UNIVERSAL HEALTHCARE & THE FAIRNESS DOCTRINE IN GDANSK

On this day – hair and all -- I was introduced to Pan Walesa, he bowed, kissed my hand, and we exchanged the Polish greeting. He said some words to me in Polish, and I said some pleasantries back in English. Bob Fielding was translating, so it was good to greet him again also.

We all sat down, and then the Polish began to fly. I could not understand anything they said, but later on a subsequent trip, I would learn that they were planning Walesa’s campaign strategy for President. I would be a part of this, but was blissfully unaware of it at this time.

The meeting was short, and immediately thereafter, Andrjez escorted me out of headquarters and over to a nearby hospital (we walked everywhere in Gdansk). There, he introduced me to the head thoracic surgeon (Whose name I could not pronounce, and so cannot remember -- so I'll call him Dr. Heart). Dr. Heart could speak English enough for me to understand most of what he was telling me, and I spoke enough Medical to understand what he was showing me, and what his needs were. I took copious notes as I observed the hospital had only 1 thoracic kit, and that if the clamps, etc. broke, they would be out of business. With all the smoking going on in Poland, heart and lung surgeries were in high demand, and their antique equipment could hardly keep up.

Dr. Heart lamented for an MRI, portable X-ray machine, etc. He was gracious and magnanimous. I observed that he looked as poor as the patients he treated, which reminded me that in communist countries, EVERYONE was equal. Everything had to be FAIR, which meant that Medical Doctors were not entitled to any more pay than the lump that sat in the gift shop at the Hell hotel waiting for you to beg her to take your money for a piece of Amber. Archeologists, teachers, professors, janitors, clerks and cashiers were all paid roughly the same. Now politicians and communist rulers fared much better, because they were in charge of making sure everything outside their own world was FAIR!

Dr. Heart took me to a second near-by hospital, and looked at the same scarcity as the last. I began to ask him questions about how people paid for healthcare, how it was delivered, and to what extent it was available to the people. As the Dr. explained, all healthcare cost the same for everyone (except “special” people how shall remain communist leaders) – too expensive; there were not enough doctors to go around (where was the incentive to go through all the schooling and training?) – but this was fair because it inconvenienced everyone; and most doctors worked in the hospital because they weren’t allowed to own property (wouldn't be fair), and so office space was difficult to come by.

It was here that I began to formulate my idea that the Solidarity Unions might hold the answer to improved healthcare for the people of Poland. The Union was still comprised of a lot of little unions all over the nation, and was still 10 million-members strong. The members paid union dues, and portions of those dues were already allocated to the Solidarity Fund, which was in place to help find employment for out-of-work or formerly black-listed workers. Now that Solidarity was legal, why couldn’t some of that money be diverted towards creating a healthcare fund – or a managed healthcare system that could reach more people, without the expense of expansion?

My thoughts were interrupted when Dr. Heart invited me over to his home to have dinner with his family. I realized as he spoke that I had not had anything to eat all day long, so dinner sounded great! I wouldn’t have to meet with Martha and her friends until later, so I cheerfully accepted.

WOMEN IN PRISON

Inside Solidarity Headquarters just outside the Gdansk (formerly Lenin) shipyard, I walked upstairs to Andrjez’s office to see if he had made it in yet. Julian Skelnik was there, and we spoke for a few minutes. Then Andrjez came running down the hall with a big old smile on his face. He laughed when he saw me (I did look ridiculous). I asked him if he had seen my hairbrush in my room back in Warsaw. He laughed and said he did. It was big fun for him, but I had to go with him now, looking like I did.

I shouldn’t have worried, when on a later trip I met one of the most prominent women of Solidarity, Alina Pienkowska (known for rallying the 1980 strikers and being a leader in the Solidarity Movement) – her hair frizzed out around her head as wide as it was long, and no one held it against her. But another story Joanna told me about herself and Alina was the night that the communist arrested all the Solidarity leaders after they had attended an important meeting and dinner. Joanna and Alina were rounded up by the Zomo, along with Grazina Kuron (married to Jacek Kuron iwho s considered a founding father of the Solidarity Movement as head of the Intelligentsia – which gave credibility and importance to the movement), and many other women.

Joanna always laughed about that night because when the Zomo knocked on her door, they told her that Poland had been an invaded. She asked them who had invaded Poland, and they couldn't give her a straight answer, because it was the Poles themselves -- General Jaruzelski -- who had declared Martial Law, and had invaded his own (unarmed) citizens!

