Pass It On

Every family has family momentos: pictures, keepsakes, rings...We pass these things along through the generations. Pictures with no names. Who is this? Don't have a clue. So we pass these pictures from generation to generation. Sons and daughters have to pack and repack items that meant something to someone. They ritually keep these items bouncing around in the family. If you're lucky like me, you'll have a geneologist in the family to keep historical documents.
It so happened that my grandma and grandpa came from Poland before the war. They were lost in a time machine. Poland would see many changes during the years of their absence. The family was displaced. Great Grandma and my grandma's sister ended up in Siberia (not for tourist reasons either!)They took the wrong direction to the Ukraine to start a new future. Not the wisest of choices. They were never heard from again.
Grandpa's little town outside Warsaw somehow allowed his family survival for the most part. It was only recently that opened documents from Oswieciem answered questions of one brother's disappearance. With open communications to the West when The Wall fell, came the emergence of family from Famulki (outside of Sochaczew). Envelopes and letters from the old country proved beyond a doubt that we were in the right family.
Years of e-mailing went on. My daughter went to visit her Dad's mother in Sedzieszow. Her Dad is also Polish born. From there they went to establish contact with the Dobrzynski's of Warsaw. For me to see this generation meeting the family from the past was moving. At the airport I realized it was not long ago when I made my first trip over, even though it was past twenty years. To see her going brought tears in my eyes knowing that she will join a heritage of both her mother and her father. In Poland we are there as family members who belong. To be a part of a family with kids who are her own age was more than fortunate. It was more interesting how she saw her own likeness in her Polish cousin - they looked like twins! The connection was priceless.
After a few weeks it was time to return to the US. When I caught sight of her coming out of customs at the airport, I started to get all choked up with emotion. I noticed how she fit right in with all the Poles. I noticed how Polish she really was. I saw generations in her. When she came through the door, I started to cry. I envisioned Grandma, Grandpa, and her own father coming through the gates of their new futures as well.
Next my son would make the same journey. This trip was also very special. It included a trip to the very land that the Dobrzynski's established when they made their way from Lithuania. The entrance to the farm cellar was still standing. Back in the 1700's there was a village called Dobrzyn. Adam Mickiewicz writes his national epic, Pan Tadeusz, and in there describes "our" family. My son went on a time travel through family history. He got to see the forests where mushrooms were picked. He got to see the church of the village where Chopin would play. He spoke to neighbors who remembered those Dobrzynski dwellers. The spirit of the family was still alive in these parts and now after all this time one more journey led back to the old country - our country!
Although our relatives lived the end of their lives here, they were still very much sons and daughters of that part of the world - Poland. Knowing who we are and from where we came is a value far greater than anything else that could have been passed down. Niech Zyje Polska!

Railroad Louie

It's time for a visit to see the folks in Milwaukee. Ok, and I have to admit I am a little excited to go visit Mel's Dad because he lives close to a store that sells any kind of scotch for the lowest prices! My Mom and Dad, however, don't live too far away from one of my other passions - Dunkin' Doughnuts! Add a coffee cake from Grebes Bakery and a visit to Uhle's Pipe shop downtown and the trip to Milwaukee is a success! Also, I will "need" to go to the Polish Deli on Lincoln Ave (AJ's) for some lip-smackin', need another vodka please, kielbasas.

But back to the topic...Railroad Louie. Louie is my dad. I think he'd have made a great hobo. He just rides the rails these days by paying for a ticket. He loves trains. There's a reason for the call of the whistle that always manages to catch his attention.

The "homestead", as our home is known as, is on a railroad line. Some people would sneer at a piece of real estate on the Milwaukee Road line, but not us. The neighborhood Dad grew up in (the same one I grew up in) was a very ethnic one. We lived flanked by my Polish relatives (yes, everybody knew everything with or without a phone),and with an interesting European mix around us. We had Italians, Serbians, Armenians, Italians, and even a lady from France. Everyone spoke their own language and would disappear for a few weeks in the summer for a trip to their native countries. They all had cool ethnic names, and as kids we played with other kids who didn't speak the same language. We had a chunk of land used for a cow, horse, and some chickens in my Dad's time. Our land was next to a barn that my dad's Polish aunt owned. She had a rooming house for men who just came from Poland to work, and a very lazy shepherd dog(Sheeba) who would roam into our yard to sit in the sun. Her barn was my play yard when the Polish guys weren't sitting under the grape-vines singing Polish songs--- with the help of a bottle in a brown bag! The most exciting place to be was down by the lumberyard only a few steps away. A lumberyard on the trainline that actually had the trains stop to deliver lumber! This was way cool. The smells of lumber and diesel fuel, to this day, make me want to jump on the trains that were left behind. It was the place for me to go when the lumberyard closed. These days when a lumberyard closes there are locks and gates and security cameras, but back then...I got to visit the yard when everyone else went home. I found my own ways of jumping from the unloaded trains through the lumber sheds and into the inner sanctum of wood heaven. My jungle gym was the cabooses and flat cars left on the spur track. The push me, pull me's were always there tempting me to ride into town just the way my dad would!

