Machinists: Toolmakers, Engineers, Creators of American Industry

By Jan Kobylarz

What stands out in this memoir is above all the work that he has treated with exceptional seriousness from the very beginning, describing himself as the little screw that drives itself into the grand technology as all round machinist and invincible form grinder. Readers not familiar with modern technology will have to be impressed in this fascinating story by the thoroughness with which the author describes complicated production processes and high-precision items produced by his skilled hands. Also astonishing is his ability to recollect the details of social interactions in the workplace as well as among the neighbors.

Besides work, the most important place is occupied by the family. A separate, but an equally important hobby is history and politics, both the grand one and the smaller, local one. Everywhere, whether at work, at home or social occasions, he participated in discussions, impressing everyone with his historical knowledge and his levelheaded outlook on current developments in the USA, the world, Poland, and Iraq. He also was, is, and always will be a great patriot, an ambassador of the Polish cause. After all, as he writes in the closing sentences of his memoirs, neither education nor wealth is important; what is important for us is to represent our country with dignity, wherever we might find ourselves.

From the Foreword by Wladyslaw Sobecki

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 21, 2008
• ISBN: 9781452090795

Book preview

© 2010 Jan Kobylarz. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 9/30/2010

ISBN: 978-1-4343-2644-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4520-9079-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2007908472

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Jan Kobylarz

Machinists and Engineers

Building the Power of the USA

This book is dedicated to the

machinists and engineers

who contributed to building the

power of the United States of America

Contents

Foreword

The First Day in America

Joy at Home

Our Neighbors

General Electric

Ragen Precision Industries, Inc.

Everyday Life

Grinding

The Family Grows

Our Own House

New Friends

Triangle Tool Co. in Union, New Jersey

New House in East Hanover

Paramount Machine & Tool Corp.

Conquering the Moon

Mass Production

Bosses and Co-workers

Ten Years of Work

The Kids Are Growing and So Are the City’s Problems

Citizenship and the Trip to France

The Operation

Flowers

Visit in Poland after 30 Years

The Assault on the Working World

Wałęsa’s Solidarity

Nabisco in East Hanover

Silver Wedding Anniversary

My Son Hunts and Studies

Changes in the Country and at Work

Magnesium

Discussion at Our House

A Pleasant Surprise

The Catholic Church in Poland

Fishing

Fishing Friends

The Banished Man

The Farewell

The Good Administrator

Intrigues

Coffee-Break Conversations

The Man-Made Lake

Vocational High School

Russell’s Return

The Kind Claire

The House in Hopatcong

Grynberg and Greenberg

Chromalloy Corp.

The Devlieg Machine

Russell’s Return and His Sons

A Job Well Done

Meeting at the Town Hall

A Serious Client

Troubles are Easy to Come by

Family Troubles

Farewell to the Inspector

Bush

My Wife’s Two Surgeries

Police in East Hanover

Lech Wałęsa

A Cigarette Helped

Elite Machine

My Russian Friend

Gorbachev

People Fired and Quitting

Eddy is Sick

New Administrator

Fathers’ Visits

Kuwait

Colorado

Crazy Horse and Mt. Rushmore

The Last Months in Paramount

Alaska

The First Year of Retirement

Female Blue-Collar Workers

George Products in Livingston, New Jersey

Secrets

All Alone

Stupid Decision

The Last Job

Serious Mistake

Presidential Election

Bill Clinton and Israel

Yugoslavia (Southern Slavs)

Poland

Discussion at My Brother’s

My Sister-in-law

Departure

President Clinton’s Affairs

Letter to the Senators

Driving to Alaska

The Whales and the Halibut

New Year at Sophie’s

Health Service in Poland and in the US

Excel Precision

The Old Friendship that Never Died

Extraordinary Elections

A Conference of 100 Nations in Durban

(The fictitious) Powell’s address (fragments)

Caught Unawares

Afghanistan

Conversation with Junior

An Unpleasant Sign

My Wife’s Health

My Son’s Second House

Letter to Terrorists

Chris and His Friends

First Letter to President Bush

Tool & Die Co.

