NORTHWEST PRESS Your Community Press newspaper serving Colerain Township, Green Township, Sharonville, Springdale, Wyoming and other Northwest Cincinnati neighborhoods
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 10, 2021 | BECAUSE COMMUNITY MATTERS | PART OF THE USA TODAY NETWORK
###
‘Did we have a good life? Hell yeah.’ From an attic with broken windows, to WWII and old age. The extraordinary bond of two brothers Keith BieryGolick Cincinnati Enquirer USA TODAY NETWORK
Albert Varhola, a 96-year-old WWII veteran, holds his father's mandolin at his home near Amberley, Ohio, on Wednesday, Feb. 17. The mandolin, which originally belonged to Varhola's father, was returned to him over the Christmas holiday after being in procession of a former family neighbor for decades. PHOTOS BY SAM GREENE/THE ENQUIRER
The forgotten mandolin: A story of unusual circumstance, love and death in Cincinnati Keith BieryGolick Cincinnati Enquirer
T
USA TODAY NETWORK
he mandolin is out of tune, and Albert Varhola doesn’t have a pick. The neck is worn, and part of its green label has chipped away. Varhola doesn’t play the mandolin – or any instrument. He never has. Years and years ago, this instrument belonged to his father. A steel mill worker in Portsmouth, his father wasn’t a musician either. But a young Varhola remembers his dad playing it for his siblings. He had no idea what happened to the instrument after that. He hadn’t seen that mandolin since he was fi ve years old, and he probably hasn’t thought about it since. Until last year, when the 96-year-old saw it again, at a time when he desperately needed something to feel good about. Today, the mandolin sits on a shelf above Varhola’s computer, where he spends much of his days. It sits next to a picture of his wife, signed “all my love.” Varhola wants to live to 100. He runs on the treadmill and lifts weights every week. But last year, like so many others across the country, his family talked about what might happen if he contracted COVID-19. They talked about how he might die alone. In November, Varhola contracted the virus. … The World War II veteran had gone to the doctor for back pain. An X-ray revealed pneumonia, and he would later test positive for COVID-19. His daughters began calling hospitals to try to fi nd space for him. Some had waiting lists of 40 people. Varhola spent 8 hours in the emergency room before a bed became available. Around the same time, one of his daughters received a message on Ancestry.com. She had been on the genealogy website searching for veterans who served in the war with her father. She’d been thinking about all the people he’d lost – a daughter, his brother and sister, his fi rst wife. She wanted to fi nd someone he could talk to. Someone to reminisce with about better times. That’s when a stranger messaged her about the mandolin. This man’s father knew her dad, but not from the war. At fi rst, she had no idea what he was talking about. But she soon discovered her grandfather’s musical instrument had been given to a relative of Varhola’s best friend when he was a kid. Varhola remembers hitchhiking to school with this friend, hitting baseballs together and making weekly trips to hotels looking for money people dropped behind cushions in the furniture. The
How to submit news
To submit news and photos to the Community Press/Recorder, visit the Cincinnati Enquirer’s Share website: http://bit.ly/2FjtKoF
Albert Varhola, a 96-year-old WWII veteran, poses with his father's mandolin.
More than 16 million Americans served in World War II. Now, hundreds die every day. Last year, only about 300,000 veterans were still alive. This is the story of two of them. Charlie Braff ord places his 7UP and whiskey on the table. It clinks, because there is nothing left but ice. The 95-year-old stands up, knees looking like they might buckle, and walks to the mantel in his home on Cincinnati’s West Side, where there are dozens of framed pictures. One is from his 90th birthday, where seemingly hundreds gathered to celebrate. Others are from when he was a young man, fi xing cars and building whiskey barrels. Charlie looks at another picture, each one full of memories from a time that no longer exists. “All my friends are dead,” he says. He says this in a nonchalant way, because death is not new for him. It’s something that’s been happening around him for most of his life. Charlie was born in 1926, one of nine kids. All his siblings are dead, too. Except Joe, a small man holding a harmonica who looks even smaller sinking into Charlie’s staid living room couch. Joe lost his eyesight more than a decade ago, and when he looks at you, he doesn’t really look at you. “Smile, dad,” his son shouts while a photographer takes his picture for this story. He never does. But when the 96-year-old plays the harmonica, you see the handsome man from old photos. Charlie plays the harmonica too, although not as well. And on this day in January, what starts with the two playing “Rocky Top” ends with Charlie staring at his brother the way brothers sometimes do. Charlie is fi nished, harmonica in his lap. Joe plays for another 10 seconds, adding his own fl urry of high-pitched musical notes to the song’s fi nale. “He always does this,” one of his kids says. They are brothers, after all. See BROTHERS, Page 2A
In many ways, the long-lost instrument meant more to Varhola’s daughter than it did to him. For her, it became a way to learn new things about her dad’s childhood. friends lost touch after WWII, where Varhola’s ship transported 4,000 troops to Omaha Beach on DDay. All these years later, Varhola’s friend was in an assisted living facility near Portsmouth, about 100 miles east of Cincinnati, where they both grew up. Varhola called the facility, hoping to reconnect with his childhood. His daughter had said this man’s family had his dad’s mandolin. See MANDOLIN, Page 3A
Contact The Press
News: 513-903-6027, Retail advertising: 768-8404, Classified advertising: 242-4000, Delivery: 513-853-6277. See page A2 for additonal information
Charlie, left, and Joe Brafford, right, stand outside Charlie’s home in Green Township on Tuesday, January 5, 2020. The brothers grew up in Cincinnati and served overseas in World War II. When they returned, they ran an auto shop together for years. Charlie is 95 years old, and Joe is 96 years old. They are the last remaining siblings from a family of nine. MEG VOGEL/THE ENQUIRER
Vol. 4 No. 8 © 2021 The Community Recorder ALL RIGHTS RESERVED $1.00
WFDBHE-22010t