The Clarinet Polka (71 page)

I cannot emphasize too strongly that the Polish community of South Raysburg as it appears in
The Clarinet Polka
is my fictional creation. Jimmy Koprowski, his family, the people of St. Stanislaus Parish, and, indeed, all the characters in the book (with the exception of historical figures like Richard Nixon and well-known polka bandleaders like Eddie Blazonczyk) are fictitious, and any similarity between the people, names, and events in this book and any real people, names, and events is purely coincidental. I hope, however, that the Polish community I have portrayed here feels
authentic
, and if it does, then it is only fair that I acknowledge my debt to at least the most important of my sources, both written and verbal.

Absolutely essential for background information were Norman Davies's superb books:
God's Playground: A History of Poland
(Columbia University Press, 1982) and
Heart of Europe: A Short History of Poland
(Oxford University Press, 1984). Władysław Reymont's fascinating four-volume novel
The Peasants
(Knopf, 1925) gave me a vivid picture of the world left behind by the immigrants who came to America at the turn of the century.

Of the many books I read about the Poles in America, the most useful were Helena Z. Lopata,
The Polish Americans: Status Competition in an Ethnic Community
(Prentice Hall, 1976);
The Polish Presence in Canada and America
, Frank Renkiewicz, ed. (The Multicultural History Society of Ontario, 1982); James S. Jula,
Polish Americans: An Ethnic Community
(New York, 1995); Paul Wrobel,
Our Way: Family, Parish, and Neighborhood in a Polish-American Community
(University of Notre Dame Press, 1979); and Eugene E. Obidinski and Helen Stankiewicz Zand,
Polish Folkways in America
(University Press of America, 1987). I don't claim to have read all of the monumental work by Thomas and Znaniecki,
The Polish Peasant in Europe and America
(Dover, 1958), but those parts that I did read were quite helpful.

Until I had completed a first draft of this book, I deliberately did not read any Polish-American fiction; when I finally did so, I was struck at once—and humbled—by the sense of entering into an ongoing conversation. I was somewhat disconcerted to discover that I was not the first to write about polka music, or even, for that matter, an all-girl polka band; Suzanne Strempek Shea, in her warmly detailed and heartfelt
Hoopi Shoopi Donna
(Simon & Schuster, 1996) had already beaten me to it. There are also, of course, real all-girl polka bands such as Renata and Girls Girls Girls and the Polish Peaches. The all-girl polka band in my book, however, has its own nutty character and is based upon no other polka band, either real or fictitious.

The edition of
Pan Tadeusz
I used was Adam Mickiewicz:
Pan Tadeusz or the Last Foray in Lithuania
, translated into English verse with an introduction by Kenneth R. Mackenzie (The Polish Cultural Foundation, 1986). Also useful was Stanislaw Eile's
Literature and Nationalism in Partitioned Poland, 1795–1918
(Macmillan, 2000).

Polka Happiness
by Charles and Angeliki Keil, with photographs by Dick Blau (Temple University Press, 1992), gave me an excellent introduction to Polish-American polka music. Also helpful was Victor Greene's
A Passion for Polka: Old-Time Ethnic Music in America
(University of California Press, 1992). I frequently referred to Janice Ellen Kleeman's meticulous and passionate Ph.D. thesis, “The Origins and Stylistic Development of Polish-American Polka Music” (University of California, Berkeley, 1982).

My Polish town, Krajne Podlaski, is fictitious, but I have tried to be true to the facts as we know them, and I read a number of accounts of the years leading up to World War II, the war itself, and its aftermath. Richard C. Lukas's book
The Forgotten Holocaust: The Poles Under German Occupation, 1939–1944
(The University Press of Kentucky, 1986) was an essential source. I also relied heavily upon the many memoirs and first-person accounts I read; the most directly useful for my work were Christine Zamoyska-Panek (with Fred Benton Holmberg),
Have You Forgotten?: A Memoir of Poland, 1939–1945
(Doubleday, 1989); Leokadia Rowinski,
That the Nightingale Return: Memoir of the Polish Resistance, the Warsaw Uprising and German
P.O.W
. Camps
(McFarland, 1999); and Zoë Zajdlerowa,
The Dark Side of the Moon, A New Edition
, John Coutouvidis and Thomas Lane, ed., (Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1989).

