Sugar House (9780991192519) (22 page)

Joe enjoyed the Christmas Eve ceremony
despite the two-hour duration and the sweaty discomfort of his
layered outfit. The congregation was in a jocular mood and sang
loudly and harmoniously to all the traditional Polish Christmas
hymns. Several times Joe heard a parishioner coughing and watched
as they got up and walked to the back of the church to avoid
interrupting the Mass. He hoped they didn't have tuberculosis, and
he prayed he couldn't catch it again. He was pretty sure he needed
at least one lung to breathe.

The worshipers greeted each other after Mass,
kissing and hugging and wishing each other a Merry Christmas. Joe
was tired when they arrived back home and went directly upstairs to
change out of his sweaty clothes. "Joe?" asked Frank as they lay in
bed.

"Yes Frank?"

"Will Święty Mikołaj(Santa Clause) visit a
boy if he's been bad?"

"Why? Have you been bad, Frank?"

"I took Emilia's Crayola Crayons. I took them
and I buried them in the backyard."

"Why would you bury them in the
backyard?"

"Because I was mad at her. She got eight of
them for her birthday and she wouldn't let me color with them. I
saw them a couple of days later lying on the front porch. I was
just going to color with them a little so I brought them to our
room but when I got here I couldn't find any paper to color
on."

"So you buried them?" Joe's eyebrows
rose.

"Well by then I heard her looking for them
and I didn't want to get caught so I figured no one would find it
there. Do you think Święty Mikołaj knows?"

"Yes, yes I do," replied Joe. Frank started
to cry, and Joe felt bad for his brother, but he thought it was a
lesson he had to learn. Frank had to know stealing was wrong, but
Joe didn't want to ruin Frank's Christmas.

"I know how you can fix it before Święty
Mikołaj comes tonight."

"How?"

"Do you remember where you buried them?" he
asked.

"Sure, right behind the outhouse. I was going
to dig them up when I found some paper."

"All right, come on. Our parents are still
next door visiting. I'll help you dig up the crayons, and you can
put them back on the front porch before Święty gets to our house,"
Joe said, already sitting on the side of the bed and tying his
shoes.

Frank jumped out of bed and threw his shoes
and clothes on. The two boys quietly sneaked down the dark
stairwell, and Frank headed for the back door. "Wait," said Joe,
and he went into the kitchen and came out with a large spoon. "We
need something to dig with." They walked to the back door and
opened it quietly so no one would hear them next door. They needn't
have worried; conversation and laughter from the adults in the
adjacent house could have drowned out a train. Apparently, his
parents and aunt and uncles were still exuberantly celebrating the
holiday. Avoiding the light from his aunt's back door, they
stealthily walked to the outhouse. Frank pointed to the spot where
he had buried Emilia's crayons. Joe handed his brother the spoon
and Frank started digging. There were several inches of snow on the
ground and Joe was worried the ground would be too frozen to
penetrate. Frank had only buried the crayons under a couple of
inches of dirt, though, and he recovered the box after a few
minutes.

"I've got it!" Frank had wrapped the small
green box containing the eight crayons in an old sock, so it wasn't
covered in dirt.

"Shhh… be quiet, Frank!" Joe whispered. Joe
wiped the dirt off the spoon on the leg of his pants as they walked
back toward the house. They crept up the stairs amid the raucous
laughter pouring out of Aunt Hattie's house and went inside. Joe
motioned to Frank to put the stolen crayons on the front porch, and
when he returned they ran up the stairs to their room. Careful not
to wake Stephan, they climbed back into bed, giggling quietly with
the victory of not getting caught.

"Will Święty Mikołaj bring me a present now?"
asked Frank.

"I'm sure he will, but don't ever steal
again, OK?"

"OK Joe. Thanks for helping me." With his
worries over he pulled the covers up and fell asleep.

Frank awoke early the following morning and
shook Joe awake. "Come on, it's Christmas morning Joe!" Then he ran
to their parents' bedroom to wake them. Joe grabbed Stephan out of
his crib and followed him down the hallway. They woke their parents
and Matka and Ojciec sleepily followed them down the stairs.