The story Joanna told about herself is that after she had spent a great deal of time in prison, without the luxury of being able to wash her hair all that time, she spent every day of the rest of her life in Poland worrying about if her hair was washed just in case she was arrested again (and she was – many times). Women worry about things like this. It’s awful to have dirty hair while your stuck in a hell-hole. I just had messy hair – but we think of these stupid things at the most bizarre times.

The story about Alina is fairly humorous. On that same night, the Zomo rounded up all the women and threw them in a “paddy” wagon and drove around for hours to confuse the women as to where they were exactly. Since they had all eaten quite a lot at the dinner, they were beginning to feel the pressure to relieve themselves. So Alina asked the guard if they could please go to the bathroom. The guard mostly just ignored her request – but she became more and more insistent. Finally the wagon pulled over at the edge of a forest, and the guards told them they could go over to the field and remedy their discomfort.

But Alina thought about it, and remembering Katyn Forest (where the Russians executed about 22,000 Polish officers, policemen and civilians), decided that she did not want to die in such an undignified manner, while squatting to pee.

The story about Grazina was heart-wrenchingly heroic. Once, while Grazina was in prison, she acquired a virulent form of Tuberculosis. The communist decided to use this to their advantage. They needed to get her husband, Jacek Kuron out of the country in order to utterly defeat Solidarity, so they made her an offer: they offered to send her to a sanitarium in either Sweden or France to recover, if she would take her husband with her.

Grazina was not stupid. She knew what the dull-witted commies were up to. She knew that with her husband out of Poland, Solidarity would fail. So she stalled in answering their offer in order to buy enough time to get a message to her husband that the commies would be coming to him to tell him that she had TB, and that her only hope was to leave the country, and he should go with her. Her message to him was that it was just another communist lie; she was not ill; and they were using her to get him out of the country; and he should not, under any circumstances, fall for it.

Sure enough, when Grazina refused their offer they went to Jacek and told him that her only hope to live was for him to take her out of the country for treatment. Armed with Grazina’s assurances, he also refused. Grazina died a few months later, to Jacek’s great sorrow. But he knew what she had done, and that she had given her life for the cause of her country.

ANOTHER FORREST GUMP WEEK

I had been on the lots of Columbia and Warner Bros. because my older brother was an Editor in Hollywood. He had done the “Trailers” (coming attractions) for “Jaws,” “Gandhi,” “Superman,” “Bird on a Wire,” “ The Exorcist,” “Howard the Duck,” and hundreds more. I had visited him on these lots on several occasions. I had also been recruited as an “Extra” in “Ordinary Hero,” “Deliberate Stranger,” and in local films and commercials. So going to the studios in Warsaw was strictly a fact-finding mission for me.

True to Polish form, the staff was there to meet me, show me around, and provide me with all the information Mr. Norris had required. I also gathered information regarding studios in Krakow (by the Carpathian Mountains), and the film festival in Gdansk.

Later, when I had returned home, I was able to watch some of the movies made in Poland as Solidarity emerged, such as “Man of Iron.” They were all in Polish, but the style of film was very American-like: not Italian-artsy, or French-weird, or British-stiff; but more like American film than any other foreign films I had ever seen.

I left on the afternoon Express train to Gdansk, and arrived fairly late that night. I was asked by the clerk at the “Hell” hotel why a British Subject had an American passport. I laughed, because I knew exactly why he was asking this. I had been making a concerted effort to pronounce my English with deliberate articulation and enunciation so that the regular slur of American English would not interfere with the Poles’ ability to understand the words “coming out of my mouth” (to quote a movie phrase). I explained – with an American accent – that I spoke the way I did, because I was sure that no one would be able to understand my American English because it was so rapid, and so inarticulate. My point was made, and he thanked me for my consideration.

I fell asleep fast, because my appointment in the morning was down the street at Solidarity headquarters where I was to meet with Lech Walesa. I woke up, drew a bath, and went to brush my hair up into a pony-tail so it wouldn’t get wet, when I discovered to my horror that I forgot to bring my hairbrush. I had left it in my hotel room in Warsaw! I was furious with myself. My hair hung down to my waist in very large natural curls, which is just great when it’s brushed – but I had been sleeping on it in the damp air, and it now had additional bends in it. Aggghhhh!!!!