The Story of Two Shtetls, Bransk and Ejszyzski: An Overview of Polish-Jewish Relations in Northeastern Poland during World War II
(The Polish Educational Foundation in North America, 1998) was invaluable, as was Eva Hoffman's superbly fair and compassionate book
Shtetl: The Life and Death of a Small Town and the World of Polish Jews
(Houghton Mifflin, 1997). Also helpful was another excellent and moving book from a Jewish perspective, Theo Richmond's
Konin: A Quest
(Jonathan Cape, 1995).

Of the books I read on the Vietnam War, the most important was
Dear America: Letters Home from Vietnam
(Bernard Edelman, ed., for the N.Y. Vietnam Veterans Memorial Commission, W. W. Norton, 1985). I read all of the books written about the terrible events at Kent State in May of 1970; the best account of the shooting of the Kent State students is Peter Davies's
The Truth about Kent State: A Challenge to the American Conscience
(Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1973).

I could not have written this book without the sound of Polish-American music in my ears, and for several years I saturated myself in that wonderful genre. I won't list everyone I listened to, but here are the groups and musicians who had a significant impact on my writing: Eddie Zima from Chicago, and of course the great genius of Polish-American music, Li'l Wally Jagiello; the Eastern-style bands of Frank Wojnarowski, Gene Wisniewski, the Connecticut Twins, Ray Buzilek, and the utterly astonishing Walt Solek; the sweet singers Marion Lush and Happy Louie; Lenny Gomulka and the Chicago Push, the innovative Prime Drive, the old master Eddie Blazonczyk and the Versatones, and my personal favorite polka band, the Dyna-Tones (Scrubby Seweryniak has a blistering version of “Zosia” on
Live Wire
, World Renowned Sounds 20067); from Pittsburgh, Henny and the Versa Jays; from the Ohio Valley, Bill Binkiewicz and the Polka Barons; from Stevens Point, Wisconsin, Norm Dombrowski and the Happy Notes; and, finally, the female vocalists Theresa Zapolska, Regina Kujawia, Ania Piwowarczyk, Wanda and Stephanie, and Renata Romanek (of Renata & Girls Girls Girls), whose quotation of the first two lines of the Polish national anthem in her introduction to “Pod Mostem” (
I Love My Music
, Aleatoric, A4008) inspired me to have Janice do the same thing. Sources of early Polish immigrant music were
Polish Village Music: Historic Polish-American Recordings 1927–1933
(Arhoolie/Folkloric CD7031) and
Fire in the Mountains: Polish Mountain Fiddle Music
, vol. 2,
The Great Highland Bands
(Yazoo 7013). All the Polish song lyrics that appear in this book are traditional.

The tension between Polish and English is central to this book, so it seemed important to me that neither should be able entirely to defeat the other—even in matters of spelling. Writing the Polish phonetically so that it could be sounded out by English-speakers, therefore, never appeared to me to be a viable option, and neither did spelling every Polish word and name correctly as though the book were set in Poland. The method I have chosen retains the conflict between the two languages. I have spelled all the Polish dialogue, Polish song lyrics, occasional words of Polish, and the names of Poles from Poland correctly, using the Polish alphabet. Polish Americans, however, do not generally use the Polish alphabet when spelling their own names, so the names of all Polish Americans have been spelled with the English alphabet. Native speakers of Polish might find this system misleading. They should remember that Polish-American names usually retain their original pronunciation. Uncle Stas, for instance, pronounces his name Staś. Similarly, Pajaczkowski is pronounced as Pajączkowski, Wierzcholek as Wierzchołek, and so on.

I am, of course, responsible for
The Clarinet Polka
, and anything wrong with it is my fault alone, but it would have been impossible to write without the generous assistance I received from others. Frank Buturla took me to the Pączki Ball at St. Lads when we were in high school together and planted the seed that would grow into this book all these years later. He is one of those few people I could honestly say changed the course of my life, and I want to thank him for that, for his kind help with my work, and for his continuing friendship.

I also wish to thank Larry Dolecki, another old friend of my youth, who kindly met me in Wheeling twice, led me on a walking tour of the old Polish neighborhood, patiently answered my questions, and reminisced about growing up there. A number of his stories have found their way into my story; the joke about the bad-ass kid whose parents send him to school with the nuns, for instance, is his.

