B1. ROOTS.
This fragment of the chapter B1 corresponds to Pages 20 to 43.
Translated by Author dated 13/06/05(To be edited).
B1. ROOTS. First Life.
Genius in the Womb.
I believe, that in each of us, conceived in the womb of physically and mentally healthy and aware
sentient parents, there is born a potential Missionary, Builder, a Genius... Rarely realized, as on the way there
are so many obstacles, false beacons road signs, temptations and deviations... and boundaries ...and apathy.
So, the path to a Genius is very narrow...
The care for conceived life in the womb of mother and for early nurture of a child, so critical and
momentous periods in human life, is has been rather a question of transmitted traditions, customs and patterns
by successive generations or particular environments, - religious, ethnic or social, rather than conscious process.
But more than anything it is dependent on the economic status of parents.
In the village, pregnant mother, picked potatoes and cabbage from the garden and cooked, fed her own
breed as well as her chicken, did laundry manually, as there were no washing machines, cleaned the house, till
the last day before giving birth. There were, no doubt, also shortcomings in the diet, so critical in health needs
of a new embryo in mother's womb.
The care, in the first months and years of newly born, was also rather sporadic, though often these needs
were satisfied by granny.
In such environment and under such circumstances, were raised generations of our ancestors, and hence
my generation, and thus was I...
I doubt, if my parents were aware of these dependencies. I know my mother never smoked and never
consumed alcohol. With my father, opposite was the case.
My brother Stefan is convinced that during the first years of my childhood, I spent more time with my
granny, than at home. I suspect there is a little exaggeration in that.
In my pilgrimage over the following chapters of my Lives, I will seek out for the factors and
circumstances that weighed decidedly on my character and my mind-set, and which I experienced in these
crucial early years of my life.
Without Genes...
I was born in a small hamlet, - Łuszczanów was its name. Thus with no genes, as genes resided in
Wrzesnia, in Poznan, with squire Lutomski in Grzybowo, maybe with our vicar, and no doubt, in far away
Capital, Warsaw...
Today, people are trying to convince me that I am a man of success... Let's assume that it is so. Even I
will concede and settle with that term, though I vouch, that my views are based on different criteria and
different outlook, not to mention the defeats on the way, pain and tears...
So, how did it happen?
- Do I know? ...I rather doubt it...
Basic mission of this undertaking, this book, is, as recommends Plato, to find answer to that question. To
search out, to discern, and to analyze the factors, which led to successes and those, that ended in failures.
Despite of my shortcomings and misgivings, I am getting intrigued by the subject. I don't expect the reader to
share similar sentiments, though sometimes common and ordinary lives in dramatic circumstances acquire
unexpected and astonishing dimensions...
However, permit me first, that I take care of them genes, as I have a problem with them. People insist
that without genes, there are no winners. Sometime ago my friend(with genes), when learned that my nephew
became a mayor of Wrzesnia, surprised, slipped her word 'where did that come from?'... I answered, 'he was
born in town, not in Luszczanow'...
I bosomed out previously on my views about these genes. As I already confessed, I have no much
respect for them.
As we all know, we are all born in diapers, and later, some become world class wrestlers and geniuses.
The first became later the Governor of California. And, the other changed history.
We do not inherit a brain, only its fraction. Brain grows and is developing from the moment of
conception. And with respect to mind, its product, that is an arena of unlimited potential for its proprietor, or
perhaps, more appropriately, its proprietors.
It appears, I have very little respect for the genes. I am not isolated in my views, at least with respect to
the factors and elements in building bridges to success. Remember Paderewski and Edison...
Ancestry.
Born in Luszcznow, were also my parents and grandfathers. Therefore, also without ' feathered genes'.
Grandmothers, however, descend from beyond the borders of Luszczanow. Maria Rzepczyk, nee Wos, from
nearby Wolica Kozia. While the other, from Bachorz side, Maria Michalak, traces her origins from 'faraway'
Pleszew, - 20 km from Luszczanow... Both of my grandfathers, Johns, were small land holders in Luszczanow.
I remember, granddad Bachorz, pronounced his name 'Bachórz'. It seems German invaders run out of
alphabet, and so it remained.
One part of my family left the country, after the 'January Uprising', for USA. The Civil War still raged
on the new continent and not many of them survived, despite large families. However, there are still traces of
them in the States such as Pennsylvania, New York, Ohio and Chicago. Some of them, notably those in
Chicago, simplified their names to 'Bachor'. They must have forgotten their Polish, as in Polish it means 'brat',
or worse, 'bastard'...
From the other part of my relatives, Walenty
Michalak, before 1st World War, also left for USA in search of them genes. He succeeded in finding them
there, as after returning back to Poland, he supposedly became a member of Parliament...
Adalbert Bachórz.
I learned about these family curiosities from young University of Detroit student, David Reed.. David
some years ago, turned out in my home in Toronto, armed with Prussian maps and extracts from registries,
including those of Mennonites in Utah, and declared, that we are related. This intrigued me and stirred my
curiosity. To prove it he went back to 1836, where he found our common ancestor, Adalbert Bachórz. Adalbert,
the son of Raphael and Sophie, was born not far from Luszczanow...
Amusing bit of curio
is the fact, that before I've got to know David, I often played bridge with my Scottish friends Jim and Jean
MacKenzie and their friends Nadolskis. Zyg Nadolski, teacher of MacKenzie's boys and son of Otto
Nadolski(who was the President of Lwow Politechnic before the war), happened also
to be the descendant of Adalbert....
Prof Otto Nadolski, Lwow
Thus, a countryman, farmer, or landholder, but not a squire, neither a peasant...
Konrad, my friend, I know you are trying to
ennoble my origins, and I appreciate the sentiment, but I am a countryman, villager,
the son of small landholders, and such for generations. And I always see myself as such. I searched thru
dictionaries and encyclopedias, and I admit, that the term 'squire' does not quite suit me. Could be that the we
were not quite familiar with its meaning. Of course, in the country's rich mosaic of residents, there were squires,
peasants, farmers, small landholders, farmhands that were employed by the landlord, who even if inhabited the
palace, but still in the village. Even aristocrats, such as Radziwills, resided close to their subjects, though others
preferred Vienna, Paris, or Warsaw.
