The Crowned White Eagle: My Polish Legacy

By Anthony P. Kowalski

After eight centuries of growth, the Polish nation was annihilated by its neighbors from east, south and west. Two centuries of repression, enslavement and barbaric abuse followed. Yet the aspiration for freedom and democracy endured in the hearts of its people. Today the crowned white eagle again soars. Kowalski interweaves personal stories of his family and friends in a unique testimony to courage, bravery, and renewed hope.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469168920

Anthony P. Kowalski

Anthony P. Kowalski has often toured Poland and studied its history and culture. He served as educational administrator at a high school, at universities, and at trade associations. He holds a doctorate from NYU, a masters from Fordham, and a bachelors degree from St. Mary’s. He has published articles in professional journals, and one book--Married Catholic Priests (Crossroad, 2005).

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Copyright © 2012 by Anthony P. Kowalski .

Library of Congress Control Number:   applied for

ISBN:   Hardcover               978-1-4691-6891-3

            Softcover                  978-1-4691-6890-6

            Ebook                        978-1-4691-6892-0

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CONTENTS

Introduction

I Poland

II The Business Card

III The Kowalskis

IV Mother’s Story

V The Padykulas

VI My First Visit To Poland

VII The Kowalski Ancestral Village

VIII Exploring Polish Banking

IX Family Revelations

X The Padykula Ancestral Village

XI My Year In Poland

XII Karol Wojtyła, Pope John Paul Ii

XIII The Eagle

Acknowledgements

Endnotes

INTRODUCTION

My love affair with the Polish people began at my mother’s knees. Not quite five years old at the time, I cannot recall the start of World War II, but I do remember the many months after that when I would observe Mother again and again in tears, distraught at the plight of her family in Poland. That image has remained etched in my mind. Mother kept a scrapbook of pictures cut out of the daily newspapers, depicting the invasion of Poland and subsequent acts of brutal atrocity, beginning in late 1939. Wrapped in sorrow, she pored over those pages again and again.

One picture in particular stood at the front of Mother’s album. It depicted the dismantling of Poland’s border barriers by German troops. I later learned that the photo was staged for propaganda purposes by Hitler’s personal photographer, Heinrich Hoffman. Issued at the start of the invasion in September 1939, it displays prominently the Polish eagle on the left and the gleeful band of soldiers going about their task. This iconic image was broadly disseminated to newspapers across Germany and throughout the world. It gave the message Nazis wanted all to hear.

image002.jpg

© Bildarchiv Preußischer Kulturbesitz / Heinrich Hoffmann

During the war, long months passed by with no word from Mother’s family in Poland. Then a letter would arrive. She would eagerly open it, sit down, and cry as she read it. Not being able to read English, let alone Polish, I didn’t understand what it was all about. I remember seeing thick black lines seared throughout the letter, blotting out large sections of text, making it impossible to read whole passages. The Nazi censors had done their work of deleting anything they did not want known. Mother’s sisters had tried to communicate with her, but only portions of the truth were allowed to seep through. Not until much later would the horrid stories be revealed. My quest for those stories set me on a journey.

Our life in the Polish-American community of Trenton, New Jersey, where I grew up, centered on church, family, and school. I cherished each. At church we sang beautiful hymns—a rich variety for all occasions. The joyous Christmas songs, called kolędy (ko-LEN-dy), gave way to the Lenten laments over the suffering Christ, called gorzkie źale (GOSH-khe ZHA-le). These in turn culminated in the joyous and triumphant Easter hymns. In our church not many English hymns were sung, but the traditional Latin sacred works, like the Ave Maria, the Panis Angelicus, and the O Sacrum Convivium, enchanted us.

My family was typically Polish-American for its time. Women wore babushkas in various shades and flowery designs. Men wore caps, which they doffed every time they passed a church, in deference to the divine presence perceived therein. We regularly ate kiełbasy (kyew-BA-sy), pierogi (pye-ROH-gee), and gołąbki (go-WOMB-key) and savored a variety of delicious homemade soups.

At weddings we danced the traditional Polish dances—the polkas and the Oberki. How well I remember my sister Jean’s wedding in 1947. She married Zeke Wozniak, a navy veteran returned from the war. He had served in the Medical Corps and mesmerized us with tales of picking up wounded and dying bodies after the American assault on Omaha Beach.

Over three hundred people attended their wedding. The solemn church nuptials were followed by a gala in nearby Polish Falcons’ Hall, where a Polish band regaled us with traditional melodies. Every arriving couple was greeted with the same memorable refrain before the band resumed the lively dance tunes throughout the night. It was a never-to-be-forgotten event.

At six I entered grammar school—not the local public school, but the Catholic parochial school in our strongly Polish neighborhood, St. Hedwig’s. The school was filled to capacity with two or three classes in each grade, from kindergarten through ninth grade. At St. Hedwig’s Parochial School, besides a firm grounding in the three R’s, the Felician Sisters imparted a thorough Catholic instruction, based in the Baltimore Catechism. And discipline was firm. As proud Americans, we saluted the flag, sang patriotic songs, and strongly supported our American troops, then fighting with our Allied partners against the feared Axis powers. Mindful of the suffering of our Polish relatives, we also sang the Polish national anthem with its doleful opening line—Poland is not yet lost, as long as we live!¹

Toward the end of our grammar school years, my classmates and I persuaded our pastor, Monsignor Lipinski, to sponsor a soccer team in the fifteen-year-old city league. We were proud not only to play on an organized ball team for the first time but also to wear maroon jerseys proclaiming us to be the St. Hedwig’s Eagles. We played our games at the Extension Ball Field in North Trenton, which eventually became a shopping center. From St. Hedwig’s I went on to Trenton Catholic Boys High School in South Trenton, and I was able to continue my soccer playing there.

As I completed my high school studies, the choice of college faced me. I had always done well academically, so my older siblings encouraged me to consider further studies, even though none of them had been permitted to do so. I was the youngest of six. College seemed a far-off dream.

During my senior year, our guidance counselor, Franciscan Fr. Casimir Sabol, summoned me and indicated that I was eligible for a four-year scholarship at a local Catholic college. I thought it over but declined the offer. I had previously discussed the matter with my pastor and indicated to him my desire to study Polish language and culture and work in the Polish-American community. He encouraged me to study at his alma mater, St. Mary’s College, in Orchard Lake, Michigan. I was eager to do so.

Because of my refusal of the initial offer and the need of our family, Fr. Sabol assisted me in securing other financial scholarships. One was provided by the local newspaper—the Trenton Times Scholarship. Another was provided by the local Polish Arts Club of Trenton. With those two cash awards, supplemented by financial assistance from my family, I set off for St. Mary’s in Orchard Lake, Michigan. After two years, my college career was interrupted by a five month stay in a TB sanitorium. I was able to return and complete my final two years at this Polish-American college. Never have I regretted my serious dedication to the Polish language and culture.

In the 1950s when I studied, few colleges existed in the United States where one could secure a good grounding in the Polish language and culture. Since then, unfortunately all have either closed—Alliance (PA) and St. Mary’s (MI)—or have undergone significant