The Donut and the Hole: A Tale of an American History Teacher

By Bob Farina

"The Donut and the Hole" is a compelling novel about growth, self-awareness, and maintaining a strong commitment to your values. William Harrington prioritized pursuing a career that would bring him happiness – not a career that would please his father. His father, Greyson Harrington, was a successful real estate developer who did not have high ethical standards and took advantage of unsuspecting Long Island potato farmers during the post-World War II era. When William refused his father's offer to join the family business – he chose to pursue a teaching career that spanned over 45 years.

His unique style of promoting classroom discussions on the Declaration of Independence, the Civil War, the Vietnam War, the American Indian, the United States Presidents, and his inspirational advice to his high school juniors, earned him the accolade … "he was the best teacher I ever had."

William pursued a teaching career because it brought him happiness. Throughout the novel, readers will come to understand that at the end of the day, life is about choices – and these choices need to be made in accordance with who we are and who we want to be. Sometimes the best decisions are the most difficult ones to make, but are the most gratifying.

While William went on to flourish in his career educating future generations, a rift developed between him and his father. His father never came to fully accept William's decision, and could not overcome his son's decision to pave his own way. This captivating novel serves as an ever-present reminder that doing what is right is not without consequences – but it is certainly worthwhile in the end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667841441

Bob Farina

As a native New Yorker, Bob Farina is a graduate of St. John's University who enjoyed a 30-year corporate executive career with Bloomingdales Department Store and a 10-year career as President and COO of Hart Systems. Bob relocated to Charleston, SC in 2006 and now is a real estate professional servicing the greater Charleston area. He has published three prior novels. Bob and his wife, Mary Ann, reside on Daniel Island in Charleston. Their daughters Allison and Carolyn, along with their grandchildren, live in the Carolinas as well. An avid golfer, Bob enjoys many of Charleston's great courses.

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Copyright © 2022

By Bob Farina

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher.

ISBN: 9978-1-66784-143-4

eBook ISBN: 978-1-66784-144-1

For

Laurance Anderson

A dear friend and a lifetime educator

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

The Road Not Taken

By Robert Frost

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Author’s Note

About the Author

Chapter 1

1903

N iech spoczywa w pokoju, chanted Father Kowalczyk. May he rest in peace. He reached down and grabbed a handful of the fertile Polish soil and threw it on the roughhewn pine coffin that contained the body of Bartek Baranski. As the farmhands slowly released the rope through their hands, the coffin began its slow descent into the grave. The Baranski cemetery was located behind the family homes, which were centered on an eight-acre lot, eighty-five miles southeast of Warsaw in the lush and bountiful Lubelskie province. Three days ago, at a local farmers’ association evening meeting, Bartek was in the middle of a strong, confrontational and volatile argument with others, when he suddenly yelled out, Oh, the pain. Help me. Clutching his chest with both hands, Bartek collapsed onto the floor. His face was a mask of agony with his eyes tightly closed and his mouth wide open emitting piercing groans. Three minutes later, Bartek Baranski was dead, with his hands still over his chest.

The Baranskis had been farming the land for over one-hundred years, but Poland was now on the brink of yet another revolution. The combination of the growing political turmoil coupled with the deteriorating economic plight of the people, set the stage for the uprising. Thousands of Polish workers lost their jobs, and there was talk of protest and strikes all over Poland. Warsaw was at the center of the unrest. The Poles were defying the strong-armed attempt for them to give up their culture and language and be assimilated by Russia into their imperial nation. Bartek Baranski, a farmer, was at the center of the local faction of the Polish Socialist Party, which actively supported protests, sometimes violent, to reclaim their independence from Russia. Not all the farmers agreed with the planned protests that Bartek was supporting. Instead, the appeasement faction felt that the Polish government should work with Russia to increase the Polish representation in the Russian parliament.

There was a loud thud when the coffin finally reached the dirt. Bartek’s wife, Elzbieta, was startled at the sound and moaned, Bartek, my Bartek, and began whimpering.

Her son, Jacek, put his right arm around her shoulder, and comforted her, Papa was a good man, Mama ... I was proud to be his son. Her other son, Olek, held her right arm and said, It’s time, Mama. With that, they each reached down and picked up a handful of soil and sprinkled it onto the coffin below. Jacek’s wife, Magdalena, and Olek’s wife, Celina, as well as all the neighboring farmers, also picked up dirt and tossed it down into the grave, each adding … Rest in peace.

They all returned to the main house for some food and refreshments. After an hour, when all the farmers left, Jacek spoke to his mother, Mama, Magdalena and I have decided not to go to America and work on Uncle Henryk’s farm. We will stay here to help you with our property.

No, Jacek. Both of you will go next month. Your brother, Olek, and his wife Celina, will be here and we will manage the land just fine.

Mama, please. I do not feel right leaving you. We can go in the next few years.