In Grzybowo, where I
was raised, you could find a blacksmith, shoemaker, teacher, vicar, and midwife..., and landlord, Mr. Lutomski,
and a family of squires, Dzieciuchowicz... But majority were small landholders. And half of these were
Germans...
I see a small landholder, particularly
in Poland, as an entrepreneur, owner-manager, but peasant and farmhand, as servant...
To complete the picture of this colorful country
mosaic, may I add, that my parents were running a small variety store including a small pub, which beside the
school and parish church, was significant element of this hamlet stage.
Parents.
Father.
My father, Francis, was born in Luszczanow, as I already mentioned. He had a brother John and two
sisters. One of them Sophie married Wladislaw Bernard from Grzybowo, the other married Kubiak and
remained in Luszczanow.
My father generation had to learn German and they had to serve in German army. So in the 1st World
War, they had to fight in German uniforms. My Father served in German cavalry. He was wounded on the
western front. After convalescence became a military gendarme. At the end of the war he was stationed in
Lomza, where, he boasted immodestly, that he was disarmed by his girlfriend.
Father Francis circa 1919
Father in German Cavalry circa 1916
In service for Germans
My Mom's only brother Stanislaw, also served in German Army. He also fought on western front,
appears with distinction and sacrifice, as he was awarded an Iron Cross, and later lost his life there.
Mom's brother Stanislaw Rzepczyk, with Eisen Kreuz.
Is it not sad and painful, that in our Polish tragic history, our relatives had to fight and die for their
enemies? The nation torn and divided by three conspiring predatory powers, not only denied our ancestors the
freedom of the language, but perverted their hearts and their souls... Often we fought in their name fighting each
other. After six generations, this was deeply encoded in our national subconscious. Collective masochism and
lack of self esteem is its nightmarish outcome.
Luckily, from the dawn of our history, 'our Church' took care of our destiny. The feats of our Heroes and
the bravery of the Children of Wrzesnia were reminding us about our roots and our identity. We were fortunate
to have in our Diaspora, Chopins, Mickiewiczs and Curie-Sklodowskas, who raised our cultural treasures to the
peaks of excellence.
The Almighty awarded us with the greatest blessing of our times, by giving us beloved and Holy, John
Paul II. He changed the world and changed our history. He contributed more to our destiny, than squadrons and
divisions of our countrymen in the battles 'For Your, and Ours, Freedom', on all the war arenas throughout the
world.
Regrettably, he could not change our collective character. We demean and distrust of each other. Reigns
over us through the centuries 'Liberum Veto', as well, as the nightmare of collective masochism... 'Liberum
Male'...
In 1901 marked the start of 'Strike of Children of Wrzesnia', protests of school children against
depriving them Polish in classes and in religious studies. I doubt if these patriotic expression reached
Luszczanow, so much more as my father was nine and my mother one year old.
Mother.
My mother was born in 1900. She was the youngest, in the family of brother Stanislaw and two sisters.
She attended the elementary school in Luszczanow, same as my father, where both learned German.
Soon, after coming back from the war, father married Stasia Rzepczyk. I assume that was in 1918. So
my father was already married, when he joined the Polish army in war against the Bolsheviks. Was he in the
unit that pursuit Bolsheviks all the way to Kiev , or did he take
part in Wielkopolska Uprising, I don't know. I don't remember him
ever talking about it.
Mother Stasia Rzepczyk circa1918
Wedding.
Wedding party in front of the thatched home I was borne. I recognize my grandparents and some relatives .
Weddings, in those days, in Polish countryside, were celebrated with flair and panache. In those small
hamlets these events were seen on a scale of local historical event. So much more as they gave the locals a
chance of relief and merry-making, after toilsome days of work in the fields. Not to mention the feast with loads
of delicatessen, 'pączki', cold cuts, pastries, all homemade, and of course indispensible vodka, often a home
product as well.
These events were usually enhanced by very interesting
customs. They varied with the region.
My parents nuptial ceremonies likely took place in the
parish church in Wilkowyja, or neighborly Zerkow.
The Bride rode to the church in a coach, drawn by four
horses, or in less pretentious cases in decorated britzka harnessed by
two horses. She was accompanied by her bridesmaids . Looking at
the foto above there were eight of them, so even a coach would not
do. Custom demanded, that Groom, my father in this case, had to
reach the church on his own best mount. Best-man and friends tried
to prevent it, also on horses.
Between Luszczanow and the church there were extensive
forests. Hence, this playful pursuit took quite a while, possibly since
the chasers caught up with the groom and 'forced' him to stop at the
roadside pub...
My parents wedding lasted for three days. I doubt, if in the
countryside there was a custom of 'honeymoon'. Thus the newlyweds
had to undertake fore with the responsibilities of farmstead.
Wedding photo of my parents.
"Act to please God and People'.
My mother, as the youngest in the family, inherited the homestead as a dowry, from her parents. I
assume it was mortgaged in favor of her older sisters, who married earlier. However, it is possible that my
father paid off the mortgages from his own resources. The grandparents have reserved part of the house with
separate entrance, kitchen and tiny garden, for their own use.
I was born in that house, on that farmstead in 1922. It was built with walls of hewed logs and thatched
roof. There must have there been no more than four rooms. One only had a wooden floor, the rest were built
with clay and not really that level.
I was very fond of that place, though I lived there no more than three months. I came to love my granny
and in my early years I kept returning there often to visit her. I assume my close relations with my grandmother,
in my childhood, through her love, her godliness and warm soul, there were borne within my subconscious the
seeds of my spirituality, emotional makeup, empathy and emotional intelligence. I remember her simple
formula, 'Act to please God and People'.
Grandpa Rzepczyk passed away earlier. I remember him only when on deathbed.
In the first months of war, I was hiding there often, as well as in my cousins in Kozia Wolica.
In the years of 1-st World War, my father acquired, apparently many likings and 'genes' of various
adventures, and hence perhaps the insticts of entrepreneurship. He sold this homestead to Idziaszeks, family of
my mother's sister, and bought new one in Gonice, near Wrzesnia, where was born my brother Henry. Before
long, he sold this one, and the next one in Niekielka, also near Wrzesnia, in such a short time, that I have no
recollection of either.
Knieja.
