My father's favourite uncle was Alexandru. He was a mountain of a man who drove trucks and loaded them single-handedly with big barrels. This must have been fascinating for any young boy. He was also kind, and was known to like children. He raised a daughter that was not biologically his. She was born from his wife's first marriage and was a bit younger than my father, which made it fun to be around. My dad did not have many cousins and each was precious to him. Like all the Bondarescu men, Alexandru had big blue eyes, and dark blond hair. My father had brown hair and brown eyes. He took after my grandmother's side of the family (the Popa's), but the different hair colour did not make him love his uncle any less. When my parents married in 1975 they went to visit uncle Alexandru and he lifted my father and mother up -- each in one hand as if they were made of feathers. For many years to come my father tried to emulate him. I can still remember dad lifting Mihai, me and my mom when when we were children whenever we visited family to show his strength.
The Mogosoaia disaster happened on 10 September 1989. Alexandru and his family were returning from a wedding. Their life seemed settled. Their daughter was married and they were helping with the grandchildren. Everyone was there: his wife, Eugenia, his daugther, and his two grandchildren. Everyone who mattered to him was on that boat. It was foggy, unusualy cold for September and very crowded. The boat had been delayed because of the fog, and left only as it appeared to have lifted. Because of the weather most people were inside. About 230 people died, and only 16 survived. It was supposed to be a 30 minute ride: free for children under 12 -- children who did not make it alive with one exception.
The tragedy is comemorated by a clock in the village of Grindu that is stuck at 8:20 a.m., the hour of the crash at the destination that was never reached. When they had left the fog appeared to have lifted, but there was a pocket of fog around the corner called "Cotul Pisicii". The boat had its siren on to let other vehicles know of it's approach. Only it did not work. At 8:20 a.m. Mogosoaia struck a Bulgarian vesel called Petar Kaminchev that was carrying many tons of iron. It is said the Bulgarians tried to back up, but kept going forward because of inertia. Mogosoaia sunk in about 3 minutes.
At 65 Alexandru was still very healthy. He loved fresh air. He was a Danube man. The fog and the cold air did not disturb him much. The boat was overcrowded. So, he was outside to make more room for other people. Next to him was a man with a four year old child. In that split second just before the boat went under the man threw his son in the freezing Danube waters making him hold onto their empty wine barel brought to be filled by grandparents. He then ran back inside to get the rest of his family, and never made it. In that second Alexandru chose to live. He knew there was no chance to help by rushing back in. There was no time. The youngest and the oldest survivor of the crash reached safety. No other young children made it. Neither did Alexandru's wife Eugenia, who had been 55 years old, his daughter or his grandchildren.
There were 16 survivors in total. Some had to swim great lengths, others were close enough to just step-onto the Bulgarian vesel, and over 230 died: most passengers and crew. Even though traffic was stopped on that side of the Danube to enable the recovering of the bodies, not everyone was found and identified due to decomoposition. They recovered the boat, which sat around until it was dismantled in 2004. Alexandru said the Bulgarians were drunk, went too close to the shore, did not signal, and paid no atention to Mogosoaia's siren until it was too late. An investigation was launched, but not much was resolved. After the crash people remembered Alexandru sitting in a corner of the Bulgarian vesel, wringing his hands, crying uncontrolably and repeating over and over "Boys, what have you done? You killed them all, all." Once the bodies were gathered, all the priests of Galati came to perform the funerals. They would go from grave to grave in a form of daze. There was no time for flowers or towels or any of the traditions. Just grief. Everyone had lost somebody. Some bodies were recovered and some were never found. There was no significant remuneration. Many lost their whole family to the water.
Alexandru was a man who could share, and continued to share his life. After this tragedy, he did remarry to a respectable woman of comparable age. He retained a sadness that never quite left him and died a few short years later while thinking that the husband of his daughter never quite felt sorry enough nor did the Bulgarians. By the time I heard the story and remembered it, it must have been 1994. Almost 5 years had passed before I visited my grandparents in Galati. I was 12 years old and I was told the story of the disaster yet again. Being a (surely not annoying) teenager, I placed it further back in my mind with other family stories that did not seem worth repeating. However, today I think that my children, my nieces and nephews and especially of the little boy who shares Alexandru's name might like to know the story of their great uncle Alexandru. So, I put it up before I could forget.
Now all that is left from Mogosoaia is a clock at a fixed hour, and some books and articles that cronicle the disaster. Some survivors are still alive because they were young, including Eugen, the youngest boy. He has little memory of the crash due to his age, and the trauma and the loss of his parents, brother, sister, cousins, uncle and aunt. However, he is now a sailor and continues to brave the waters of the Danube in an attempt to build a life of his own. He remembers a man swimming next to him to keep him safe, and the person who pulled him out of the water, another sailor. Some people remember the only little boy who lived. But most have forgotten Alexandru.
