Maria Breaux

Our mother was born in Antwerp, Belgium, October 30, 1922. Only four years after the Great War, most families still lived in damaged housing. When she was only eighteen, her country was invaded for a second time and all able-bodied civilians were conscripted to work for the Occupiers. Maria was put to work as a telephone operator, but her boyfriend was sent to a labor camp, where he died. Food was rationed and very little was available to the civilian population, as the military controlled all of the country’s food for their troops. But her father, Joannes was a baker, forced to make bread and pastries for the Germans. At night, with the entire country in blackout, Maria and “Jan” would ride their bicycles the 20 or so miles to Holland to trade freshly baked bread for vegetables and meat which could not be obtained in Belgium at the time. These trips were risky, for getting caught could mean imprisonment, or worse. There were other threats to be dealt with, as well. Belgium lay directly under the flight path of the V1 and V2 rockets that were aimed at London. The rockets were a terrifying new weapon and many were defective, falling short of their targets and causing great destruction in Antwerp. Needless to say, under these conditions, Mother grew up with nerves of steel and a strong will to survive.

When the Allies were able to liberate Belgium in 1945, they were welcomed with great jubilation and celebrated as the heroes they were. One of these liberators in particular caught our mothers’ eye when they met at a dance. This was our father, Murray. Though not a great dancer, he was confident and dashing and he swept her off her feet. Even though he spoke no Flemish and she had only a little English, they still managed to communicate well enough to know that they were meant for each other. There was a brief courtship, during which she was accompanied by her mother on every date. Murray proposed and they were soon married in the beautiful, fourteenth-century Stadhuis of Antwerp. Shortly thereafter Murray was sent home on a troopship. Maria remained behind until her paperwork was finally processed and she could board a rusty freighter bound for America. There were more than a hundred other young, recently-married Belgium girls coming to America to start their new lives. Sadly, many of these girls were not met upon arrival by their new husbands, in which case they were sent home, without delay. But Murray was there, when Maria finally arrived in New Orleans, in the mid-summer heat, wearing her best wool suit. It is said that he hardly recognized her, for she had been seasick the entire trip and had lost thirty pounds.

She was welcomed by his family and they made their home in Houston where Murray had a job. There were housing shortages in Houston, too, after the war and at first they lived in a series of rented rooms. Then, they were able buy a small house on Houston’s near north side. Marias’ parents also applied for permission to come to America and in 1948, they were granted visa to come to Houston, as well. Neither spoke English, but they each had obtained jobs as a condition of their immigration. Jan worked as a baker for Weingarten’s, and Madeleine as a housekeeper at the then-new Shamrock Hotel. All three of them applied for and proudly earned their US citizenship; something that entailed a considerable amount of study, especially for our grandparents.

In 1949, the children began to arrive; Danny, followed by Peggy and then Jerry. The small house in north Houston grew too small and in 1958 they moved to the south side of Houston, buying a home in old Park Place. There was a city park with a swimming pool around the corner and a good public library. This would be our family home for almost fifty years and all of our childhood memories center around it. Not the least of these was the time we spent there during and after Hurricane Carla in 1961. Maria was strongly attached to this home and it was with great difficulty that we were able to convince her to move to the west side of Houston, after Murray died in 1995. Here she lived independently for almost 25 years as a widow. At 93 years of age, she was again compelled to move to remain close to her family in Wimberley, Texas. Until her death at 96, she remained mentally competent, often reminding her children of some forgotten task, or appointment. In her multiple roles as daughter, mother, homemaker and wife, Maria was always dedicated to the love and care of her family. She was foundation upon which our family was built and the glue that has held us together over these many years. We are all blessed to have known such love and her memory will live with us forever.