My first memories of childhood date back to Knieja,
in the region of Kujawy, on the river of Notec, not far from
the City of Inowroclaw, where father acquired the new 80
'morg'(approx 40 ha) farmstead .
I started there my school in the nearby town of
Barcin. I don't remember anything from that school, except
for the pretty blond, who always sat in the first row, so she
must have been an exemplary student. It seems that I fell in
love with her, though I have never dared to exchange with
her a single word... and so for the entire year in that school. I
was shy, inept and ineffective student. However I had good
marks in behavior and relatively good in religion. This must
have been my granny influence...
I kept visiting my grandma frequently. It could be that
I was running away from the rigors of my mother? At least
once I stayed in Luszczanow longer, I even attended the local
school there . My granny was very tolerant. It could be that I
took advantage of that, as the only time that I was swatted in
the school, it happened in Luszczanow. So much more
humiliating, as it was administered on the naked bum...
Worse, as I did not deserve that. The pain was not physical,
but came out of feeling of wrong. I was a victim of collective
2009. Author with wife at the school in Barcin
responsibility. A term, then, beyond comprehension of 7yr old child.
Love and Discipline.
Mother's motto was 'Love, but don't show'. Traces of this remained in the attitude of her sons in their
manners of reserve and restraint. We are reticent to show our feelings, even towards our children or close
friends. Today's 'Love and show', perhaps is better...
In Knieja, over dining table, on white wall, hung two symbols. Cross, and to the right, slightly below, a
strap, elegantly crafted leather strap(in Polish: 'dyscyplina'). I don't remember if it was ever used. However,
there they were. Powerful symbols of Love and Discipline. Values so critical in raising of our children.
More than symbolic were my mother's slaps. She was quite 'generous' with them. Spank for dirty pants,
for dirty table, dirty floor, bad behavior, being late, teasing younger siblings or friends. Often we had difficulty
to discern the reason, but mother's authority did not allow us to question them.
Those rituals took their origin in the kitchen and got consolidated into hierarchy of values, such as
cleanness, tidiness, order, rigor, discipline, planning, organizing... As a result, these factors combined into
mechanism of orderliness, organization and management, which also got deeply encoded in my subconscious.
The served me well thru all the phase of my Lives.
Father never disciplined us, and if he loved us, that wasn't that obvious...
Farmer.
Work on the farm was not my father's vocation. But herd and fields demanded responsibilities, and that
on daily basis. Occasionally he engaged a farmhand, and during harvest, others. And among those was me, 7 or
8 year old, who after school and through the summer holidays, looked after the cows on riverside pasture,
picked potatoes and bundled straw into cones and raised them, with military precision, into symmetrical rows in
the fields. Picking potatoes was tiresome and dirty work, but I rather enjoyed doing other chores. I could match
the work of adults and I enjoyed their company.
However work on the farm is more than looking after the herd and plowing the fields, not only
producing, but also selling, and buying other, maintenance of equipment and buildings and accounting for
income and expenses, and banking, etc. Hence, farmer is primarily an entrepreneur. That side of farming was of
interest to my father, however not enough that he would get to like the work and the responsibility of farming.
Mother filled the gap of 'manager' and 'consultant' in earnest and with the right of 'veto'. She was careful with
expenses, responsible, and demanding. In consequence that resulted in a situation of conflict and frustration.
Maybe that was the reason that I kept running away to my granny and dad likewise, but to the local pub...
Polish affections.
My father had typical Polish inclinations. He was good-natured and playful, he enjoyed company, cards
and he was fond of ...Vodka! All of this was available in neighborly Barcin. Naturally that did not meet with my
mother's approval. I suspect mom likely worried more about other things than the expenses of these expeditions,
particularly during long winter nights. My mission, sponsored by mom, was to find dad and 'safely'' deliver him
home. I did nor encounter any particular difficulties in that task. I found him always in the same pub, at the
same card table and always in the company of vodka.
Over time, I learned to play 'skat' and the game of '21'. My dad did not seem to resent my intrusions. On
the contrary, he 'promoted' me from being a 'kibitz' to his 'assistant', often allowing me to replace him at the
table, so he could join the next table which demanded his company in the name of a 'cheer' and 'na Zdrowie'.
And, if dad would not sell the farm soon after, I would likely got to like this 'company'.
The days of Great Depression were upon us, the farm was getting impoverished with cow herd
diminishing. Often we ate potatoes with salt, as butter had to be sold to sustain the family and the herd. To save
shoe soles, I run around the house in wooden clomps filled with straw... In summer I learned to run safely on
stubble fields, with no injury to my feet, as bootees were only for school, or for church...
Mother(and Dad) build a Genius...
Knieja was for me a five year period, when in my mind started to bud and flourish an awareness of the
new and puzzling World and fascinating and rich Life. Despite being a small hamlet, the range of events, and
impressions and thrills, was so rich and varied. That was a primary and possibly the most significant school of
my life experiences.
Dad tried to teach me, 8 year old, how to hunt hares in the field, how to chop roosters head off, how to
slaughter piglet, how to lead and ride a horse, though often with undesirable, or doubtful results. On a farm,
however, these were the necessities of the day.
In Knieja, I discovered Civilization, auto, balloon, airplane and ...magnet. This unseen, mysterious,
intangible secret, power of the
magnet extraordinarily
fascinated me. I contrived an
idea, that if I mount a strong
magnet in front of a carriage, or
sleigh, and another, but of
opposite polarity, at the back,
then I will be able to ride, for
free... with no horse or a
motor... I did not confide to
anybody about this 'brilliant
invention', until when 12 year
old, when, disappointed, I
discovered, how absurd was
that idea.
Though, maybe, not
quite so?....
Today, there are trains
running at neck breaking
speeds, levitating on a cushion
of air, propelled by similar
magnet's (electro-magnetic)
force. Might it then be, that
there was an element of primal
intuition?...
1929. Now a complete Family in Knieja, with cousin Pelagia and our beloved pet, Brysia.
On pastures of Notec, while shepherding the herd of cows, I built a shelter out of turf and reed. My first
home, my first temple... There was the room only for one, - for me and only high enough to lie down. But it had
walls and roof, - which leaked. But it was my home and I was very proud of it.
Today, I also live in my own home, which also I built myself, and of which I am also very proud. Its
roof also leaks, as it did in the first one, several decades before...