Joe would remember that peaceful Christmas
morning as his favorite for the rest of his life. The image
remained like a postcard on his heart. Ojciec and Matka sitting by
the crackling fireplace, watching the boys open their meager gifts.
Joe, opening a box with a sweater Matka had knitted and a pop gun
from his father. Stephan sitting on his mother's lap or crawling on
the floor playing with the wrappings. Frank, tearing open his gifts
of small metal planes and cars. Ojciec, proudly carrying in a large
Victrola he'd hidden at Aunt Hattie's. Matka exclaiming at the
extravagance of the gift and her excitement as he placed the first
record on the machine and played a lively polka. Joe, savoring the
breakfast of warm omelet, cake, stuffed mushrooms, and slices of
oranges as he watched his parents dance the polka around the living
room floor with the tree shining in the background.

One year later and Joe was stronger than he had been
before his hospitalization. His cough had subsided and he'd been
without one remission so his mother had finally relented her strict
rule of school and home only. Able to explore the city again with
his neighbor Sam, he noticed a different atmosphere on the city
streets. Black bunting hung on doors and porches on his block in
remembrance of soldiers who had died. A big black cauldron sat in
the front window at Dom Polski, the Polish club in his
neighborhood, into which people could drop their jewelry to donate
toward the war efforts. Flyers hung on the walls of the club,
calling men to join the United States Army and help the allies in
the Great War. There were smaller signs for women, asking them to
join the nursing service with the Polish Army in France.

Every day the newspaper listed the Detroit
soldiers who had died, almost half to the Spanish Influenza that
ravaged the world that year and killed millions. Living in
isolation in the hospital and at home for the last year and a half
likely saved Joe's life. During his confinement in the fall of
1918, the Spanish Influenza raced across the country like an evil
cloud of destruction. Spurred on by the movement of American
soldiers traveling on trains and ships, it quickly spread to
citizens of every age. People on the street wore gauze masks to
keep from getting ill. Every policeman and soldier was issued
one.

Blanca told Joe that during his hospital stay
the school and church had been closed for the months of October and
November to stop the illness from spreading. Red Cross workers had
made daily rounds through the neighborhoods in trucks to pick up
the dead. His father had worn a gauze mask to work and had stayed
with Uncle Feliks to avoid getting his mother and brothers sick.
The illness rushed through the city, and although pockets of new
cases appeared now and then, it seemed that it had run its course
in Detroit. Ojciec had been lucky and had somehow avoided the
epidemic, although thousands of his fellow employees had
succumbed.

Ojciec had registered for the draft when the
U.S. entered the war. All men ages twenty-one to forty-five were
required to sign up no matter what their citizenship. If drafted,
an immigrant would automatically become a U.S. citizen upon
completion of his tour, as would his spouse. Joe's father had
prayed at church every Sunday that he wouldn't be called for the
draft while Joe was recovering from his illness. God had listened
to Mikołaj's prayers and kept him near his family. Now that Joe had
recovered and Stephan was almost two years old, Ojciec went down to
the recruitment station and volunteered to fight.

Matka had begged him not to. She was
terrified he'd be killed or maimed, but he wouldn't listen. He
believed God had generously listened to his prayers, and he felt
that he owed his new country loyalty and service. America had been
good to his family, and he wanted to repay her. He still had
distant relatives living in Poland, and his enrollment would
benefit his birth country also. Ojciec was called to duty on March
twenty-eighth. He had one week to get his affairs in order before
reporting to Fort Wayne on the south side of the city. Ojciec told
Matka the factory would hold his position for him until he
returned, but he hoped he'd be able to learn mechanics by working
on trucks or planes in the army so he'd be able to obtain a skilled
position when the war was over. Matka and Aunt Hattie got busy
knitting khaki sweaters and scarves so he would stay warm. At the
end of the week, he kissed his wife and sons goodbye and walked to
the streetcar to report for duty. When Ojciec was halfway down the
block, Joe jumped off the steps of the front porch and ran after
him calling his name.

"Ojciec! Ojciec! Wait!" he yelled as he ran.
His father stopped and turned as he ran the last few yards to catch
up to him. Breathing heavily, he said, "Please Ojciec, wait."

