Stanley: The Asian American Connection

By George Buck Rainosek

Stanley is a book about an orphan who is sent to an orphanage after both his parents die. He is taken in by an Asian America family. When he discovers that Ju Sung is able to teach him martial arts and other skills in order to allow Stanley to help the neighborhood he begins training. The training makes Stanley a Superhero. After Stanley cleans up the neighborhood to make it is safe for people, he leaves home and helps a man recover his granddaughter from a Casino in Atlantic City, helps a widow and her children, He changes many people's lives on his journey. When they discover they have unleashed an ancient warrior who wants to bring the world under his dominance, Ju and Stanley work on a new plan to defeat the ancient warrior.

• Language: English
• Publisher: George Buck Rainosek
• Release date: Sep 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005650742

George Buck Rainosek

George "Buck" Rainosek is the author of books on this page. He lives in Texas and has been a prolific writer most of his life.

Book preview

The Asian American Connection

George Buck Rainosek

CHAPTER 1

STANLEY’S EARLY LIFE

High above the street, on the roof of an industrial building, a figure in a long, flowing, dark grey cape with a snug opening around his neck fastened with a silver dragon clasp, moved effortlessly. He was tall but very muscular and very good looking. His red, blond hair glinted in the moonlight and his eyes changed from blue to green to bright white. He placed his street clothes in a neat pile inside his leather satchel and set it on the rooftop and settled down to watch and possibly participate in the proceedings of the evening. While he was watching keenly, his thoughts drifted back to his childhood.

Alone. This word described to Stanley Kubichuk both his status and how he was feeling. Clutching the box containing his mother’s ashes, the young man squirmed on the bench, tears streaming down his cheeks, his backpack beside him and his suitcase on the floor. The social services office was definitely not where he wanted to be. At just eleven and one half years old, he looked older, more mature, and most certainly highly intelligent. His thick, wavy red-blond hair accentuated his ruddy suntanned face and his blue green eyes flashed like jewels. While he was tall and lean, he looked strong and sturdy.

A lot had happened to Stanley during the past five years. His father’s death in Afghanistan came as a severe blow to both he and his mother. The visit by the armed forces personnel, the military funeral, the presentation of the flag of the United States of America to his mother and the mournful sound of the bugle all seemed to blur together into a tragic film clip. Stanley never felt like part of the film but rather imagined himself an onlooker. He and his mother were shattered at losing father and husband. An IED whirling through the air out of nowhere shattered the body of the man they loved so much. Strong, resilient, faithful, and yet, fragile. He was gone in an instant.

Karol Kubichuk had been an upstanding citizen. He loved his wife and son dearly and he loved his country. That is why he signed up for military duty. He wanted to do what was right and noble. He enjoyed the friendly soldiers in his platoon but at the same time he really missed his family. He didn’t question why he was sent to Afghanistan or even why he was there. His wife and son missed him but understood why he was in the military, probably more than he did. He understood the need for caution but thought Afghanistan would be as safe as any place. He wrote home often and Clara and Stanley sent him letters, pictures and homemade cookies. At least once a month they had a Skype meeting. It was better than nothing. Sometimes it made him feel sad and he desperately wanted to go home to hug his wife and son. He was planning on doing just that but he was keeping it a secret from Clara and Stan just in case it didn’t come out right. He didn’t want them to be disappointed.

No one in the jeep saw it coming. They didn’t expect an explosive to land inside their compound. There were soldiers walking around just feet from their vehicle. It was over before they knew it.

Soon after the funeral Clara went to work and every day Stanley came home from school and he was alone. At first it was hard for Stanley to know how to help his mother. Sometimes he rode his bike around and spent time with his friends. There was that feeling of loneliness, though, and the sadness, the deep profound sadness. While he enjoyed the company of his friends he did not want to burden them with his sadness so he began to take more responsibility around the house. At first he assumed the chores his father had performed when he was at home. He took out the garbage and cut the grass and kept the flower beds weeded. His mother didn’t drive much but she could get them to the grocery store and to the mall. They picked out the groceries together and Stanley packed them into the car and carried them into the house and even put them away.