Bartek and his brother, Henryk, spent their entire lives working the farm alongside their parents. They grew rye, barley, and oats, but most of the land was dedicated to the potato crop, which was the main produce of the plantation as it was for most of the farms in Poland. But two years ago, Uncle Henryk left Poland and emigrated to the United States. The family heard all about his decision not to journey to Chicago and work for the Swift Meat Packing Company. Instead, Henryk chose to stay in New York City. However, after working six months in a slaughterhouse on West 39th Street in Manhattan, Henryk yearned for the outdoors and headed East to the vast farmlands on Long Island.

I will not hear of it! Now is your time. Your Uncle Henryk needs you on his farm in America. Olek and Celina will stay with me, and you and Magdalena will be with Uncle Henryk.

Manhattan is an island surrounded by water, but there is no sand-beach access for people to enjoy a reprieve from the summer heat of the city. It is the expansive Long Island beaches along the south shore and the smaller intimate beaches in the coves and inlets of the north shore that provide the much sought-after refuge. Prior to 1883, Long Island was accessed only by boat. However, the mile-long, cable/suspension Brooklyn Bridge, completed in 1883, changed everything. It was not only an engineering marvel at the time, but it significantly altered the importance, and thus the real estate value, of Long Island. Beginning in the early 1890s, almost all of the industrial revolution fortune-giants built opulent mansions and castles along the Gold Coast, the north shore harbors of Manhasset, Glen Cove, and Oyster Bay. However, more importantly, the bridge provided an access for the huge influx of immigrants pouring into New York City from Europe. Brooklyn and Queens enjoyed a meteoric rise in housing, but the one-hundred miles of land further out on Long Island, beyond the Queens border, was predominately farmland. It was on the central Hempstead Plains that, in 1902, Bartek’s brother, Henryk, arrived in America, purchased ten acres of undeveloped land for a total of $1,842, which included a premium for a large pond of water ideally located in the center of the lot that was slightly elevated and would serve as a gravity-driven irrigation source. Like most of central Long Island, Henryk’s lot was relatively level and located about a quarter of a mile from the main East-West thoroughfare. He built a farmhouse with a wrap-around porch, a barn, and a root cellar for crop storage. It took him twelve months to clear the land of large rocks, boulders, brush, and trees, including their roots. He then plowed the land several times with horse-drawn wooden tillers, alternating direction each time to break up soil clods and ensure incorporation of the grasses. Lastly, he added well decomposed manure and other organic fertilizers obtained from other farmers before the final tiller pass.

Henryk decided to exclusively grow potatoes, since his land had light, loose, well-drained, sandy soil and received direct sun exposure. Potatoes are aggressive rooting plants that thrive in loose soil that easily expands to allow the subterranean potato to grow. From his years of working with his brother and father on their farm in Poland, Henryk knew the criticality of irrigation. He designed the lines of plantings to start at the slightly higher land near the natural pond and slope downward. He created strategically placed levees to block pond overflow incidents from heavy rain days and created the water flow courses to ensure the proper flow of water to all the potato fields.

Early on the first Monday in April 1903, Henryk began planting. He purchased 9,000 Green Mountain and Irish Cobbler potatoes from local farmers, cut them into pieces ensuring that each chunk had at least one spud, and planted them spud-side up, four inches below the surface. Henryk used only three of the six acres available for farming. The 60,000 plantings would produce about 500,000 potatoes at harvest time in late August.

Henryk was looking forward to the summertime arrival of Jacek and Magdalena from Poland.

Chapter 2

1910

P ush, Magdalena. Give me another push, encouraged Zofia, a Polish midwife from a neighboring farm who had been with Magdalena now for three hours.

I cannot do it. I am exhausted!

Yes, you can. Just one more push.

That’s what you said three pushes ago. You are a liar, Zofia!

Magdalena, think of the baby.

I don’t care about the baby!

I know you don’t mean that.

Yes, I do!

One more push. Give me one big push. You are going to be a great mother.

With that, Magdalena took in a deep breath, gritted her teeth, started to exhale, grunted, and screamed for fifteen agonizing seconds as she pushed as hard as she could. During this time, Zofia, in an encouraging cadence, said, Wonderful … keep going … I’m here for you … just a bit more.

Jacek and Uncle Henryk were nervously pacing back and forth in the kitchen. They heard Magdalena screeching through the closed door. It was as if they were standing right next to her. Then all of a sudden, there was dead silence for three minutes.

Uncle Henryk, I think something bad has happened. I’m going in the room. Just then, the door opened and Zofia, with a smile on her face, was holding a baby in her arms and said, Congratulations, Jacek, say hello to your son."

Seven years earlier, in 1903, twenty-eight-year-old Jacek, and his young wife, Magdalena, had left his mother Elzbieta’s farm two days earlier, arrived in Warsaw and boarded a train driven by the new superheated locomotive to Berlin, Germany. There they embarked on a train to the port of Hamburg and the following morning boarded the German-built, steel-hulled, Patricia. It was a 585-foot-long, quadruple steam engine ship that travelled at eighteen MPH. The ship, with its 2,500 passengers, sailed down the Elbe River out to the North Sea and turned southwest, past Amsterdam and through the English Channel. The trip across the north Atlantic Ocean was relatively calm. A third-class steerage ticket was $35 and included salted and preserved meat, ship’s biscuit, flour, oatmeal and dried potatoes.