"Now Joe, I have to go. We've discussed this.
You are to be the man of the house while I'm gone."

"Yes, Ojciec, I know. I just have to ask you
something before you leave."

"Yes, Joe?"

"Why? Why do you have to go? I know you told
Matka that you wanted to help your new country, but can't you help
some other way? There are lots of men without families who can go
and fight, and we need you here. I feel like I just got back from
being away for so long and now you're leaving." Joe looked up at
his father's face, with one small tear falling down his cheek.

"Joe," his father replied kindly, kneeling
down on one knee on the sidewalk to bring himself to his eye level.
"You are truly an American. Yes, you're Polish, but you were born
here. That's why Matka and I named you Joe and not Joseph or
Josephat. You have the fighting spirit of an American and no one
can ever take your citizenship from you. I want to be a true
American like you. When I come back from fighting for this country,
everyone will see that I am a real patriot and I will be a true
American. Do you understand?"

Joe slowly nodded that he understood. Ojciec
stood up again. "Now take care of our family, and don't let Matka
be too sad while I'm gone, OK?"

"Yes Ojciec. You can count on me." Joe wiped
away a tear.

Joe watched his father's figure grow smaller
as he walked away, but he knew he'd be able to see him again before
he left for Europe. Ojciec had to train for a month at Fort Wayne
before deployment.

Marya stitched a star flag for Matka to hang
in their front window. Mothers, sisters, and daughters of men
serving in the war were lovingly sewing little red and white
striped flags with a blue star and hanging them on their doors or
windows to let their neighbors know a soldier's family lived there.
Uncle Sam started a campaign for children that week with a plea to
the youth of the city to buy at least one twenty-five cent thrift
stamp for the War Savings campaign. With the price of food
skyrocketing due to shortages from the war and his father's cut in
pay, Joe decided he should earn the money himself. He went door to
door, asking the ladies in the neighborhood if they had any small
jobs they needed done to earn the twenty-five cents. He cleaned out
a chicken coop, cut wood, cleaned windows, and ran to the market
for grocery items. He really didn't mind the work (except for the
filthy chickens), and within four days he had more than the
required amount. Joe bought his stamp and proudly brought it home,
where he put it in his nightstand drawer.

With so many in the army or dead, few men
were left in the city, and Joe had stumbled upon a way to help make
ends meet at home. He wouldn't clean out any more chicken coops,
but he continued to do odd jobs for the soldiers' wives and war
widows after school. Joe built a small wagon in the backyard to
carry wood and groceries for his customers. Soon, he was a regular
sight walking down the sidewalks, pulling his little wagon.
Shopkeepers and foot patrolman called out greetings to the small
boy as he wound his way through the market gathering groceries.
Between school and his new occupation, the days flew by.

The time for his father's deployment arrived.
Joe was allowed to miss school so he could attend the deployment
parade. The parade down Woodward Avenue had changed over the last
year. In the beginning, great crowds would gather on the sidewalks,
and traffic would be stopped for hours to allow the throngs to
cheer for the men and wave their goodbyes and well wishes. During
the height of the flu epidemic, the government forbade the public
to congregate; soldiers marched quietly to the train station with
their mouths and noses covered in gauze masks, with no send-off
from family and friends. Now the crowds had returned, if perhaps
with less enthusiasm than a year earlier.

When Joe and his family reached Woodward,
they walked towards Campus Martius Park to find a place to sit and
wait for the soldiers. There were other families already waiting
when they arrived, but Joe found Matka a place to sit on a concrete
ledge near the Michigan Soldiers' and Sailors' Monument in the
center of the square. Throngs of people passed by as the family
waited. Matka saw Mrs. Stanislewski walking toward them from across
the crowded street. "Dzień dobry, Mrs. Stanislewski! Hello!" she
called.

Mrs. Stanislewski waved at Matka. "Hello,
Blanca," she said as she and Walter neared the Jopolowski family.
"How are you?"

"Fine, fine… I was so sorry to hear about Mr.
Stanislewki. How are you faring?" Walter's father had died in
combat in France at the beginning of the war. He, like Ojciec, had
volunteered for the army so he could become a citizen.