Enter "Rairoad Louie." Dad loved big band music. Into Cudahy and Milwaukee on the weekends would come bands like Vaughn Monroe's. To this day Dad will sit through 90 degree heat in the sun to listen to the sound of the big bands. Back then he had to be creative to get to these places. Dad usually ended-up hopping the closest open transportation he had - the rails. Why not? The steam train started to slow down enough to pull into the station in our town and was free if you knew how to jump on a box car fast enough! Dad mastered these jumps weekend after weekend. He knew where his stops were without the help of a conductor. The departure wasn't always so smooth though. His buddies will laugh to this day as each would propel themselves from the moving train. The speed of the train dictated the number of rolls and bounces each would take. Dad said when he bounced he only felt one thump even if he rolled several times. Sometimes they would get "chicken" if the train picked up speed and then they'd have to ride to the downtown yards. Now that was "public" transportation!

Living on the line also has some other adventures. We lived in the historic section on the line called "Bums Jungle." This was the underworld's private train stop. In all seasons this section was alive with campfires for the over-nighters who would catch another train the next day (or two). Sometimes these guests would wander, like bears from the woods, looking for food. It happened one day that Grandma Nellie had such a visit when Grandpa Jan (Yan) was at work. Grandma Nellie had the unwelcomed visitor on the doorstep and in her broken English she called "Yan, get up and bring your gun." I guess the guy flew faster than a slow-rolling train back to the bums jungle.

As kids we had a very large boulder in the field next to the line. When we heard the train whistle we all flew to "the rock." We climbed it's "shelves" and stood there to wave at the conductors and if it had passengers - we'd wave to them too! This went on for years and years. The rock started to get known as "the place the kids flock to greet the trains". (The Welcome Wagon of our kind) The conductor and passengers would wave back like royalty. The rock was actually purchased as a piece of the line's history and sits in a post office today somewhere in Chicago with a plaque about us. Look out box car children!!

Excitement grew in the neighborhood as a big trucking company moved in. We had steam shovels and dump trucks to add to our familiar sounds. The air was filled with diesel fuel! To this day I love that smell. As time went on "Grandpa Louie" would take his grandson, (my son!) who grew up in the same Polish house (ironically with a Dad just come from Poland as well!) and those two would get lost for hours watching trains and talking to the guys with the trucks. The front window-sills of our house, once sprinkled with violets, had lines of little trains and trucks spread out to greet the early morning crews.

So to all those who think property on the train line is devalued- guess again! I wouldn't trade a house on the North Shore for the scenery we have in Bums Jungle.
Long live hobos! Long live the railroad. (No thanks to Governor Walker)

What are those kids up to now?

When the kids were growing up I always wondered what they'd be like when they were in college- when they were out of college...I waited and watched as each year passed. How far they came from diapers, Sesame Street, and Little Tyke Toys! I never realized that I was growing too! (although I was the kid that never grew up according to my folks) I see my own kids now in the same period of time I somehow froze myself in. In some ways I look to them for advice on today's world. They took over where I wanted to leave off. Traveling, studying, working, and having a good time or two along the way.

Enter the oldest: Andrew born in the mid-80s. Where is he today?...he's doing that part of having a good time. Andrew loves to travel. From the top of the Matterhorn in Switzerland, to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris, to the place where Andrew came to be (Poland). Andy is in Cancun, Mexico observing resort life and hot sand-- with all inclusive food and drink! He has earned this vacation since his promotion to Network Engineer in the banking world. No Engineer's vacation would be complete without some technology, so we will get to see Andy in the sand with, no doubt, a Cuban cigar and a complimentary drink(s). Andy will be able to say (quoting Sarah Palin)"I can see Cuba from my house!"

Jessie (enter as the little sister) is studying and working this summer. The travel bug already sent her to Poland and Israel. This summer she has come a long way in nursing. She prepares for her state boards in the empty corners of the university library. She has experienced clinicals in some intense areas. It has been amazing to watch this sensitive young lady grow in compassion along the way. Her humor is her survival. Only Jessie could encounter a social world from the other side as "spirits" visit her patients in the nursing home where she works! It's a right of passage after having worked in the same nursing home for 7 years. It helps that her Great Grandma Nellie from Poland drops in for a visit from time to time (she's been dead since 1976) and her late Great Aunt Lynn watches over her as well. It's our family culture to acknowledge the activity of the spirit world. The legacy of our gypsy heritage also gives her a proclivity to the psychic world through Tarot.
As my gypsy grandpa PJ would say: "My wealth is in my children." (He had 12) Everyday I am always entertained by the roads my kids travel- sometimes even by the "gutters they fall in."

Maybe they too will decide, like me, to "never grow up."