Creators of Anti-Semitism

Family

Schools, Courts, and Bakeries

The Democratic Party Convention

Memories of an Old Friendship

Sports

Bush Won

The Final Discussion

The Grocery Store

The Friends

A Cruel Murder of a Wife

Epilogue

The Middle-Eastern Postscript

Foreword

The author of the memoir Polish Adventurer, published in 2001, offers us the sequel to his previous reminiscences. They captivate through the honesty and richness of observation on his first steps on the hospitable American soil, the laborious efforts to master the ins and outs of a difficult profession, and gaining a widespread appreciation in his professional and local communities.

Jan Kobylarz came to the new country, which years later would become his second motherland, with a sizeable load of life experiences, hardened by fighting on battlefields and in struggles with adversity.

What stands out in this memoir, however, is above all the work that he has treated with exceptional seriousness from the very beginning, describing himself as the little screw that drives itself into the grand technology as all round machinist and invincible form grinder.

Readers not familiar with modern technology will have to be impressed in this fascinating story by the thoroughness with which the author describes complicated production processes and high-precision items produced by his skilled hands. Also astonishing is his ability to recollect the details of social interactions in the workplace as well as among the neighbors.

Besides work, the most important place is occupied by the family. A separate, but an equally important hobby is history and politics, both the grand one and the smaller, local one. Everywhere, whether at work, at home or social occasions, he participated in discussions, impressing everyone with his historical knowledge and his levelheaded outlook on current developments in the USA, the world, Poland, and Iraq vigorously.

He also was, is, and always will be a great patriot, an ambassador of the Polish cause. After all, as he writes in the closing sentences of his memoirs, neither education nor wealth is important; what is important for us is to represent our country with dignity, wherever we might find ourselves.

Władysław Sobecki

The First Day in America

The first evening spent at the Kosiks, our sponsors, should be considered exceptional, especially for my wife Janine. After five days of not eating on the ship, she was trying to swallow something to strengthen her body. Unfortunately, despite her willingness to do so, she was unable to swallow her food because of her sore throat. I, on the other hand, being used to sour dishes, did not complain and ate her portion of kapuśniak sour kraut soup without difficulty. The next day was especially difficult for me, not because of my own comfort, but my wife’s and my 10-month-old daughter’s. On the April 3, 1957, which was the next day, it became a little warmer and the snow that greeted us the night before had completely disappeared. We went with Mrs. Kosik to see that temporary place at 174 8th Street, just opposite a Polish catholic school.

In two months I will have a nice apartment for you, said Mrs. Kosik, but right now you will be living here, in the basement for a very small rent, almost for free. You can choose the necessary furniture for your temporary stay here from my place. The bed is here as well as several pretty good dishes.

The same day we had the most needed furniture and dishes delivered to us. In the Kosiks’ store, I met a man named Tadeusz Srokosz, a lathe operator and machinist employed at the NJ Welding & Machine Works on Grant St. Using him as a reference, I could get a job at that plant.

That metallurgical plant where you work, will certainly suit me well. Having said that, I glanced at Srokosz, who looked content and maybe even surprised that without knowing the place yet, I could perfectly appreciate the value of working with metals. Coming back from the Kosiks’ store, we purchased some groceries for a few dollars. The Immigration Committee subsidized the travel and gave us some money for the first purchases in the new country.

Janine is an ideal housewife and cook. She bought quite a lot of food. She also did not forget about wine, to toast this first day of our fortune. The meat was cooking in the pan, I peeled potatoes, she washed them, cut, and put on the electric stove. Sophie, our little daughter played with the toys that our upstairs neighbor brought for her. The primitive table had been set and the window covered with some kind of rug so that we would not be visible from the street. We started eating our first supper in the USA.

"En bonne sante," we said together to each other. Janine looked at me and at our daughter Sophie, who was sitting on a chair that was the same size, so that her head was barely visible above the table, and she started to cry bitterly, unable to utter a word. Although deeply remorseful myself, I did not reveal my weakness. After a moment, she suddenly started talking:

Over there, in Cherbourg, we had a room in the attic, and here we are in the basement, so where is better? she looked at me sadly.