I quickly got on the phone to the Concierge, and learned there were no “extra” hairbrushes in the hotel -- not even in the gift shop -- (looked like the free markets had a ways to go). They would be glad to call me a cab so I could drive around the streets of Gdansk at dawn to try and find a shop or kiosk that sold them. OK – I had a couple of hours before my appointment, so I hurried and got dressed and dashed downstairs to the waiting cab.

Of course, the cabbie only spoke as much English as I spoke Polish, so it was very difficult to tell him what I needed. He finally understood my very poor charade (I always loose at that game), so he drove me to all the nearby stores (2 to be exact – that’s all there were), and either they were not open, or they did not sell hairbrushes. So we tried beauty salons, but all they wanted to do there was CUT my hair – and although I had to agree that it probably needed a trim, I just didn’t have the time. So back I went to the hotel – downtrodden – with even messier hair than I had started with, because the wind off the Baltic Seas was howling.

I went back up to my room to gather all the stuff I’d need for the entire day. The plan was that after I met with Walesa, I was to go with a Medical Doctor – Thoracic Surgeon – to tour the health facilities and equipment they were dealing with there in Gdansk. I opened the closet, and there sat a LINT brush. Aha! I could “brush” my hair with a LINT-brush. I was saved, except that my hair is so thick, that I break regular brushes in it – and so the lint-brush was really only good for smoothing down the outer-layer of my “do.”

I “molded” my hair into a pony-tail on the top and off to one side of my head (my heavy hair gives me a headache when it’s on the center of my head), and smoothed the outer layer with this lint-brush, and then consoled myself that it was so windy outside that it just didn’t matter what I did with it. Brush, or no brush, I’d still look like a crazy woman. I encouraged myself by saying that I looked “trendy,” (what a lie).

Before I left, I checked to see if Martha had left a message. She had. She would be traveling back to Gdansk from Krakow, and she and her new-found friends, Piotr and Pino (artists in Gdansk) would be meeting us both for dinner at 7:00P – I had something fun to look forward to!

POLAND: August, 1990

By the third trip, my husband Fred was infuriated that I was going again, but I had meetings with the film industry in Warsaw, and a tour of some of the healthcare facilities in Gdansk that Barbara Cheney from the U.S. Embassy had set up for me. Besides, Marcia was still there, and I could meet up with her, so I wouldn’t be alone.

As I boarded the plane, I realized that Frank, the Greek was on the same flight, going back to Poland for the “Cause Credit Card Deal.” Interestingly enough, he did not even acknowledge my existence. He didn’t even nod at my “hello” when I walked past him on the plane. We even took the same shuttle to the Marriott, and he deliberately ignored me on that shuttle.

After I checked in, and was on my way up to my room, Frank was waiting for me in the hallway and grabbed my arm to pull me aside. He then looked me straight in the eye and very menacingly informed me that Studibert was not happy with my performance in Poland, and both he & Studibert didn’t want to have to do it, but if I continued working with Solidarity, Studibert would have to circulate a letter of denouncement of me. Frank then through my arm down and walked away.

I may be just a housewife, but I was being handled as a threat, and knew I was now on the “out’s” with the Freedom Foundation. My efforts would be jeopardized. I was panicking. Studibert was notorious for distributing damning letters about people that got in his way. I personally knew of 3 men who had worked closely with him at the White House, who had either crossed him, or found him out. Studibert would write scathing letters on White House stationary simply stating that the White House (always used 3rd person) did not endorse this person, nor did they recommend them, in fact, the person was considered to be disreputable. These letters would be mailed and faxed to every government agency and to every friend and co-worker the individual every had. Studibert essentially murdered people's careers and destroyed their lives with the power he had when at the White House. He was no longer at the White House, but he was still relying heavily on the fact that he used to be when Frank threatened me.

Frank had accomplished what he set out to do, that which Studibert was unable to do at the Polish Embassy party in D.C. I felt so alone, abandoned and afraid.

The anxiety of what Frank and Studibert could do to me, along with the jet-lag was playing on my emotions. I was terrified, but managed to get a grip and turned my terror into utter anger. I had some significant meetings I needed to follow through with, and I was more determined than ever to see where they would take me. I reminded myself that Studibert did not rule the world.

I went to my room, and immediately started calling. Martha was not in her room, but she had left a message for me that she was in fact in Gdansk at the Hell hotel. I spoke with Hannah, Kuba’s wife, and discovered that Kuba and Andrjez were in meetings in Warsaw, but would call me back later.