He watched his mother cook and soon found he could find recipes for practically anything on the internet. Sometimes he didn’t have all the ingredients, but he could ride his bike to the store and get everything he needed easily. Sometimes it was just a matter of improvising. He discovered that pork tenderloin was a suitable substitute for chicken in chicken cacciatore and that it was a lot easier to bread and then dip filet of sole into egg wash and coat liberally with sweetened cocoanut and fry in oil in a frying pan than it was to prepare cocoanut shrimp. His mother relaxed more when she arrived home to a hot meal. Stan learned to do laundry and vacuuming and all kinds of cleaning around their home and after nurturing his mother he still had time to relax, study, and do homework. He was an honor student before the catastrophe and he remained so after the leveling.

As much as Stanley loved his father, he wished his mother would remarry. She was a tiny woman with a nearly perfectly proportioned body. She was blonder than he and his dad and blue/green eyed like both of them and her skin was soft and glowing. Clara was a beauty and Stan didn’t think it would be difficult for her to find someone sincere. Clara wasn’t even thinking along the same lines as her son. She had no thoughts of other men; she didn’t even bother looking at them. She had her robust son to take care of and hardly noticed it was her son who was taking care of her.

Clara got along with her coworkers at work very well, but she just wasn’t ready to begin a new social life. Sometimes she thought if she didn’t have Stanley she would have gone soon after her husband had passed away. While she didn’t understand why her husband had died so young, she found that she had to accept his death. As long as she stayed focused on her son, she was able to make it. Stanley was growing up too soon and she knew it but she was helpless to change things. He was such a good, caring boy who needed an outlet for his feelings. Sometime they would just sit together and drink tea and talk. This seemed to be when they were the closest. They didn’t actually talk about what had happened, but it was always there in their conversation, hidden behind some other thought. When she became sick, at first she just thought it was everything she had kept inside her coming out. She didn’t pay as much attention to herself as she should have. By the time she had the diagnosis it was too late. The cancer had already done so much damage to her, there was no going back. She realized what a tragedy it would be to her son. With both parents gone and no close relatives living in the United States, he would become a ward of the government and subject to their laws and regulations. With pain ravaging her body, she soon thought only about the joy she would experience when she finally saw her husband again.

While Stanley had wanted to believe his mother was thriving, he had begun to notice she tired easily and slept a lot more than normal for an adult of her young age. He cautioned her to see her doctor and she did so. The doctor reported her vital signs were within the limits and she was not noticeably ill. But when she continued to lose strength and look tired, he recognized that something serious must be wrong. When the proper tests were performed and the diagnosis certain, he was informed that his mother had late stage cancer. The doctor explained that there was no treatment for her particular illness. He cared for her at home as long as he could and along with Home Care provided by the Health Care Plan, it worked well. Then she was hospitalized and he was sent to temporary foster homes in the area, so he could visit her often and complete his school year. Just a few weeks into the next school year, Stanley’s mother passed away. In a way he was relieved. He had not felt comfortable watching her waste away and though the doctors tried to adjust her pain medication to her needs, she was still never free of the ravaging pain for more than an hour or so. He would miss her; he would never forget her courage. And now he not only felt alone; he really and truly was alone. His life lay shattered for the second time and he felt helpless to change either his situation or how he felt.

Hopefully Robert Bowen, Stanley’s social worker, could perform some miracle today and he could begin a new life. As he waited outside the office, he heard murmurs and try as he might he could not make out what the people inside were saying. It made it doubly hard for him because the way the meeting turned out could affect him for the rest of his life. He liked Robert and was counting on him to help him adjust without having to deal with harsh situations.