It was bad there because we had to climb up high. Here it is too low but it’s warm.

I still preferred to climb up high, she said.

Don’t worry. When we find something that we like and it fits my earnings, we will drop this stinky hole with this broken, rickety bed. Tomorrow I will go to the place where Srokosz works, don’t worry.

For some peace of mind, we drank the wine one more time to forget. In the end, I asked her not to write home that we lived in a basement.

It is not about your mother, she is indifferent, but your father, the old chap, will worry himself ragged. He was constantly asking what kind of job I could get. He knew I had no profession.

During the time when my wife was putting our daughter to sleep in her crib, I recalled my mother’s story that in the beginning she would be crying her eyes out about the house – the barn of which my father was proud since people were marveling at his abode. Now I, his son, see my wife in tears in the basement, maybe more so than my mother and her mother-in-law was 34 years ago.

After a well–slept night and a breakfast, I went to the address I had been given. I saw an imposing building of the plant, long and wide, squeezed in-between the streets. The door was so wide that cars could pass one another and go in and out to the other side of the plant. From both sides of this wide walkway there were wide entrances to the departments with various machines for rolling and cutting sheet metal. A lot of scrap-iron, plates, rails, sheet metal, and various equipment, and among it all move grimy people. It looks like they are doing something, like they are looking for something. They talk loudly to overcome the noise of the squeaking cranes and pounding hammers. I keep going towards milling machines, to the very corner of the building. It is more quiet here than in the middle. Upon seeing me, pleased Srokosz took me to the office upstairs where Bill Groehner, the president of the company was working. He stood up from the chair, greeted me and said while smiling slightly:

I heard that you were interested in metallurgy. Would you like to gain more knowledge about this topic?

Of course, Mr. Groehner, this is why I came to you. To get a job.

OK, you will start with the basics, then. Get familiar with the kinds of iron, get to know their dimensions, sort them by size and name. Which material can go to which machine to be processed. We have huge drills and rolling machines, and the most interesting will certainly be the lathes and milling machines in Srokosz’s department.

When Srokosz saw my personal data with my education, he told me that I was above everybody else there. After coming back home, I told my wife about the meeting with the president of the company:

I am starting on the job tomorrow. I noticed that the job is going to be pretty good to start with, even though not very clean. One dollar fifty an hour, that is not too bad for starters, is it?

Was the president nice when you talked to him?

Quite nice at the first meeting. I had an impression that he just recently stopped working manually, started dressing nicely, sat behind the desk, and nominated himself the president of the company.

Why then have you decided to take this job since it was only the first place? Maybe others could be cleaner and safer?

"Do you think I will go to make cardboard boxes? I am not a lieutenant, I am a corporal. Here in America, there is bolszaja tiechnika (big technology) and I, as a small screw, will join it. After the war, there was a saying in Poland, ‘Not a high school diploma but honesty will make you an officer,’ and here, my honesty is going to make me a toolmaker, like Srokosz, or an engineer."

It is customary to introduce a new employee to everybody in the work place. And so my toolmaker, whom I had known for two days, gave me a tour of the entire place in a few minutes. I shook over twenty friendly hands extended to me. At the same time, I noticed who works with what and what machine they operate. Every newly hired employee started the job one hour later than everybody else did. My first instructor who taught me how to cut four-foot wide, ⅜ inch thick and 10-foot long plates, happened to be an Italian, over fifty years old. He was skinny and rather short. I did not have a chance to really get tired working with him. He was understanding, honest, and calm. If they would pay him more, he would work faster, he told me, because he knew his job. The barrels he was making came out round, as they should. I delivered the plates on a cart and set them aside for the flat parts to be cut with a torch.