Andrzej did call me back as I was unpacking. He gave me the addresses, names, and itinerary for meeting with the key people at the sound studios in Warsaw. He told me they were anxious to meet me, as I had been recommended by Krakowski and Solidarity.

I inquired after Kuba and Basia. They were doing quite well. I asked Andrjez how he was doing, and he noted that he would be stuck in Warsaw for another day, but planned to be back in Gdansk the next. He had arranged for me to meet Lech Walesa there, but would have to take the early morning train to get there in time to introduce me to him. He had also arranged a meeting with a prominent Thoracic surgeon in Gdansk to discuss healthcare while I was there.

We carried on a friendly conversation for a couple of minutes, and it came out that he stayed with Kuba when he was in Warsaw for Solidarity. I then offered him my room for the next day and night, since I would be going on to Gdansk early the next morning, but since I would only be spending the day and one night there, I didn’t want to give up my hotel room. So I offered it to him, and he was thrilled! He had never stayed at the Marriott, and always wanted to. This was like Christmas for him, and he just gushed out thank-you’s all over the phone. I laughed, because for me, I hated staying in hotels – no matter how luxurious they were.

My mood was now changed. Hope was back in my heart, and the busy schedule, gave me purpose and reminded me of why I was there. What Frank was doing there, and what he planned to do to me in the future no longer mattered. Andrzej made me feel welcome, safe, and useful.

I left a message for Martha, giving her my itinerary and phone number, took a quick nap, and then headed out to the studios.

CHUCK NORRIS AND THE WALL

After the party n Washington, Fred and I were in the lobby of our hotel (Marriott) along with my dear friend (or was it fiend), Studibert, while waiting for our shuttle to the airport to fly up to New York City, when Chuck and Aaron Norris (of celebrity fame) walked up to our group (they knew Studibert from the Bush-for-President campaign). Studibert introduced Fred and I, and we exchanged pleasantries and then began to talk about the foray into Poland and Hungary and our participation in tearing down The Wall.

Chuck Norris was particularly interested in The Wall, and the work I was doing to try and get western businesses into Poland. He expressed the desire he had to find out more about the film-making capabilities in Poland, as we recounted seeing Wilem Defoe and Donald Sutherland when we were there in March. I told Mr. Norris that I would be happy to explore any and all possibilities, including locations, equipment, personnel, sound-stages, and all film-making capabilities the Poles might have available for him.

Mr. Norris then asked if I had a business card. I didn’t – because I was not a real business, yet. But I remembered I was lugging a huge chunk of The Berlin Wall around in my purse with the intent of giving it to Senator Hatch’s wife. It was weighing me down quite a bit, and I thought it would be great to unload it on to someone who might appreciate it. I told Mr. Norris that I did not have a business card, but I did have a piece of The Wall he could have. Chuck was thrilled to be offered this piece of history, and so he exchanged his contact information at Pathe’ Entertainment for that hunk of cement, with the plea to get any and all info I could find back through his agent. His brother Aaron expressed a desire to have a piece of The Wall, too if I could get him a piece. I told him I hoped to get back to The Wall on my next trip, but didn’t know when that would be. I also offered him and Chuck a spot on the next trade mission we were trying to put together with the “Foundation For Free Markets.”

We soon parted, and Fred and I flew to New York. There, I met with Andrjez Krakowski, a screen-writer (who happened to have written the screenplays to the 2 movies being filmed in Poland in March, 1990: Eminent Domain, with Donald Sutherland and Triumph of the Spirit, with Willem Dafoe). It was an interesting meeting, because the man we met at his apartment was an older man, and conversed with us about his many scripts. Then in walked a much younger man, and the older man introduced him as Krakowski. Many years later, when attempting to collaborate with Krakowski on another project, he confessed that he used the younger man many times to try and find out the true nature of a visitor’s intent. He was making sure we were not crazed fans (for a screenwriter? really?).

I was given the names of film studios in Warsaw and Krakow and their staff, directors, producers, etc. in order to do the research for Norris on a return trip. I was thrilled, mostly because this gave me the perfect excuse to go back to Poland, but also an additional business to bring back with me.

POLISH EMBASSY

My husband was not happy about my going a second time to Poland, even if it was with our mutual friends, Craig and Martha. I would have stayed with Martha to get away from my husband, but there was much I needed to do in the U.S. to help businesses in Poland, and I did not want to stay away from my sons for any longer. But I went back to some rather interesting Studibert developments.