At that moment Robert was in the office of Social Services trying to do just that. Robert had been an orphan himself and he knew the anguish Stanley was experiencing. It was the one reason he had made the decision to give back to the system that had helped him. His charges were never statistics. To him they were like brothers and sisters or sons and daughters. He felt as though the children who passed through his hands would have a chance, would succeed, if only he could make the institutional system work for them the way it had been designed. That is why the slightly built good looking man with fine features stood up confidently with his chest slightly forward, his head high and his back straight when he spoke to the panel of three who were sitting at a board table, meeting at his special request. Stan has been a really good young man, he began confidently. We’ve had no problems with him wherever we placed him, but due to his age and size, we are finding it harder and harder to find him a permanent foster home. I don’t want to see him go to a youth center because I feel it will ruin his good nature. Is there anything else we can do?

An Administrator replied to Robert’s query, instantly. We have reviewed his file and have come to the conclusion that sending him to one of our orphanages until he is sixteen or is adopted would be the best for all parties.

Can I go get him and bring him in? Robert asked. The Administrator waved his hand in a gesture of compliance so Robert walked to the door and invited Stanley into the room. Come and meet the board members, Stan.

Unaccustomed to the tailored suits, fine cotton shirts, silk ties, nylon stockings, fine leather shoes and manicures of the men sitting around the board table, unperturbed, Stan walked boldly into the board room and faced the group. One of the administrators began to speak. Hello, my name is Frank and you must be Stanley Kubichuk. I am very sorry to hear about the passing of your mother.

Stan stood in silence holding onto the box as he listened while another administrator spoke. We have had nothing but good reports about you but we are having a hard time finding you a permanent foster home. We have decided to put you, which we will hope is for a short term, in a young man’s orphanage/boarding school run by the State of New York.

Crying almost uncontrollably Stan latched on to Robert. He barely heard Robert speaking to him. I will keep in touch with you and work hard to find you a permanent home. I know where you are going. There are a lot of young men there around your age. They have lots of facilities and good teachers.

The first administrator spoke quietly, I think we are done here. He stamped a paper with a rubber stamp and pushed it toward Robert. I wish you the best of luck.

Robert addressed the administrators. I will take Stan there, personally.

Robert and Stan picked up the boy’s belongings and began to make their way out of the building. Inside the lobby, they stopped to pick up Stan’s motor-cross bicycle. Robert secretly knew Stan could ride the bike like the wind and at the same time lead off the honor roll at school. He searched his memory and couldn’t think of one of his kids who even came close to that, let alone match Stanley’s credentials as a sportsman and student. Stan and Robert got into Robert’s car and drove off to the orphanage. Are you hungry, Stan? Robert asked.

In a somber voice, still clutching onto his mother’s ashes, Stan said, A little.

Robert stopped the car at a pancake house and they ate but little was said. Stan was still too sad to talk. But it gave both of them a chance to think about the next step in Stanley’s young life.

As Robert drove, he spoke to Stan. Let me tell you a little bit about where you are going. It is a fairly big facility with about one hundred-fifty boys, ages from nine to fifteen. There are about twenty staff members and you’ll be sleeping in a big dormitory. They have workshops, sports facilities and a lot of planned activities. Actually, if you wanted to take a look at all the options, this is the best one for you. You can get a good education, learn new skills, make friends and while you are supervised you will still have a lot of freedom. I think you will like it there.

When Robert finally stopped the car, they unloaded Stan’s belongings without looking around much. The parking lot was quiet and no one was around because the boys were still in classrooms. The School Master, Jim Barkley, a man who looked authoritative, dressed well in a custom tailored suit, shiny shoes and a top brand shirt and tie, was at the top of the stairs waiting for them. You must be Stanley Kubichuk, he said.

Yes, Sir, I am. Pleased to meet you, Stanley replied.

I am Mr. Barkley, the Head Master. He gazed at Stan for what seemed an eternity. Stan felt his eyes piercing his line of sight. He squirmed a little like he did when he felt uncomfortable. But Mr. Barkley soon stopped looking at Stan and turned his head Robert’s way.

Robert pulled a file from his valise and handed it to the Head Master. This should answer all your questions.