During lunch, I got to know several Polish people: Janek Suszek, Sukiennik, Ostapski, and two brothers – Franek and Bronek Matusiak. Franek and Bronek were already advanced at the job. They knew draftsmanship well; they could put together and solder huge tobacco dryers to be sent to Virginia. Those that did not have bathrooms at home – and I was one of them – took showers at work almost every day, depending on the work they did. In order not to tire the wives too much, the company sent the clothes to the cleaners. It was desirable to have several changes of clothes, even the company’s navy-blue uniforms if somebody wanted them.

After getting back home, my daughter and her mother clung to me; the little one hung around my neck and my good lady, in the French fashion, hugged and kissed me on the cheek. The three of us loved being together.

I was never bored during my free time at work. I could speak some English and I also talked a lot with the Polish people during lunch, discussing various topics, most of them of political nature. There was always enough work, and the workers were doing their job well. Billy, the owner, had many contacts among businessmen in the industry. His son-in-law, Fred Reiff, was knowledgeable and traveled a lot, making new contacts. Another son-in-law, Erg Walltz, fat as a hog, would solve all the technical problems. He was visible everywhere and always ready to offend somebody except his trusted friends. Only Teddy, the head of the department, bravely opposed the chubby fellow.

For some time I drilled holes for the screws and rivets in 40-foot long, one-foot wide and one-inch thick plates. The holes were ¾ of an inch size, with a large, 90-degree groove for the rivets. These plates were designed for shipbuilding. My growing experience and ability to sharpen the drills was making the job pleasurable and done with precision.

After several weeks, I was assigned to Paul, a Greek my own age, shorter than me and quite nice. He was already a machinist and worked for Srokosz, and sometimes worked on a huge planing machine. There was plenty of work for that machine. At that time, I befriended John and Hank, Bill Groehner’s brothers. They noticed that I was not kissing up to the brothers-in-law and the old man; I was being myself and valued myself as a conscientious worker. At every encounter, whether individually or together, and even when seeing the brother—the owner of the company—they looked at him ominously. They told me they had been the ones that worked hard to keep the company afloat during the recession, and during the war, they worked 15-hour shifts due to labor shortages. The brothers-in-law were not from poor families. They provided money for the purchase of several machines and for partial modernization, they got a share in the company, and now they rule like the owners.

And what percentage is your share? I asked.

My dear Jan, said John. I am even ashamed to admit. We work because we have to.

I am like a blacksmith, said Hank, and he rules over Srokosz and this small department, and we are wronged by our brother and his brothers-in-law.

Joy at Home

I did not even get a chance to close the door behind me when I heard the joyful voice of my wife.

Jan, we have rooms available in the next house, at an old Slovak woman’s place.

Are they ready to be occupied? I asked.

She said that her tenants were moving in two weeks. She opened the door and showed me a nice and clean apartment; trust me. I told her that we would take it even though it is $50 a month. Maybe it is too expensive, huh?

And how did you communicate with her?

We have been here for a month and a half already; I am starting to catch some words a little. I understand this old Slovak woman the best. She speaks slowly because she is a foreigner; born in Europe, she has lived here since she was fifteen years old. She occupies the first floor and our apartment will be on the second. On the third floor lives a Russian officer. I also spoke with him.

Janine, I am glad that you make friends in the neighborhood. And what about those two sisters that gave you the stroller for Sophie – do you talk to them?

They always sit on those high stairs. When they see me, they run to see our daughter. I move the canopy so they can peek inside since the stroller is as deep as a well and she can hardly be seen down there.

Do you want to go to the Srokoszs’ for coffee this Saturday? He probably wants to brag that he has a new house, which he bought a week ago.

OK, we will go and see. I am curious myself how he could afford it.

Before drinking to celebrate the purchase of the house, we took a walk around it. I admired its strong walls, Venetian windows and the fact that eight families live in there. Seven tenants will be paying for his house. It is a good investment as Mrs. Kosik said. All she has to do is go to the tenants and collect the rent.

You know what, Teddy? In two weeks, we are moving out of that dungeon since my wife found an apartment in the neighborhood.

