Graduation
George Callas was ambivalent about to move. He had been living under the shadow of a wife who behaved as though she had produced their daughters without his help. On January 28, 1937, at public school on 188 street and Amsterdam Avenue, it was graduation day for the 8th grade class, Maria’s last contact with her school before she set of for what she looked forward to as her Greek adventure.  On graduation day, its tearful good-byes and its joyful promises to keep in touch, would ordinarily have been agony for the outsider like Maria, but since the program included singing, it was an opportunity to shine. The musical selection for the ceremonies was Gilbert and Sullivan’s H.M.S. Pinafore. That day Maria looked clumsy and uncomfortable, but she sang beautifully and was warmly applauded. Then came the signing of autograph books, the 8th grade graduates vying with each other to see who could make the most sparkling wish, the wittiest epigram, the most original phrase. Maria was unable to shine in this particular game, she just took refuge in a two-line commonplace couplet that was revealing of how she felt about herself at the time, “Being no poet, having no fame, permit me just to sign my name, signed Mary Anna Callas.
 
Travel
A few days later, Maria, her mother and their 3 canaries boarded the Italian liner Saturnia. Maria spent her first 2 days being horribly seasick in the cabin and listening to Stephanakos, David and Elmina sing, chirp and burble in unison. After first 2 days, however she joined in with an enthusiasm that matched theirs. And
if she was not singing in the cabin, she would sing in the tourist lounge. One day in the evening captain of
Saturnia overheard she singing Gounod’s “Ave Maria” ,and asked her if she would sing at the church
service on Sunday, but she refused. A few moments later, Maria received another invitation from captain,
this time much more to her liking: “To sing at a party he was giving for the officers and crew and two
Italian contessas from the first class”, she accepted that eagerly.

One day of the party, her feeling swung back and forth from exhilaration to anxiety. When the time came for her to sit down at the piano to accompany herself, only the exhilaration remained. She took off her glasses, and her black eyes, full of energy of life, completely dominated her face. She sang her 2 favourites, “La Paloma” and “Ave Maria,” and finished off with Habanera from Carmen. “Et si je t’aime, prends garde à  toi,” sings Carmen, and throws Don José the flower from her hair. Carmen-Maria pulled a carnation from the vast nearest to the piano and tossed it to the captain.  The captain was delighted with Maria’s voice. And thrilled by her sense of drama.  He kissed the carnation, and when he was thanking her later, he gave her a
bouquet - her first one and a doll, which almost incredibly, was also her first! Her mother had always taken
pride in the absence of such frivolity in her daughters’ lives. So at the age of 13, Maria packed her first doll
in her suitcase, took it to Athens and kept in with her all the time she was there. Captain, officer and the crew were on the quay to wish Maria good luck when the Saturnia docked at Patras. The train journey from Patras
to Athens was a revelation for Maria.
 

At night when they arrived in Athens, they were met at the station by Evangelia’s three sisters, her three   brothers and Jackie. Maria’s grandmother, who was ill in bed, was waiting for them at he house beyond the Acropolis where Evangelia and her daughters were to stay for a month before moving to their own house. Everyone who cared to stop and listen knew by now that the thirteen-year-old Maria, her voice and her career were the reason the family had packed up and arrived in Greece. Tales of prizes Maria had won, vocal feats Maria had accomplished and audiences Maria had conquered were being busily told and retold, and
he expectation stood precariously high.
 

Evangelia aimed to mobilize not only all her relatives, but everyone she could lay her hands on, in the cause of her daughter’s career. The day after she arrived in Athens Maria’s life became that of an auditioning machine, producing songs on demand for anyone whom her mother could persuade to sit down and listen. While finding people to listen to her daughter, Evangelia was also busy moving from her mother’s home to a furnished house nearby. At the beginning of the September 1937, Efthinios, through his contracts with the Royal Theatre, arranged an audition for his niece with Maria Trivella, who taught at the National Conservatory in Athens. On the day of audition Maria was panic-stricken, the same kind of feeling that would grip her almost invariably before she went on stage. The morning before the audition, Maria’s panic was compounded by her mother’s terror. Evangelia’s hands were trembling as she help Maria dress her white organdy dress and brushed her bangs. Still more anxiety surrounded the arrival of Maria’s grandmother and 2 of her aunts who, together with Jackie. Uncle Efthimios and, of course her mother were to accompany Maria to the audition. Once she started singing, Maria was free of her own and her family’s fears.
 
“It’s a talent!” exclaimed Maria Trivella, and promtly agreed to take Maria as a pupil for both singing and French. She did much more than that; to help Maria get the scholarship from the conservatory, she conspired with Evangelia to falsify her age. The authorities, happily accepting that Maria was 16 not 13, agreed to pay for all her music lessons.