Robert looked at Stan, pulled a business card out of his pocket and gave it to him. If you need to call me anytime, please do. Stan placed the business card in his pocket. Robert and Stan embraced each other. As Robert headed down the stairs to leave, Stan picked up his suitcase and was still clutching his mother’s ashes.

You are the biggest eleven year old I have ever seen, Jim Barkley told the boy in a good humored manner. What’s in the box?

With a tear in his eye, Stan looked up at the Head Master. This is my mother. These are her ashes.

Jim Barkley, with dropped shoulders and downturned head, put his arm around Stan and pulled him close to his side. We better find a really safe place for this, he said as he indicated the box. Jim opened the door to let Stanley into the school. Welcome to your new home.

Jim and Stan headed up the stairs to the dormitory. As they walked into the dormitory, Stan could see there were about one hundred fifty beds in the room. Each bed had its own stand-up locker with a dressing table beside the bed. Jim acknowledged the Dorm Master, Frank Parker, an African American in his mid-forties about six feet tall, two hundred pounds with light grey mixed into his black hair and rather than suit and tie he was dressed casually, athletically, actually. Here is your new client, Stanley Kubichuk, Frank. Stan, meet Frank Parker, the Dorm Master. He said as he made the introductions.

Stan put down his suitcase when Frank stuck out his hand to shake Stan’s hand. While shaking Stan’s hand, Frank made a comment, That’s a strong grip. How old are you?

I am eleven.

Frank looked astonished with his eyes wide open and chuckling. Wow you are a whopper! You are a big one for eleven years old! Stan grinned a little.

Jim Barkley told Frank and Stan, I’ll leave you two together right now. School is about to get out. I have to go.

What is this silver box in your hand? Frank queried.

Holding his head down and in a somber voice, Stan replied, These are my mother’s ashes.

I am so sorry. We definitely have to find a safe place for those, Frank told him in a sympathetic voice.

I like to keep them as close to me as possible, Stan stated.

Frank said, Let me take you to your bed. I am going to give you a really special place. As Frank grabbed Stan’s suitcase he turned to Stan and told the young man, Follow me. Frank assigned a bed for Stan close to his own separate quarters by a window looking out onto a beautiful forested area. He put Stan’s suitcase down beside the bed while Stan took his backpack off and set it beside the bed. He set his mother’s ashes on top of the dresser. Frank pulled out a black marker and wrote Stan’s name on a piece of blank cardboard, attached it to the locker then turned to Stan and spoke. Unpack and make yourself at home. The other boys will be out of school soon and they will take you on a tour of the school and show you where everything is. I’ll get you towels, soap, toothbrush, shampoo, etc.

Frank left but returned almost immediately with Stan’s supplies. By this time, Stan was nearly unpacked. The school bell rang and students started filing into the dormitory. Immediately, they gravitated toward Stan. A couple of students got to him first. One said, Welcome to the Pit.

The other one said, I guess your name is Stanley, as he read the name off his locker.

Stan reached out to shakes both of their hands. You can call me Stan.

The two students introduced themselves as Toby and Ricky. They shook hands informally but before they could continue their conversation, they were pushed aside by two older, bigger boys approaching Stan. In a very rude manner, one bellowed. Why do you have this bed? I am supposed to have it. I was going to move my stuff over here after school. I want this window. Before Stan could get a word in, the second boy reached toward the silver box on the dresser. Stan immediately perked up and, in excitement, said, You don’t touch that!

Not heeding what Stan was telling him the first boy tried to push Stan onto the bed. He was surprised when Stan’s immediate reaction was to punch him in the gut. The second boy forgot about the box and began to attack Stan. With his other hand, Stan slugged the second boy in the nose. The bleeding Boy shouted out in pain, grabbed his nose and fell to the ground. The first boy got up off the ground in agony and lunged at Stan who swung again hitting him in the eye, making a small cut. He fell to the floor on his butt. Frank, finally seeing the confrontation, ran across the dorm to address it. Stan grabbed his mother’s ashes and brought the box close to his body while Frank attended to the two injured students. Stan sat down on the bed hugging the box while all the other students were cheering for him.