Sometimes I had to take the herd to another pasture, across the road, near a sand quarry, which was
surrounded by small hills. While playing in this clean, almost white sand, with my brother Henry, or friends, we
found copper well-worn penny size coins. They might have been lost treasures, of Roman currencies dating
back to the history of 'Amber Road'.
From that quarry, I also remember sounds of the strange, mysterious melodies, from beyond the hills, as
if from another world. In that direction, far away, lost in those hills, was a German farmstead. Today, I guess,
those were the sounds of Handel, played by wandering group of musicians. Village 'troubadours'...
Pelasia, my older cousin from Luszczanow, visited us often, to help my mom. I came to like her, though
I feel there was more than Platonism in my fondness for her, which I think relates suspiciously with to the other
of my childhood adventures...
In Knieja, I also learned a game known commonly and globally, among children, as a 'game of postman'
(known elsewhere as a 'game of a doctor'). Amazingly, I learned that quite early in my years of 'innocence'...
Alas, before my first communion, I was terrified by my catechist, that it is a 'mortal sin'. I did not dare to
repeat this pleasant sin, until I was 22 years old!... Though, that might be due more to my indolence, than
choice... One way or the other, I don't have any regrets, as Freud convinced me later, that this youthful energy
can be better utilized, or transformed into more constructive goals, with more valuable results.
Not until today, I sufficiently recognized the traits, attitudes and values, which were passed unto me by
my father. Work, or career, has to gratify, entertain, otherwise it is servitude, slavery, with painful
consequences. Entrepreneurship is an asset, no matter what vocation one pursues, farmer, shopkeeper,
tradesman, businessman, teacher, preacher, as well as social worker.
Many of these early experiences and memories kept regenerating themselves, in one form or another,
thru all phases of my life. The attitude of responsibility, duty and discipline from my mother, and from my dad,
entrepreneurship, independence and in pursuit of career and lifestyle that gratifies, ...joy of work...
Grzybowo.
Knieja was the longest period of my father's career as a farmer, just over five years. The level of
frustration and desperation was reaching his limits, and it threatened the future and the fate of our family. The
problem was resolved by my father with full
approval of my Mom. Thus instead of 'Dad in
Pub', why not "Pub in Dad's place'?... Dad
sold the farmstead in Knieja and opened a
corner store with small pub, in Grzybowo, in
the building of his sister and her husband
Bernards. Uncle Bernard owed some sum of
money to my dad, and this was an
opportunity to repaid the debt.
Thus, Pub in Dad's place...
St Michael church and cemetery in Grzybowo. .
The original chapel was built in XIV Century. It
was replaced by wooden church XVI Century. The bells of
1542 come from other ancient church .
In this church I received the 1st Communion and
my confirmation.
Grzybowo is a small village, 6 kilometers NEast of the town of Wrzesnia. There are two parts to it. We
settled in the first part, on the corner across from church. There was also a two room school, perhaps 100 meters
away from our house. The other part, hamlet with few houses named Otoczna, belonged to the estate of the
family of Lutomski.
Grzybowo was known for its 'Swedish fort'. As kids we played there often as warriors. The company of
our 'enemies' were always commanded by an 'officer', little older than me, Olgierd Brzeski, nephew of
Lutomskis, owners of these fields including this fort. Olgierd lived in Poznan, but often visited his cousin in
Grzybowo. Although I suspect, the main reason for these visits, was rather this fort, where he enjoyed playing
the officer and commander. Shortly before the war he has proven, that this 'Swedish fort' was not Swedish etal,
but ancient Piasts stronghold.
Towards the end of 1980ies, Olgierd Brzeski resumed his interest in the Fort and renewed the
archeological digs. There are still being continued today, under the direction of Mariusz Tuszynski from Torun
and prof Zofia Kurnatowska from Poznan. Zbigniew Dzierzynski, director of 'Jedynka', the school that I
attended for two years, started an Association of Friends of Fort, as well as yearly Ancient Warriors
Competition in the fields of the Fort. I have no doubt that that the Fort will become the major tourist attraction
of the region.
Olgierd Brzeski
Zbigniew Dzierżyński
After 50 years, we found each other again in Canada, where we became friends. Both of us were coauthors of Canadian-Polish Chambers of Commerce, he in Montreal and myself in Toronto.
Pub.
Thus, Country Pub in Grzybowo. Father started it as part of a corner store. Though small in scale,
unimposing, but there was no need now for Dad to look for it elsewhere. We were all happy with the solution,
Mom, Dad and myself, as I did not need to pick up the 'dirty' potatoes in the fields...
The building we have moved in was a rather large brick farm house. It was part of small farmstead that
belonged to uncle Bernard and aunt Zofia, and still belongs today to that family. They had a son Zygmunt and
three daughters. Also living with them were my grandparents, parents of my aunt, Maria and Jan Bachorz, or
Bachórz, as insisted my grandpa.
Parade in the bedroom...
Unfortunately the building we moved in was built only for the farmer's family and his herd of cows and
pigs. It was not uncommon, that the cow-house, pigsty and the house itself were all connected, as it was in this
case. So to carve out a store, plus additional flat out of it, was a challenge. The layout was also odd, as there
were no corridors. All the rooms were connected in line(not unlike 700 rooms in Versailles). So five of us slept
in the room, that was a transient room. Each morning, while still in bed, we were receiving a parade of our
uncle, aunt, Zygmunt, cousins and our grandparents...
In addition, we have had the use of a small kitchen and two large rooms for a combined purpose of store
and saloon. One of these rooms was quite spacious. North wall was covered by shelves filled with 'colonial'
goods. In front of it there was a very impressive antique counter, with ornamental glass case above, filled with
gorgeous delicacies, chocolates, bonbons, smoked sprats, and hunter' sausage. Below the counter there were
more shelves filled with bottles of beer and all kinds of concoctions of dad's authorship.
During my turn of duty, as my parents forthwith engaged me as a salesman, I have to, shamefully, admit
that I was secretly rewarding myself with those delicious goodies. I wonder why didn't my catechist, in the
neighborly church, to whom I regularly confessed all my trespassing, did not prevent it? I did also confess to
him all my bad sins about my sinful thoughts about the 'game of doctor', though I did not find in Grzybowo any
occasions for it.