Studibert was not happy about many things where I was concerned: He was not happy that I went with Craig and Martha to meet with all of HIS exclusive contacts (Solidarity). He had already warned me about doing business in Poland without going through him first – and this last trip did not go through him. Craig had had meetings with Studibert before we left and so he was aware of what we would be doing, but when he found out about the 4^th of July party, Studibert's attitude towards me did an about-face.

After we had been home for awhile, Craig later told me that Studibert had confided in him about his plan to ruin me and anything I would try to do in Poland. The first thing Studibert did was to take a letter I had written to all the original trade-mission attendees and turn it around to condemn me to all those people. I had quoted an East Berliner calling the Berlin Wall: "the F#$&*^% Russian Wall." Studibert went to great lengths to make sure everyone knew that he thought this was unacceptable language and he had no part of it, and would not tolerate this kind of language in anything to do with him. It really had nothing to do with him, but he used it anyway.

Remember, I was just an ordinary housewife caught up in a changing world that rivaled WWI and II – The Russian had said it, we thought it – I wrote it. Studibert’s turn on me caught me by surprise. I was almost devastated, but not deterred in what I needed to do to meet my commitments to Solidarity, and I continued with my contacts at USAID, The Department of Commerce and the State Department.

I soon learned that there was a party planned for all our Solidarity friends at their Embassy in Washington D.C., and Studibert at first decided to exclude me, because he was jealous of the friendships I had formed with them. While trying to push through his Cause Credit Card deal, he had naturally been in touch with the Solidarity Foundation, which was run by Andrjez Kozakiewicz and Julian Skelnik. Unfortunately for me, Andrjez raved on and on about our 4^th of July celebration at the Marriott, and our efforts to get the word out that Poland was open for business. Studibert could see that I had formed alliances above and beyond his, and he was not going to stand for it. But I thought of these “alliances” as friendships. I had become close friends with Kuba and Andrjez, but I had also become even closer friends with their respective wives, Hannah and Barbara. I could not imagine anything else, but Studibert not only imagined everything else, he plotted and planned to turn these friendships into everything else.

By excluding me from the upcoming party at the Polish Embassy, Studibert could show me once and for all how insignificant I was, and that my only hope for helping Poland was to beg for his mercy and work through him and his foundation (which wasn't really his -- but Judd Blakeley's). What he didn’t understand about me and Solidarity was that I knew I was insignificant, and that I had to try all the harder to meet with the CEO of Kaiser Permante in Oakland; Barbara Cheney at the State Department, etc., etc. My tasks were daunting because I had no connections, save for my friendships in Poland, and now Studibert would throw up a wall to deter my efforts.

As he thought about it a little more, Studibert finally came to hatch an even more sinister and devastating plan for me. The invitations to the party at the Embassy were already sent, so he gave Fred his own invitation and told Fred that he and I could use that to get in to the party. Studibert’s ultimate goal was to expose Andrjez and I together at the party – passion and all – while at the same time, he could perpetuate the rumor that there was something going on between us. He had theorized to Craig that if there was something going on, Andrjez would vehemently deny it and throw me under the bus; and if there was nothing going on, Andrjez would still deny it, and he would be forced to distance himself from me in any case to avoid future rumors and any resulting harm to his marriage and public image.

Studibert was so pleased with his scheme to get me out of Poland and the confidence of Solidarity, he just beamed with delight when Fred and I got out of the cab at the Polish Embassy. He had no idea that Craig had revealed the scheme to me, so I pretended to be glad to see him, too. I was determined to spoil Studibert’s plot to destroy me by being so polite to Andrej, Julian, and Jerzy at the party, that I would appear as a perfect stranger to them in the eyes of any outsider. I would distance myself from Solidarity, and never give them a chance to be the brunt of such an awful rumor. I would be so reserved that Studibert would think he was meeting me for the first time.

Just as Studibert greeted us, a limousine pulled up and my three Solidarity friends stepped out laughing and joking. They were so amazed to be in America in a LIMO, no less. They could hardly believe their great fortune! Andrzej spied me, and ran up to me and picked me up and swung me around, set me down and kissed me on the cheeks three times (as was Polish custom). So much for my plan.

Andrzej then turned to Studibert and thanked him profusely on the limo. Unfortunately for Studibert, the only witnesses to Andrjez’s enthusiastic greeting to me were his friends, Studibert and Fred. The rest of the night was all pomp and ceremony as Studibert kicked off his “cause” credit card venture. In fact, as the night wore on, it became apparent to everyone there that the only reason there was a party at the Polish Embassy was to aggrandize Studibert, and to use Solidarity to his own advantage. I was happy to converse later on with Andrzej and find out about his family, especially Basia (Polish nickname for Barbara).