Jan, I heard from many people that Mrs. Kosik used to be a cowgirl some time ago. People laughed that she rounded hundreds of cows from the fields for her rancher and that way got her fortune. You saw that she never parts with her cowboy boots. She is also a partisan. She goes around and talks people into voting. She is everywhere; the entire city knows her.

After drinking to the eight-family house, Mrs. Srokosz offered Janine a job in New York. The work involved cleaning offices in skyscrapers. My poor wife went with good expectations, thinking that the work would be pleasant and not tiring. Yet, with each day, her enthusiasm was thinning when the tiredness got deeper and deeper after each night. I noticed it and asked, Do you still want to clean the floors and that office junk? Our daughter also cries for you. I had the feeling that it was not the right job for you. I will tell Tadek that you are quitting.

Not too long after that, we settled into our new house.

Our Neighbors

The Murawskis are a respectable family. He is a Russian from the Ukraine, a Red Army lieutenant. He survived imprisonment in Germany and was a good friend of Polish officers in the German camp. When the Americans liberated a Polish and Russian camp near by, to avoid being transferred with the Russian prisoners of war to Russia (in other words, Siberia), he fled to the Polish camp and there to his officer friends. Since he spoke Polish pretty well and put on a shabby Polish uniform that they gave him, he stayed in Germany. The Americans did not dare to send the Poles and other Allies to their countries under Bolshevik rule, Alex said. He married a Hungarian woman born in Germany, a pleasant woman of good character. They had a seven-year-old son.

Alex was employed at the railroad station and unloaded food from train cars. He would bring home a lot of fruit, vegetables, and cans, and he would treat us to them, too.

He was very eager to work, even if the work was dirty, like with coal. He had a friend whose name was Schmal. One Saturday he invited the Schmals, a Russian woman with her husband and us. Several shots were enough to dance a lively Cossack dance. The Russian woman started it, Mrs. Schmal followed her, and I could feel that my legs were somewhat wobbly, just right for the Cossack dance. I could not lead myself but I was following the ladies in great style. I was stamping as they did, imitating them well. The Russian woman praised me that I dance like the Russian Cossack.

You know what? This is the first Cossack dance in my life and probably the last one.

Pa chemu? she asked. Why?

I was dancing because I was drunk, and I am certainly not going to be so drunk again in my life.

Our first Christmas was coming. My wife was more knowledgeable about gifts than I was. She already knew many stores, but I got to know the best one: with fur coats. We bought a fur coat for her and some toys for our daughter. The timing was right. Bill Goehner organized a Christmas party for the employees and customers. There was food and liquors galore there. The band was playing for all the feasting people. Everybody received an envelope with a check, and my wife and I got $300 as a Christmas bonus, after working for 7 months.

The second summer passed. The president’s brother suggested that I buy a tool chest and some tools, which would allow me to work with Srokosz. I will be more useful there. The youngest of us all, but living here the longest, Frank advised me to take a lathe-operating course, starting in a few days at the Dickinson High School in Jersey City.

After the course, you will be able to direct the lathe work, and not just move the materials from place to place around here, he advised.

Frank was very wise. He came here as a child, graduated from middle school and has already been working for several months. I told my wife about the course and she agreed but she was afraid to be left alone at home with the child.

Listen, I said. "The lady lives downstairs, Murawski upstairs, what are you afraid of?

I hear that drunken people walk here every night and they fight. You sleep so you do not hear them, she responded.

Let them fight among themselves, if they are so dumb.

When Mrs. Nowak, the wife of my friend from France who now was my neighbor, found out that I was going to take the lathe-operating course, she decided to take an English course at the same school. By the way, let me mention how lucky Nowak was to marry this respectable and wise woman, 10 years younger than he was. While living in Wrocław, Nowak and his friend rented a room from her mother. The only daughter, Renata, a native Pole who grew up in the formerly German territory, received permission and left for West Germany. Nowak learned through his friend, who married her mother, that Renata was living with her father. Thanks to his efforts, she came here and the gap-toothed Ed (he has a tooth every half-kilometer, laughed Renata) married her. We attended their modest wedding reception.