In remaining part of this rather spacious hall there was a place for billiard table, air gun range and large
table with chairs. Adjoining there was a smaller room used for card games, or as a dining room, or as the party
room for guests.
Competition, Events and 'scribbling'.
However, we had a competitor, right across the road, on the corner of the road to Sobiesiernie. Corner
store, but with no pub, ...saloon.
The market of Grzybowo and neighborly villages was not sufficient to support two stores. Father, then
had here a chance to prove his worth as entrepreneur and promoter. Of course the greatest asset of our small
store were the lighthearted elements of this little pub, friendly atmosphere, vodka with sausage, or cabbage
soup, on order. Beyond this, dad liked to organize playful mini shows, engaging marauding magicians,
strongmen, musicians, village 'troubadours', not the level of Handel, but those that could entertain the locals and
attract clientele.
Thus father entertained, while mom watched, toiled and counted... not to mention, cared and looked
after the family. And myself, beyond the sporadic chores behind the counter, with enthusiasm joined for billiard
game or competed in air gun contests, and, as in Barcin, I eagerly joined for the game of 'scat'.
My additional task was to produce and to spread flyers announcing the forthcoming events in our pub. I
hanged them on the roadside trees in Grzybowo and the nearby villages. I have no idea of artistic value of these
posters, but I remember i enjoyed 'scribbling'. Sometimes with results, as I could draw, from memory, not that
bad portraits of Marshal Pilsudski, president Moscicki, and Cardinal Hlond. ...and the 'portrait' of a horse. Pity,
that only of head...
Those were the days, that I acquired a hobby of collecting postal stamps. War ended my career as
philatelist.
School.
Of course, my principal occupation was school. In Grzybowo the school had two classes and two
teachers. Jan Szuminski was also its principal. The other was a young lady, whose name I do not recollect.
1930-34.
Students of the school in
Grzybowo with principal Jan Szuminski and
youg teacheron on the left.
Author in the 3-rd row from
bottom, fourth from the right, with slightly
covered face.
My brother Henryk, fourth from
left, in the firs row, kneeling.
My cousin, Zygmunt Bernard
right in the middle of the picture , in the
white open collar.
I was a shy student, with no marks to show, except for behavior, where I always received exemplary
results. Choir lessons were an absolute horror for me. Not only that I was shy, but worse I was, musically
speaking, completely 'deaf'... Szuminski always delegated me to the last row, so I would not interfere.
I was attending at that school from 2nd to 5th grade. I am
puzzled, why did I not enjoy better marks? Was there no talent,
or lack of stimulation, or support, or no time for homework or
negative environment? No 'ecogenes'? Or no respect for
learning? Surely unlikely, rather the reverse, as I had chosen St
Alois, the patron of learning, as my patron saint for my
Confirmation.
My brother Henryk remembers me signing my name with
the prefix of 'dr'(!?)...
Inferiority Complex.
However, I presume, after all, it was a 'shyness'. Though
most of the village kids are shy. In my case, however, it became
a painful obsession, a complex, and it remained with me for the
rest of my multi-lives. It was perceived by others in variety of
ways. Some saw this as ineptness, others, as humbleness, or
something of behavioral reserve, and still others, as a conceit...
Unjustly, as I have never seen any reason in my life to be
conceitful...
I feared authority and I feared multitude, crowd. I felt
particularly uncomfortable in the company of girls, foremost
with the girl that I admired. As that, I suspect, I strangely associated,
subconsciously, with the 'sin'.
Les, after First Communion
And here I rest the blame with the catechist, or one of the Commandments...
But why accuse the catechist? The simple reason was, that I was dreaming about playing with the pretty
girls in a game of 'a postman', and that of course is a sin...
In a classroom I always tried to sit as far back as possible. I feared the teacher. I was hiding behind the
back of another student, so I would not be noticed by the teacher. To recite a poem, God forbid, - to sing a
song!?... Nightmare, oh Horror!!
Others were reciting, singing, but I was frightened, hiding behind, in panic...
I feared Confessions, as there were always too many sins. So, I also feared the priest. However, I
followed the imposed penance obediently. I feared loss of face, likely because of low esteem of myself, always
nursing in my subconscious a feeling of guild. I did not measure up, and did not achieve, and constantly
'sinful'...
So, where did it come from? What gave rise to these 'ecogenes', which I could not get rid for the rest of
my life? I became an introvert... Perplexed, as compensation, in my soul, I built my own world of dreams,
imagination, and intensified cravings. It was built on the foundation of erroneous, or doubtful concepts and
rules of early education. Mother's dictum: ' the children should be seen, but not heard', ... or earlier, 'to love, but
not show', were likely the base, of what created this, and not other person...
At the end, maybe 'OK'?
I have no reservations, claims, or grievances to my Mom, or even to my catechist...
However, it is better to be loved
Among friends and relatives, my grandmother and Idziaszeks in Lusczanow, were different. Idziaszeks
loved each other and bred eleven children. They loved also us, me and my brothers. They loved, hugged and
kissed with no holding back. I loved them in response, as well as my granny, and our aunt Wos from nearby
hamlet...
Likewise I've got to love uncle Kasper Michalak, from Gniezno. Uncle Kasper, brother of Walenty the
Member of Parliament, deserves a special note. When young he entered monastery. After few years, he came to
realize that monastic life is not his vocation. He left the monastery, married and became a proud father of two
children, Ola and Jan. Whenever he visited us, it was time of celebration and joy.
First time when we visited him in Gniezno, where he was a master of railway station, I discovered a
mysterious and puzzling secret, 'electricity'. Jan was showing off, he pressed a button on the wall, and the light
appeared in the ceiling, - 'magic'! Unforgettable discovery...
We treated our older relatives with exceptional respect. We welcomed and greeted them, grandparents,
uncles and aunts, by kissing their hands. And sometimes, by mistake, also strangers and older cousins.
At home, despite mothers rigor, I felt that she really cares and loves us.
In the store I felt not only useful, but I matched adults in billiard and in air-gun shooting game. I guess
my parents appreciated my ingenuity in the store and despite my poor marks in school, they were hopeful, that I
am capable of more. Unfortunately my father did not live long enough to ascertain it. Mom had many
opportunities, but did not comment. Nevertheless, there were reason to believe, they should be happy with their
three sons.