Barbara and George Maryniak not only supplied me with Polish words, phrases, and lines of dialogue but also spent hours transcribing the Polish lyrics from polka tapes and then translated them into English for me—and whenever I asked if they were getting tired or bored, usually replied, “Oh, no, this is fun.” Barbara read an earlier, and much longer, draft of this book and offered a detailed and invaluable criticism. To Barbara and George, I offer a heartfelt
dziękuję
.

Many people in the Ohio Valley assisted me in this project. Wanda Kulpa and Verna Dolecki talked to me about Polish-American customs. Members of the Polish American Cultural Association whom I met, appropriately enough, at a polka dance, were wonderfully friendly and helpful, particularly Bob Sincavich and Frank Romanoski. Frank sent me a dozen useful items—everything from a videotape of the Onion Festival in Florida, New York, to a recipe for making
pączki
; he also arranged for me to meet Joe Handzel and Bill Binkiewicz, who regaled me with stories of playing Polish-American music in the good old days. Caroline Lakomy graciously invited me into her home, told me about her father's Polish orchestra, gave me a vivid picture of the old Polish community, and guided me through the Polish Catholic liturgical year.

When I knew nothing whatsoever about polka music, Chuck Stastny of the Polka Connection in Yankton, South Dakota, gave me excellent advice on where to begin. Karen Majewski sent me a copy of her Polish-American
Cute Girl Comics
. Ginger Eckert assisted me with matters of Catholicism, Barbara McDaniels introduced me to the great state of Texas, and Dr. Art Hister provided me with medical information. While I was doing my research, Pat and Fritz Temple provided me a home away from home. My old pal Will Hadsell was, once again, an inexhaustible source of Ohio Valley lore, legends, and obscure facts. My wife, Mary, trained her critical eye on layer upon layer of emerging text and was, as always, a marvelously supportive helpmate. Patrick Crean at Thomas Allen & Son in Canada and Sally Kim at Thomas Dunne Books in the United States provided encouragement and perceptive editorial advice, and my proofreader, Eliza Marciniak, read the final text, both English and Polish, with astonishingly sharp eyes. My colleague at UBC, Bogdan Czaykowski, corrected mistakes in the Polish and pointed out other errors of both fact and nuance; he also supplied me with invaluable details and was warmly supportive of this project. Ryszard Wójtowicz provided extremely useful background information, helped me solve a number of small but maddening problems, and, best of all, responded to this book from the heart.

I wish to thank the Humanities and Social Sciences Research Council for a grant that helped me to do the early stages of research on this book and the University of British Columbia for the study leave that gave me the free time necessary to complete my research and writing.

In these acknowledgements, it is only fitting that I should end where I began. Bill Barringer was not Polish, but he was certainly Catholic—even when he was trying his best not to be. No one could sing “Amazing Grace” with more conviction, and no one could have struggled more valiantly with the illness that finally killed him. If he were alive now, he would read this book with sympathy, intelligence, and insight. The last time I saw him, days before he died, he was only intermittently conscious. I shook his hand and said, “Have a good trip.” He looked directly into my eyes, and I knew that he was suddenly fully aware. “Thanks,” he said. “I'll see you later.”

In dreams I'm young again, and I'm in a bar down by the river. All the boys are there—Frank and Ron and Augie and Larry and I don't know who all—and we're chugging down the beer and yelling at each other, and I can see him as he was then—laughing, red-faced, sweating, full of life—Prince George Cedric Hudacek, Pretender to the Throne of Bohemia and pretender to damn near everything else, the crazy guy who pulled me out of my bookish isolation, got me to like beer, took me to Mass at St. Lads, and, when I was sunk in gloom, cheered me up a million times—my classmate in high school, my roommate in university, my friend. “Hey, Maillard,” he yells at me, “you're never late.” He's right, and I'm pumping quarters into the jukebox. Every song on there is Polish, so I don't have a clue what I'm playing. All I know is that never in my life has music sounded so good.

I ja tam z gośćmi byłem, miód i wino piłem,

A com widział i słyszał, w księgi umieściłem.

  – Mickiewicz

Keith Maillard

Vancouver

February 28, 2002