The course took over two months, three times a week for three hours in the evening. There was one hour of the English language for all the newcomers, one hour of draftsmanship and interpretation of drafts, and finally a practice on the lathe. The basement of the High School was indeed a smith shop. Twelve young people go down to the lathe department after the lesson of draftsmanship and one minute after them, an instructor named Kurtz.

Good evening, students, he said.

Good evening, Sir, several of them responded.

Here, in the basement, in the lathe department you will start working as lathe operators, and during the spring course you will learn about other machines like the milling machines, planing machines, and, finally, grinders. These two courses will become the beginning of your life careers and your great pride that you will be very useful in the technological progress of the twentieth century. Every item that you make will be used in some machine or in everyday tools. When you see what the things you make in your plant will be used for, you will certainly brag that you have made some parts of the machine.

Each of us received his own lathe. I got the second one. The instructor, standing by his machine, showed us the main parts, touching them individually – the bed with legs and the headstock with the motor. Finally, he gave us a list of all the parts of the lathe.

You will have to list at least 10 of them at the next lesson, OK? he asked.

The rollers on the machine are one inch. We will bring them to ¾ inch. What would it be in the thousandths? he asked.

750 thousandths, somebody responded.

You have these measurements on those plastic cards. Look at them all the time and memorize.

After some questions from us, we all turned on the machines at the same time so that the basement started trembling. Having brought the pieces to dimension 750 we took them down and called our machines’ numbers for the instructor to measure the pieces and evaluate whether they were smooth and precise.

It was the most pleasant evening for my wife when I told her that I have already started working on the lathe.

It’s good that you are interested in it. When you complete this course, you will surely get a job somewhere else.

Just as you once wrote to your family that we have a nice place to live, nicely furnished, you can now write to your father that I am taking a lathe-operator course. Let my father-in-law not worry and let Jean Voisin be happy that his profession will also be mine. I will be a brother-in-law in his own profession.

Bronek and I approach a truck full of rails bound with steel bands, some even with wires. We direct them to the biggest shop to arrange them by size, at the same time cutting the bands and wires with scissors. To help Bronek, I grab a hammer lying nearby, which belongs to the welder.

Who allowed you to use this hammer?

I allowed myself because it belongs to the company, I said, irritated.

Passing by, old Bill stopped when he heard the quarrel.

This is my hammer and not the company’s. Do you understand?

I will repeat, you moron, that both this hammer and you are the property of the company, which means that every one of us can use it.

He could not stand this any more, so he lifted his hand to show me his middle finger, looking to several spectators for confirmation that he was right. On my part, being offended by this unpleasant gesture, I showed him our Polish sign with a clenched fist and an arm bent at the elbow. And I, not he, received a praising applause. After the end of this one-minute attraction, Bill Groehner wanted to show that he still has some strength left. He grabbed the smaller rails and started sorting them in his own way. Most likely, he used to do this before he started wearing his white shirt.

In the conversation with my buddies, I found out that Joe-the-welder and only a few others from the company are native-born Americans. The owner and his brothers came to America as children. So our European origin somehow connected us, just as did their American origin, of which they were excessively proud and sometimes arrogant.

Do not think that they will help you, added Ostapski. This big Max who works at the wall, do you think he will help you? I often ask him to show me something, because for the life of me, I cannot manage yet, but he usually excuses himself saying that he does not have time.

After a while, during the lunch break, I had a chance to exchange a few words with Joe. He waved for me to come. He always sat by himself. I asked him what country his parents came from.

I have been an American for many generations, he responded.

It is a good thing that you are proud of yourself. I have also been Polish for generations but I respect others who were once looking for bread in our land.

During lunch, I told my co-workers that my wife went to work cleaning offices. Personally, I preferred that she would stay at home and take care of the children, rather than defending herself from the bosses that tell her how much she has to get done in eight hours. She was simply afraid of their advances once they found out that she was French.