Shoemaker out of feudal past.
Out of Grzybowo, deep in my memories, there remain few fragments worth recalling.
In neighborhood there were several manor farms, which belonged to the families of Brzeski. In early
90-ties, Olgierd Brzeski took me around to see them all. The buildings were very neglected, except for
Marzenin, where there was impressive, recently renovated palace, surrounded by large park with picturesque,
though polluted , small lake. The building was vacant, now occupied by PGR, state farm. They offered it to
Olgierd, to buy it back for $5000. Earlier they offered it to me for $35000!?
Before the war, on Polish territory, there were more than 10 thousand similar precious monuments.
What remained now is thousand of them, most of them in deplorable condition.
The neighborly Wodki and Wies Krolewska belonged to Witold Brzeski.
Each Sunday, after the Mass, we were admiring his Lincoln, which was parked at the entrance to our
little wooden church in Grzybowo.
At the beginning of war, after Germans entered these territories, Witold and his wife committed a
suicide, leaving two charming little daughter to the vagaries of war... Sad... Why...
In Grzybowo, Lady Lutomska, came from the family of Brzeski. They had one son, older cousin of
Olgierd. I had difficulty to tell him apart from his father, they looked like brothers.
I remember him and an old tiny shoemaker, who no doubt, grew up in the feudal times of serfdom.
Junior loved riding his beloved impressive chestnut. Always elegant in his shining leather boots, matching the
color of his horse. Rarely you could see him outside the borders of his estate.. However, this time, I saw him in
the abandoned sandpit, across from our school. Out of nowhere, I noticed this little old shoemaker running
towards the Junior on the horse. He knelt down, embraced the shiny boots and piously kissed his foot.
I've got an impression, that count Lutomski accepted this as normal... 'that's the way it should be'...
That experience, I see as not only as unnatural weirdness of backward servant, but it left with me a
painful feeling of distaste, lament and sadness, which still troubles me to this day...
Hitlerjugend, my neighbor.
Half of the farmers in Grzybowo were Germans. Local smith was also German. His smithery was across
the road, not far from our place. Smith had two sons, Herbert, my age, and Heinz, three or four years older.
With Herbert we became friends and we played with each other quite often. Heinz was different, not only was
he older, but very arrogant. Typical 'Szwab', Hun. Thus we were calling the Germans that we didn't like. And I
did not like Heinz. Nevertheless we did play billiard with each other. Having a billiard table in our store, I
learned to be fairly good at it, so I kept winning quite often. That irked him a lot. Of course, this not only
pleased and amused me, but I have ignobly stoke the fire of his pain, ridiculing his ineptness. That brought him
to a rage and on one occasion he lost his cool and hit me with the billiard cue... and that in my own home! At
that time I did not know the word 'Hitlerjugend' . Heinz was a typical image of Hitlerjugend. Later I was
puzzled by him disappearing every few months, several weeks at the stretch. We found subsequently that those
excursions were made to Germany, where he received an early training as a Nazi subversive.
Demented in a cage and Gypsy with no drawers...
In Otoczna, the part of Grzybowo that belonged to Lutomski, I remember mentally sick, demented
woman, that her relatives locked in chicken cage... I never saw that with my own eyes, but each time I heard
about it, I was overwhelmed by incomprehensible anxiety, fear, and pain... I felt the rage and fury and pain of
forceful confinement of that innocent victim... I could not resist the feeling, that could be me in that cage, or
that sometime in the future it may happen to me. As, indeed it did happen...
I could not understand the cruelty of the relatives... Rather than help and care from them, from the state,
the church, or Lutomskis, they locked her as if she were an animal, in a cage...
I still remember from Knieja, colorful gypsy caravans and camps. Roaming thru the countryside , they
only stopped for few days, usually in nearby forests. People viewed them with suspicion and with disdain. After
all they are nomads, vagrants, with no permanent home and no steady work. Gypsy-men traded in horses, gypsy
women told fortunes and gypsy-kids were begging. Some of the tribes were engaged in potter's trade. Villagers
were suspecting that they steal.
Again, from Otoczna I remember the incident with gypsy woman, whom the villagers were insistently
accusing of stealing their chicken, and hiding it under baggy folds of her skirt. They wouldn't let her go, until
she returns the chicken. She was vehemently denying it, but to no avail. Finally frustrated and bitter, she raised
her skirt, to convince the mob... Indeed I did not noticed any chicken, but saw much more than expected...
...as drawers were worn only in the winter... and by gypsies maybe never...
The herd of 'Philistines'.
After finishing grade 5 in Grzybowo, I started sixth grade in 'elitist' 'Nr 1' , seven-grade-school in
Wrzesnia.
While my school days in Grzybowo were painful, each day in 'Nr1' was an agony. I never expected
anything of that kind. Nobody prepared me for this. This was for me an unexpected shock. It is difficult to
comprehend the psychology of a 'herd' of children, or youth, their hatred and cruelties towards weaker, or
different... Each day I was reminded that I am 'foreign' and inferior. 'Ham', Yahoo from Grzybowo.
Of course, I was not a star, or Einstein. I had difficulty to make a grade. I was shy, and I was
short. In that 'elitist' 'Nr1', these attacks were a cause of lot of pain and humiliation, I was sick almost every
day. I was vomiting and teachers frequently sent me home, In the 6th grade, I lost 80 school days. I was there,
as well as few other 'Yahoos', from Sokolowo and Gozdowo, an object of hatred and harassment of local town
'thugs'. In my life I was twice wounded, once during the war and second time under the water tower on the way
home, by a herd of feral 'Philistine' hoodlum...
In effect, my grades were not sufficient to get into High School. I survived, in great measure thanks to
my cousin Zygmunt Luczak, who was a year older and full head taller than my tormentors.
Thus was born, within me, an Inferiority Complex, - and a Conflict... As at home, I was the oldest, and
taller than my two brothers, whom I dominated...
These experiences became deeply encoded in my subconscious. More, I suspect, - I am convinced, that
these 'nietschean' mechanisms became the basis of a personality that kept reincarnating in each phase of my
Five Lives. Those were the driving forces, which compelled to equal, to improve, to dream, to aspire, to aim,
and to achieve... Those were the formulas and forces of Creativity, and the art of Survival... and perhaps even,
as a result, 'the art' of leadership and successes...