Frank told Stan to wait where he was till he got back. He then grabbed the two boys off the floor and hastily took them off in the direction of the nursing station for treatment. Toby and Ricky came to console Stan and see if he was alright. They patted him on the back.

Thanks, I have wanted to do that for a long time, Toby told him.

Me, too, Ricky announced with enthusiasm.

Other students came up to Stan, shook his hand and introduced themselves to him while a lot of the boys left the dorm. Frank came back to the dorm and headed over to Stan who was still unpacking. Are you okay, Stan?

They were going to take my mother’s ashes.

Don’t feel bad, Frank told him. I know exactly what happened. I was told by some of the other boys. I have always had trouble with those two and I was kind of hoping that was going to happen one day. I just didn’t know an eleven year was going to do it. By the way, we have a small boxing club here. Would you like you join? I’m the coach.

Sure, Frank. That would be a better outlet for me than knocking everyone out, he replied.

I don’t think you are going to have to worry about anybody touching your box anymore, Frank told him as he turned to go, then turned back. By the way, you broke one of their noses and you gave the other one a black eye and he needed three stitches. As Frank departed, Toby and Ricky came up to Stan. Toby told him, We are going to have supper, soon. Let’s take you on a tour of the school.

Stan was amazed at the orphanage/boy’s school. The grounds were massive and there were all kinds of facilities for sports both outside and indoors. It even had an outside gym. The classrooms were modern and were technologically up to date. The gymnasiums were huge and besides the equipment for team sports they had all kinds of apparatus for gymnastics and weight training. The swimming pool was large and there were a couple of dry saunas and three hot tubs. The school dining room had a pleasing atmosphere and the school kitchen was modern, clean and the staff looked as though they operated it efficiently. He was absolutely pleased to see that the school had a woodworking shop and a metal working area as well as a bike shop. There were other small areas and he made a mental note to check them out later. When he saw an area that was roped off and didn’t seem to be planted in grass, he asked the boys what it was. A garden, they told him.

What kind of a garden? he asked.

A vegetable garden, Toby relied.

The school grows its own vegetables? Stan asked.

Yes, Ricky said. Student’s help out and learn to garden.

I will definitely sign up for that, Stan said enthusiastically.

Stan settled in and became friends with most of the boys in the school and had no further problems with any of them. He began boxing classes after regular school with Frank and soon became very good at moving in the ring, landing shots and ducking incoming blows. He got excellent marks in all of his classes and retained his honor status. He still had his sad moments when he thought about his parents and wondered what they did to deserve their demise. While he didn’t exactly know as much about his father as he would have liked to, he imagined that he was an ethical man, just as honorable as his mother made him out to be. When he wasn’t studying or boxing, he rode his bike.

About a month passed by and Stan decided it was a good day to go for a bike ride. Toby and Ricky rode up on their bikes and asked him if they could join him. Stan was glad for the company on a warm and sunny Saturday morning. When Stan told them he didn’t know where to go, Toby and Ricky told him to just follow them as they knew of so many really good trails near the school. As they rode around the yard, Stan’s chain broke so he yelled at Toby and Ricky, Hey wait. Toby and Ricky turned around and came back to where Stan was assessing the damage to his bike.

When Ricky saw Stan’s bike he told him, Let’s go to the bike shop. John Wee, the instructor will help. He’s really good with bikes.

He’s really funny, too. I like him. You will, too, Stan. Let us show you the way, Toby said as they make their way to the back of the building to the bike shop entrance.

The instructor, John Wee, a small oriental man in his late forties with glasses and a short haircut, dressed in athletic clothes and really nice sports shoes who spoke good English was sorting donated used bikes. Mr. Wee, Toby called out.

Mr. Wee turned toward Toby. Hi, Toby, how are you today? Hey, Ricky, you, too? Toby and Ricky waved to the bike shop instructor.

Ricky pointed to Stan. Mr. Wee this is Stanley Kubichuk.

Stan stuck out his hand toward Mr. Wee. Just call me Stan.