Janine did not have time to be bored. Mrs. Nowak lived nearby on the third floor of the house with the basement we knew so well. Ostapska, the wife of my co-worker and German by origin, was coming to us for a chat with her small son who was three years older than our Sophie. Edek Nowak and I could not get a word in when they started jabbering to each other. We had to take nips and only listen, because they were overpowering us. Besides, Nowak was a man of few words and tended to mutter. Renata Nowak talked with Ostapska as a lady from Wrocław should – nicely, in Polish, and also a little bit in German. A nurse from Berlin spoke fluently German and a little bit of Polish, which she learned from her mother. My Janine, who is French, could only speak English with them, so she quickly mastered the language.

During our first lathe-operating lesson, the instructor invited us to ask him about anything if we had any questions. It turned out that he was able to explain theoretically and practically each part that was being made. We preferred to perform the actual operations to get more practice. Nobody was asking how to drill holes. That was easy, but when we got to the surfaces of larger and varied materials like aluminum or cast iron, the cutting tools could not withstand it, even the carbide ones, and they broke easily. It was then that the teacher was being asked to come to the machine to advise at what angle the tool bit should be cutting and at what speed. When he approached the machine, he said to everybody, Here is the rule! A hard material should be done on slow speed, since the tool bit has to cut more and deeper. A soft one, like aluminum, should be done on a very fast speed with constant supply of oil with kerosene or the milky-white fluid you know.

Despite the dust, it was a pleasure to work with the castings. Only the threading required a special oil so as not to damage the thread. It was also necessary to add some oil to the reamer to keep accurate measurements. After finishing the surface, the next task was usually to drill the hole and to thread it, or to bore to enlarge the dimension. It was often necessary to make grooves of exact dimensions and depth. Somehow, it was not working out. Most often, the bottom of the groove was rough. It was necessary to reduce the speed and use a narrow tool bit, and then repeat working on the groove back and forth. The instructor would patiently put the bad pieces on a separate pile. They will come handy for another project, he said. Every piece had to be made to the dimensions specified in the blueprint. If one of us was able to make all the elements without difficulty, he was asked to repeat the same procedures supposedly to gain more practice and not to stand idly. You should show your eagerness to work, he said. After some 30 work-hours, during which we repeated the more difficult tasks many times, every one of us was sure that we would manage on the job. We developed a good understanding of the machine and the right shapes of tool bits for different tasks, the knowledge of how to read blueprints, and even having the ability to draw, under the supervision of an ideal engineering professor.

The last day of class was held in the basement of Dickinson High School in Jersey City. It was the most important day, qualifying us for the profession that was supposed to guarantee us a good future from now on. Instructor Kurtz congratulated everybody individually and handed all of us the certificates of the lathe-operator course completion.

The last hour of the lecture was also an informative lesson of the history of metallurgy from the ancient times through the present.

Six thousands years ago, the engineer started his talk, "in today’s Iraq the Sumerians smelted bronze from copper and tin. They also knew gold and silver. They did not know iron yet. Historians only speculate that about 2500 B.C. Egypt already had iron, but it is sure that Syria and Palestine had iron in 1000 B.C. The Greeks were making their moldings from iron. They were considered to be the smartest of the classical period. The mathematician Pythagoras or Archimedes philosophized about the screw as the main element of mechanics. Leonardo da Vinci, the Italian engineer, designed plans for the lathe. His machine was never made. Only in the eighteen century, watchmakers added some momentum since they needed precise parts for watches. Lathes were very popular at the end of the 18th century and at the beginning of the 19th century. They were used for making cogwheels and very complicated machine parts for steam engines and ships. This means that the lathe operator is the first machinist in metal tooling.

I wish you, my dear friends, engineer Kurtz continued, that you shape your lives like the blacksmith has been shaping metal and that you make beautiful and precise elements that will bring much satisfaction to you, your employers, and your families.

Leaving the school, we all said good-byes to each other as becomes of young people, mostly in their twenties. My ladies also finished their English language course. They were pleased to be already speaking English with each other so soon. They did not want to speak Polish to me either. They said that from now on they would be teaching their husbands. To match all that joy I invited them to us to celebrate finishing the course. My wife was very happy to hear about the end of the course since she was still afraid of the bad people at the end of the street.