The two years in 'elitist' Nr1, I erased completely from my consciousness. Except for Zygmunt, I don't
remember any of my school mates, any of my teachers, any single day. Only the feeling of hurt and wrong...
Today, in my mind, I see 'Nr1' as a new and different school. And that's because of its principal
Zdzislaw Dzierzynski. When the need aroused, when our 'Foundation of Children of Wrzesnia', required larger
space for our meetings, or events, Mr Dzierzynski not only offered to us the main hall, but personally, along
with his cadre, assisted us in organizing these events.
The last year in 'Nr1', coincided with troubles at home. The families started to squabble. The building
was too small, and the use of store and pub, did not seem to agree with Bernards expectations.
Palace in Goniczki.
So father found a residuary, in the hamlet of Goniczki, part of former estate of family of Wolski, now in
possession of county of Strzalkowo. He rented this rather spacious, albeit neglected, little 'palace', converted it
into five flats for tenants and spacious apartment for ourselves, including the 'colonial store' and a 'little pub'.
Beside the pub there was rather spacious hall, in which, father sporadically organized dances and other like
happenings. At the back, in the basement there was a cow-shed, where we kept a cow and couple of goats.
Included in the 'residuary', was also about a hectare of orchard and vegetable garden.
Goniczki was a smaller village than Grzybowo, thus the store with the pub would not survive without
the rental income from the tenants. In effect that allowed us to survive the cruel days of depression, until the
outbreak of 2nd World War.
High School. 'Gimnasium of Henryk Sienkiewicz'.
. In 1936, I started attending a High School,
named 'Gimnasium of Henryk Sienkiewicz'. I do
not know and I do not remember, if it happened by
my own desire, or by wish of my parents. Despite
my failures in school, and after all, judging from
my choosing St Alois as my Confirmation patron, I
wanted to upgrade, or maybe just to match my
peers.
Konrad, my friend, tells me that to attend
high school was not free, meaning that my parents
must have been not only sufficiently wealthy, to
afford it, but also sufficiently appreciative of the
value of education, to take this kind of
responsibility. No doubt it was a sacrifice on their
part, so much more, as these were times of Great
Depression. There were not enough money left for
my brother Henryk, even that he was a better
student than me. I was the oldest, so I got the right
of priority...
The atmosphere of the 'Gimnasium' was
definitely different than in 'Nr1'. Among my new
colleagues I did not notice any of my former
tormentors. I was still the shortest in the class, still
shy, now even with greater inferiority complex, I
still feared teachers, still struggled with my grades.
Author circa 1936, in 'Gimnasium' in Września
'Profesors' Maria and Robert Krupa.
We called our teachers of 'Gimnasium' and "Liceum' Profesors.
Quite early I noticed that 'Profesors' Maria and Robert Krupa were showing
rather friendly attitude towards me . They were childless and both of them
were teaching at Gimnasium, she French and he gymnastics. Nevertheless
that did not save me from failing French, which was taught by my favorite
professor Maria Krupa. It seems I had the same problem with French, that I
had with choir in Grzybowo. Besides, i had and still have problems with
languages, including Polish and English, throughout my entire life. Despite
the fact that I use English for over 60 years, I still have a very Polish accent.
However, I've got accustomed to it and it doesn't trouble me.
'Profesor’ Maria Krupa·
I take solace in fact that Teodor Józef Konrad Korzeniowski, even that he wrote in exemplary and
classical English, never shed his 'monstrous' accent. Changing his name to Joseph Conrad did not help.
Robert Krupa was reserve officer and saw our class as a platoon of recruits. His 'platoon' consisted only
of boys. In daily muster he checked if there is no dirt under our finger-nails, if hair is not too long. I liked my
hair to be rather longer. He preferred shorter and ordered me to shorten. Since I did not shorten sufficiently to
please him, he decided that I should shaved my head. My appeal to my parents did not gain any support...
Despite these nags I came to like him. He combined discipline with sense of humor.
Later, during the war, we were held in the same concentration camp in Starobielsk, in USSR. He was
murdered in Katyn, but I survived, as I was brought there two months later...
'Belfers', Polniakowski and catechist.
We were taught Latin by demanding 'profesor' Polniakowski.
He was a caricature of typical 'Belfer'. His four-button jacket was too
tight, black bow tie, taut and too short trousers and 'shoe-tops'. His
head was oval, like an ostrich egg, crew cut hair and Hitler-like
moustache. He used rimless glasses and cynical half smile on the
western half of his mouth... He was versatile. Besides Latin, he taught
math, or any other subject, that were offered to him by the principal,
dr Panna.
Belfer Polniakowski with no bowtie, as now
Communists in power. Moustache also
different.
1939, III Grade of Gimnasium in Września.
Top row:- 3rd from left, myself, with chess mate
Pawlowski next. 1st from right, my cousin Zygmunt
Luczak. Władzia Wańczyk to the right of our class
master, 'profesor' Sokolnicki
Our Catechist was father Jernajczyk. He was a smoker, he liked a drink, or more, and he liked the other
gender. I remember him sitting in front window of a Shwarz Coffee House , across from Fara, our parish church,
with cigarette, or in company of 'other gender', most frequently with one and the other.
Each Sunday, we marched in military formation in school uniforms, from 'Gimnasium' to the Mass in
Fara. On Monday, in religion class, my school mates were publicly 'interrogated' , what were they doing on
Sunday, after Mass in Fara, in the woods next to the military barracks? I found them intriguing and exciting on
one hand, but sad that I was not grown-up enough to participate in these forest adventures.
From nuances of these inquiries it appeared, as I suspected myself, that my friends were having fun
playing a 'game of postman'. No doubt I was jealous, as apparently in them did participate Wladia Wanczyk,
whom secretly I was in love with. And not only me, but maybe the catechist himself, as she was the prettiest girl
in school, as well as the best student. My 'complex' did not help either. I just did not make the grade, so I
remained a celibate. As a result my level of sensibility and emotionality has further deepened.
Ave Maria.