Just call me, John. Oh yeah, John Wee told him with a bit of a Chinese accent, I heard about you. You hung a whupping on those two bad boys. Yeah, they are students of mine. I don’t like them either. What can I help you with?

I broke my chain. Do you have one?

Let me fix it for you, John told him.

I like to work on my bike. If you have the chain and the tools, I can do it.

Turning to his friends, Stan told them to go ahead. I think my bike needs more work than just a chain. I’ll either catch up to you or we can go tomorrow.

The boys agreed and left Stan with John. Sure, Stan, we’ll see you later.

Follow me, Stan, John Wee told him. John and Stan walked into the shop. When Stan saw the shop his eyes opened up wide and he smiled. There was no shortage of work spaces or parts and tools. John took Stan’s bike and put it on one of the bike stands.

Thank you, John. While I have it up here there are a few things I need to check.

John went back outside to continue sorting bikes, leaving Stan the chain and tools to fix his bike. Within a few minutes, Stan had the new chain installed and found other issues with his bike. When John entered the shop, he found Stan with a perplexing look on his face. What is the matter, Stan? Is something not okay?

It has been a long time since I have been able to work on my bike. With my mother passing away, it’s been the last thing on my mind, Stan explained.

Let me look. We have everything here to fix it. John began to examine Stan’s bike. He discovered Stan’s bike needed brake pads and one of his pedals was bent. The bearings needed greasing and the bike needed a bit of detailing to make it look clean. He handed the supplies and tools to Stan as he felt sure Stan could do the repairs himself.

Stan thanked John and went to work while John stripped down bikes at the back of the shop. An hour and a half later, Stan had his bike looking and operating like new. He called John to tell him the job was finished. Impressed with both the quality of the work and the speed with which Stan performed the work, he said, That was fast, Stan. You really know how to work on bikes.

I have always worked on my own bikes. I didn’t have a father around to do it and after my dad was killed in Afghanistan we didn’t have much money so I learned to do repairs myself. I enjoy it. It makes me feel useful to be able to do work with my hands, Stan told the interested teacher.

Would you like to work on more bikes? John inquired.

Does the school repair these for people? What do we do and what is it that you do in this, John? Stan asked.

No, here is how it works. People donate used bikes to us, and if we can, we strip them down and rebuild them. We even paint them, too. Bike shops donate parts and pieces to assist us in doing this. Then we take them to the Community Market four or five times a year and sell them. The money goes into the school treasury.

That sounds like really good work, John. I would love to do that, Stan said.

I donate my time and I have some friends at bike stores that donate their time and some of our students help us, too. We mostly work every weekend and if the workers have time they will also work weekdays, John pitched the program to Stan.

Call on me any time, John. I’d be happy to help out. It sounds great.

Stan’s work in the bike shop turned out to be phenomenal. The quality and number of rebuilt bikes increased so much that the school’s coffers grew rapidly. They had enough bikes to sell so that they went to Market nearly every second or third weekend. Stan continued to be a top student and was well liked by most of his peers. He did extremely well in boxing and Frank bragged about him to anyone who would listen. There was no end to the number of boxing matches to sign Stan up for and Frank took advantage of this. Stan liked the competitions and travelling. With his father in the service and being away so much, homecoming to him was the most important thing. Stan had gone camping and fishing a few times but he really had not travelled much at all, as he remembered. At first he just traveled to nearby cities in New York State and then to New Jersey, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania and eventually to other surrounding states. They travelled a lot by bus and sometimes by airplane. They often stayed in hotels and once in a while they stayed in the homes of other students. Stanley kept a diary of his travels on his laptop and hoped someday he would be able to return to the places he liked the best. He won most of the matches and he knew the school was proud of his achievements. Frank certainly knew for sure that no other student in his boxing class was an honor student like Stan.

One day when the three boys were working in the bike shop, John announced to Stan, Ricky, and Toby, "You three work really well together. This last year has been the most successful year we ever had in this bike program. Mr. Barkley and I just