Janine, Nina told her, don’t be afraid of them at all. They are not dangerous, maybe only by the looks. They do kind of fight, or rather yell among themselves, but somehow they are afraid to touch the passers-by.

Nina spoke mostly in English but would sometimes use Ukrainian, which I then translated for my wife.

You know what? It seemed strange to me that there were no blacks at our work or in the lathe-operators course. Where are they hired? I remember that there were plenty of them in the American transportation units in Germany and France, working as drivers, mechanics, and military policemen. We do not even see a black policeman here.

It would be good if they had some of their own kind here since they know better whom they can catch, explained Edek. He said there were plenty of them where he worked with cardboard. The work there is pleasant and not very hard.

And how is Pietia, your husband? Does he still want to buy a grocery store in New York? He already tried several times to talk me into being his partner. If something came up here, in New Jersey, maybe I would do it, but over there?

I heard that Edek, your husband, is going to take the airplane-steward course.

Not before the spring. I do not like it; he is going to fly and will be a guest at home. I hope that he does not pass that course. When our children – whom we do not have yet – grow up a little, I will eventually go to work in the hospital. It is the job I used to do while I was in Wrocław and I like it very much. Thank you for the drink and the tea, added Nina.

Thank you for having spent a little time with us and please come back to visit us again.

Mr. Kobylarz, as far as we can tell, you talked less but you proved more. You already have a daughter, and we still have not cooked up anything.

Madame Nina, I noticed that your husband, Włodzimierz, looks somewhat frigid. Please kindle his fire so that you can enlarge a little the Ukrainian community here in this foreign land.

Listen to what I want to tell you. I want to finish a second course. I wanted to do what Murawski did, who – naturally knowing the right people - got a job on a construction site in Trenton. Do you remember when they did not want to take me and Ostapski to work on the construction site in Journal Square? They required the Builders’ Union identification card. Directing us to another place, this jerk told us that if we get the card, they would accept us. And the union demanded $500 from the start. We were going from one place to another, driven from pillar to post, and we did not have enough money for that yet.

I was praying that you wouldn’t get this job. You could fall down from the heights and then what would I do here without you, all by myself?

You would get some compensation from the union insurance; a large amount for sure.

Jean, we left our countries to live here together until we get old, OK?

"What do you think about that Jaskulski from New York who is married to a French woman? He met me a few times when he came to Nowak. He works at the bank, and I took a bank course—although I did not finish it—in France. He wants to offer me a job. I noticed that he and his wife are both braggarts. Ungar, my best officer from Nacqueville (France), also offered me a job at the New York harbor. Piegza, another friend of Nowak’s, also a Second Lieutenant, who is married to that Polish-French woman with whom you agree a lot, has a dirty job but he constantly talks about luxury cars with the intention of buying one.

I prefer to evaluate houses, not cars, added Janine.

I can see that you value yourself as well, I laughed.

Christmas was just around the corner and my wife was familiar with shopping. Ostapska and Nowakowa asked her to do their Christmas shopping together. They told her to buy several kinds of fish (including herring, mandatory to go with vodka) and to make at least six dishes for the Christmas Eve Vigil supper (Wigilia). Jan will definitely be surprised and he will tell you that finally his wife too is becoming a better Polish woman each year.

Janine told them, "We French do not celebrate Wigilia, but instead, we eat many tasty dishes soaked in wine, cognac, and liqueurs for Christmas. I sensed that they were curious what special dishes we were preparing, so I told them that these were different goose dishes. They understood pâté and lamb. I also told them about the Buche de Noёl, which they did not know. When I make it, I will offer you some. Do not worry, I like to praise my (our) dishes as well," she added.

We spent a wonderful Christmas at the Ostapskis.

You have been working on those rolling machines for several months now – do you like this job? I started the conversation to enliven him since the guy was very quiet."

I do and I do not. If I found something better, I would drop this one to hell! You, Johnny, did the right thing that you got to know the lathe. I wish I had gone with you.

I was glad that this meant a good future.