beast that oppressed me.” On the other hand, old Mimnermus from Asia Minor, in the 6th century BCE, laments his condition: “Better die when I no longer care for secret dalliances and the tender embraces of love. The gods willed old age to be a great disaster.” The laws of Athens forbade people from claiming that their parents were senile in order to take control of their properties, but it seems there were exceptions. Sophocles’ sons took him to court, and he read aloud to the judges an excerpt from Oedipus at Colonus, which he was writing at the time. “Does this sound like a doddering old fool’s work?” he asked. The sons’ suit was rejected.

For those who had no children, adoption was very common in ancient Athens – but the adoption of grown people, not children. It was not just an act of foresight, in order to have someone to take care of them, but also a necessary measure in order to maintain property undivided. For the same reason, the law obligated girls who had no brothers to marry their uncles, so that the family property could remain in the family.

Poor women who grew old had it very hard, since the law did not allow women to be gainfully employed, except among peasant populations. Solon made an exception and assigned them the profession of mourner, so they could eke out a living. Men, on the other hand, could become judges, which gave them an income out of the public treasury. Still, no matter how many centuries have passed, people’s feelings towards the helplessness of old age are identical. When the centenarian Zeno stumbled at the entrance of the theatre, causing an outburst of laughter from the audience, he raised his head and called to the god of the underworld: “I’m coming! Why are you shouting, Pluto?” Then he returned to his home and refused to eat again until he died.

Old age is a bad thing, but it is much worse to be old from youth.

© Dimitris Kambourakis 2003, All Rights Reserved
Translation from the Greek © M.A.K. 2008, All Rights Reserved

A Drop of History 70

An American Olympian in 1896
The man who preferred an olive branch to Harvard

Our American, James Brendan Bennett Connolly, died of old age in 1957. He had been writing stories, mainly about life at sea, in popular magazines in California. He was neither rich, nor famous, nor successful; but he kept a certain framed photo of his youthful self on his wall, and he showed it with pride to everyone until his dying day. He had changed the direction of his life, he would say, to have that faded photo taken.

In 1896, Baron Pierre de Coubertin had resurrected the Olympic Games in Athens, following the decision of the first international sports congress in Sorbonne (1894). Coubertin came to the Greek capital with many dreams, but he faced the hostility of the Trikoupis government. The state’s finances were dire, soon afterwards the famous “Unfortunately, we are bankrupt” was heard, so Trikoupis could not spare any funds for a loony French baron who was trying to revive the ancient times. He did promise boundless… moral support, though. Then Coubertin invited through the press any athlete who wanted to participate, to come to Greece as an amateur, covering his own expenses.

James Connolly was a young student at the time, excited about the idea of reviving the Games. He immediately presented himself to the president of Harvard and asked for the university’s financial aid, so that he could take part. The president not only refused, but also threatened Connolly with expulsion from the university if he went, because he regarded those who took part in sports competitions as troublemakers. Still, Connolly was passionate about the Olympics and determined to travel to Athens. The problem was that he was penniless.

He narrated himself, in the press of the time: “I heard that a steamer was about to sail for Naples, carrying slaughtered cattle. I went to see the captain and offered to work on board. He accepted, and so I voyaged without having to pay for my fare and board. I got off in Naples in lamentable condition. I wandered around the port, and when it was time to board the train for Brindisi, I realised someone had stolen my wallet with the tickets and what little money I had. I ran after the thief with a police officer, we arrested him, but the money was gone. I returned to the station with the tickets alone, just as the train was pulling out. I was hauled onto a carriage, and a few days later I found myself in Athens, famished and wretched.

“I signed up to compete in the triple jump, but when I saw the field, I almost fainted. The runway was not covered with packed ash, like in America, but with soft clay, the kind used by the Greeks to make pots. Despite that, I jumped 13.71 m. My nearest opponent was left 91 cm. behind. My prize was a simple green olive branch.”

That was Connolly’s reward for all those incredible hardships. An olive branch, which he displayed proudly to the end of his life, together with the photo, in which he is holding the branch in his hand. Just think for a moment how abysmally different the athletes of those times were from those of today, the professionals with the great privileges and the even greater wages. In fact, think how even more absolute the difference becomes when we learn that James Connolly was knowingly expelled from Harvard in order to come to Greece. He became an insignificant author of magazine stories, while, according to himself, if he had continued his studies, he would have certainly become a Harvard professor. However, all the way until his death, he claimed that the olive branch was worth more.

© Dimitris Kambourakis 2003, All Rights Reserved
Translation from the Greek © M.A.K. 2007, All Rights Reserved