I will not forget one of these weekly services, when from organ gallery I caught the heavenly sound of a
girl, or maybe of boy soprano, accompanied by powerful church organ and melodic discreet violin, and ...'Ave
Maria'. Despite my genetic shortcomings and anti talent in music, this was the beginning of my passion with
the new world of Music. That World inspired and enriched my soul and kept my company in times of joy and
sadness through all my five Lives. It remained such with me till today.
Soon after, my father bought an used 'Telefunken'. Sadly, even, that the speaker was of imposing
dimensions, the sound that emanated from it was just the whisper. When little pub quieted and all left to sleep, I
sat, glued to this enormous speaker discovering Kiepura, Caruso, Chopin and Tchaikovsky.
Horodyszcze.
In 1938 I joined Scouts. I suspect one of the reasons was a chance to join a trip to Warsaw and a Boy
Scout' camp in Polesie, marsh country in eastern Poland, during next summer vacation season. I am not sure
how did I persuade my parents, as this was connected with substantial expenses. Scout's uniform, train,
accommodation and camping in Horodyszcze. It is possible that I received some help from other sources.
That trip was for me an extraordinary adventure. Until now beyond Wrzesnia and in my uncles place in
Gniezno, I was only once in Poznan, a city 50 km west of Wrzesnia. This event was sponsored by 'Nr1', so
among us were many younger wolfs, though the teacher in charge was 'profesor' Sokolnicki from Gimnasium.
Warsaw train station, after the night of travel.
I am 1st on the left in the window, next Pawłowski, my chess partner from
Strzałkowo. Standing from te left is Marian Adamczak, my school friend, later
father of dr Adamczak, who in 1999 seved my life..
Scouts in Warsaw. I am seventh from right.
We slept and traveled in the train, Warsaw and camping was for me beyond the dreams escapade. So
many sensations, novelties and adventures. So as Warsaw bewitched me, the camping experience 'liberated'
me. Far from home and school, I allowed myself for few shenanigans and strange frolics. Likely to deny the
inferiority
complex. In consequence I earned a punishment. With few others kindred souls, w were left
behind to look after the camp, while others were benefitting from two day cruise on river Prypec.
I am not sure, if by negligence or design, we were left with not enough food. We were compelled
to search for it and to prepare it. There was fish in nearby lake, but no fishing rod. There were, however, wild
ducks in the shore reeds. After persistent trials I manage to catch one. My experience in Knieja has proven to be
useful, though our culinary knowledge failed us. The duck came out of grill 'sunburned', but the rest remained
raw. The remaining days of independence, became an experience of restrain and fasting.
Horodyszcze. The author, in helmet, 1st on the left.
Corpus Christi procession. Author on the right,
Marian Adamczak on the left.
'Doctors Club'.
Time spent at the camp and scouting experiences were proven to be very useful. I gained more
confidence in my own strength, although not enough to brave the word with Wladia, or better results in French.
The marks in other subjects improved, though marginally. I gained some weight, but still the shortest in the
class. I still hid behind others in back seat. I noticed, however that I was not alone there. To justify our dole, I,
jokingly came out with idea to call our group the 'Doctors Club'. The Club never had more than half dozen
comrades. However, its members gained lots in prestige as they represented, cynically, the culture of youthful
contrariness. My mathematical experience in the store became useful to help the 'club' members, specially
though in conspiracy, during exams. The herds laws of ethics, same as later in prison cells of 'Brygidki' and in
Kiev, demanded to help 'ours'. I considered this to be my duty, as club's member. I doubt even, if i confessed
this to my catechist.
1938-1939.
Year 1938 and 8 months of 1939, had have many alarming signals from our western neighbor. Hitler
conquered Austria and Czechoslovakia. He advanced again his claim towards Gdansk and a corridor thru
Pomerania. It would appear that there were sufficiently alarming signals to be worried about the immediate
future. I don't remember, however, that was the case, at least in Goniczki. More than likely, my awareness of
these events was clouded by my personal adventures.
Fraternization…
One of our tenants in Goniczki 'palace' was a German family Kruger. They had two charming girls.
Younger, Irma, was my age. Even though they lived with us for some time, I did not pay much attention to that,
maybe because of Wladia? The older one was an object of attention, albeit with no success, of Victor
Wojtkowiak, who also lived with his parents in our building. One day Victor suggested that I join them for a
walk, as that's the girls wish.
Thus started our short, idyllic, very discreet, romance with Irma. Soon after we met alone, though
perhaps not more than twice, as I wanted to keep it as a strict secret from friends, brothers and parents, or rather
from mom. I guess my father more than likely would not only be amused with that news, but would likely
encourage us. After all we were then both seventeen.
Both of these rendezvous remained deeply encoded in my memory.
Driveway leading to our building was long and narrow, lined up tightly with huge chestnut trees. On one
side there was fruit tree orchard and on the other near the road, there was a pond surrounded by sweet-smelling
acacia trees, in full bloom. That was the never forgotten scene of our first rendezvous. After sunset, discreetly
and secretly, in anonymousness of twilight, we slipped away, sheltered by thick chestnut trees, and sweet scent
of acacias, to experience something that we never experienced before... Excited, unsure, what to expect, what to
say... time lost its dimension... Later, maybe after midnight, we stopped under one of these huge chestnut trees,
face to face, screened by darkness, close, but unsure, timid hug, her body scent overwhelming... Not certain,
was it me? ...but, a kiss!... electric thunderbolt... hurled me off, as if catapulted... as if hit by lightning, - I
disappeared in the night...
It took many long days, maybe weeks, for me to look her in the eyes. Nevertheless it came to a second
tryst. This time in the sunny Sunday afternoon. Perhaps shortly before the war. We got lost, far from the village,
at small stream, surrounded by sea of golden corn fields...
A Kiss was still a drama, happening... Though now the scent of her body signaled something more...
Nearness acquired different dimension, or perhaps different expectations... In the subconscious, the demands of
libido were confronting the restraints imposed by catechist and Mom... Sinful thoughts, catechist, the memory
of the game of 'postman'... But how? No courage, but timidity... long embarrassing moments, as she was
expecting from me more, as me after all - a man... Though, sadly not quite yet...
After long moments laden with of strained helplessness, we separated, she with tears in her eyes, and I
with feeling of perplexity, helplessness and guilt, as I could not, did not know how... We separated for ever...
Thus I was sentenced for many years of innocence...
...as, few days later, a WAR!!!