Jacek and Magdalena arrived at Ellis Island fourteen days later. At the time, no paperwork whatsoever was required to enter the United States. Within five hours they passed their medical examinations and their interviews with officers and were simply sent on their way with no official US paperwork. Uncle Henryk had mailed Jacek specific instructions on how to find their way to his Long Island farm.

Jacek and Uncle Henryk looked down at the sleeping baby. His face looked a little bruised. Uncle Henryk said, Jacek, he looks just like you when you were born. Your father, bless his soul, would be so happy to be here. Congratulations! Go in and see Magdalena.

Jacek entered the bedroom and saw Magdalena reclined on the bed. Her face was full of perspiration but revealed a sense of peacefulness and a smile that only a mother has after birth.

Isn’t he so handsome, Jacek?

Magda, I am so proud of you. He bent down and gave her a gentle kiss on her forehead. He picked up her hand, brought it up to his lips. While looking into her eyes, Jacek said, I love you so much, and held his lips to her hand, and finally asked, What will be his name?

Magdalena replied, Tomorrow is the feast of St. Peter, the apostle. His name will be Simon.

After Jacek and Magdalena departed Poland in 1903, life dramatically changed. Within two years, the uprising by the Polish workers reached a crescendo in June of 1905 with the insurrection in the factory city of Lodz, which was located about fifty miles southwest of Warsaw. Workers there laid down their tools in unison and the city came to a grinding halt. They marched in opposition to the Russian suppression of their Polish heritage that resulted in a Russian response of open firing on the marching workers with several casualties. Violence spread across the city and by the time it ended a few days later, civilian casualties numbered 150, and thousands were injured.

The insurrection spread to all areas of Poland, including Jacek’s mother, Elzbieta’s farm, one hundred miles east of Lodz. Jacek’s brother, Olek, and his wife Celina, struggled to keep the farm productive. They all barely survived the impact of the nationwide strikes. It was fortuitous that the insurrection and the strikes were in June when the potato plants were growing and the fields only needed maintenance and timely irrigation. It would have been a disaster if the protests happened at labor-intensive harvest time in August.

Chapter 3

1915

I will not be happy if we move there. I simply will be bored and have nothing to do. All my friends are here. Father, please let me remain here in the city.

Greyson, this is not up for discussion, barked Charles Harrington. We have had this conversation several times. We are all moving to Manhasset!

With the advent of the Long Island Railroad station in Manhasset back in 1898, the Manhasset farmlands were converting to residential life as many wealthy New Yorkers were seeking homes with easy transportation to New York City. Charles’ grandfather, James, had emigrated from England with his young wife in 1858 and lived in Manhattan. He was able to buy real estate lots on the Upper West Side and turn them over within a few years for a forty percent profit. James was very astute in identifying the real estate opportunities available as the growing migration in Manhattan proceeded north. Almost all of his acquisitions were sold within eighteen months for very sizeable profits. By 1881, James amassed a fortune and was part of the social inner circle of New Yorkers. His twin sons, Charles and Steven, graduated Yale University in 1887 and joined their father’s real estate company.

Fifty-year old Charles was dealing with his obstinate and defiant son, Greyson, and did not appreciate his challenge at the dinner table in front of his wife. Ten years ago, the family moved into a sixth-floor apartment at The Dakota, located at the corner of 72nd Street and Central Park West. It was a Renaissance Revival structure completed in 1884 and was one of the first luxury apartment buildings situated directly across the west side of Central Park.

You are always telling me what I can do and not do. I am seventeen years old.

Greyson, I know how old you are; I also know that you have no money in your name, so unless you want to live on the street and be a beggar, you are coming to Manhasset with us. This is the last time we will speak of this!

Charles was normally a calm and well-controlled man but now he was very infuriated with Greyson. He arose from the table, looked at his wife, Henrietta with distain and threw down his napkin on his unfinished roast beef dinner. Charles slowly leaned over the table toward his son, fuming through his gritted teeth in a slow and deliberate cadence while inquiring, Do you understand me?

Greyson was so taken aback and stunned by his father’s reaction that he barely was able to respond with, Yes, sir.

In response to his buzzer, Charles picked up his office telephone intercom. Yes, Beverly.

Mr. Harrington, it’s the German Hospital on line two.

Charles anxiously pressed line two and crisply said, This is Charles Harrington.

Mr. Harrington, this is Dr. Gebhardt at the German Hospital on East 77th Street. Your son, Greyson, is here. An automobile ran over his left foot two hours ago and his ankle has been damaged, but otherwise, Greyson is fine. We have re-set the bones and have immobilized his ankle with plaster of Paris. He should be ready to go home in another hour.

Thank you, Dr. Gebhardt. I will be there shortly.

Beverly called to the garage and spoke to the company chauffeur, Roland. By the time Charles walked out of his East 64th Street office, Roland was there and holding the rear door open for Charles.

We are going to the German Hospital on East 77th Street.

Yes, Mr. Harrington.

Ten years earlier, the German Hospital moved from the Lower East Side to a square block between 76th and 77th Streets, east of Park Avenue, which was deeded