I learned that Basia had been chosen to intern at Congress to learn how a Congressional government operated. Poland had a Parliamentary government, and so this would be useful information for her country as it continued down its path to democracy. I was excited because I had a close cousin who lived near Washington D.C., and I could stay there and visit with Basia and take her to dinner, etc. I would make sure she had some entertainment when she came to D.C. I then told Andrzej that I would be returning to Poland to find out more information about my healthcare project. He promised me that Kuba would assist me when I came back, and that I would get all the necessary meetings I would need. Looks like Studibert’s little scheme backfired on him. Andrzej and I were better friends than ever, and we had forged a real bond.

GDANSK AGAIN

We all gathered in the lobby of the Marriott Hotel at ‘O-Dark-thirty: Martha, Craig, Allen, Brian, Scott and a new face – a young woman who spoke English, German, and POLISH! Her name was Anna, and unbeknownst to me, Martha had met her while shopping the day before. Martha was a great shopper, and had shopped the whole world. Martha was also the all-American girl who attracted people wherever she went. She was very friendly and outgoing, so it didn’t surprise me that she had befriended and actually hired this girl to go with us to Gdansk and act as our translator.

We all walked down the street to the train station in Warsaw. If you’re not careful – or you don’t speak English – you can buy tickets for the wrong train. We could recognize the city name of “Gdansk” – but we couldn’t discern “Express” from “Slow.” But lucky for us, Anna kept us from making that silly mistake. The Slow train stopped at every little point (town or station) between Warsaw and Gdansk. The Express train stopped twice in Warsaw, and once in a small town outside of Gdansk (where all the roofs housed huge storks), and then in Gdansk. So without Anna, we might have been on that stinking train for 5 hours instead of just 3.

I refer to the train as “Stinking” because it really did stink. People in Poland had had such a difficult life. Personal hygiene falls way down on the list when you are struggling just to survive from one day to the next. I remember one time when I was on the train from Warsaw to Gdansk and a TV-Gdansk news anchor and her boyfriend shared a first class compartment with me. This woman stunk to high-heaven. I’m sorry, but I’m pretty sure that she had never heard of deodorant. I was physically ill by the time we got off the train. Another time, I was sharing a cab with another American businessman, and he started laughing so hard because the cab’s mirror sported a little car deodorant tree, but the cab driver probably hadn’t bathed in a month. Well, we are all so uppity about this – but the fact is, this was just evidence of how primitively these people were forced live. When you can’t afford bread – you don’t buy deodorant. In fact – women couldn’t even buy tampons without a prescription!!

I used to think you could tell how civilized a country was by how often you had to tip people. Case-in-point. When we visited Cairo, Egypt, we had to tip the guy to watch our guide’s car while we were visiting a Mosque, and then we had to tip guys everywhere we went in the Mosque on every floor, for every tomb, etc. Then there was the tourist police that made sure you tipped everyone, i.e. the parking lot guy, the grounds-keeper, and on and on. Later, I revised my theory to gauge the advancement of a civilization to be based on how well they treated their women. Cairo would still lose – but the communists help validate the theory. While Polish women were treated with more deference and respect than American women by the men in their respective countries, the communist government had all kinds of silly laws prejudiced against women. The civilization was at a literal stand-still by the fall of The Berlin Wall.

We managed to enjoy our train ride thoroughly in spite of the smell because we had a chance to relax and see the vast fields of saffron, the prairie-like countryside, and chit-chat with the average Poles that were sharing this ride with us. It was fun to get their take on the democratic changes going on in their country.

The average Pole at that time was either very excited about the prospects of democracy and free market economies, or terrified into constantly grumbling against it. While Poland’s history is one of democracy to an outrageous degree, here was an entire generation that had grown up like the Jews in Egypt – with the rulers taking care of their every need (i.e. cigarettes and Vodka); guiding their every footstep (who will work where, and when); and controlling everything from historical references to current events, including what was taught in schools; the food and clothing rations; styles, music, books, television, all culture, etc., etc., etc..

The generation left over from World War II that could still remember what Poland stood for were tired, had all but given up, and had become dependent on the nanny-state to take care of them. The Polish equivalent to the baby-boomer's had adopted the fondness to intellectualize everything, and blame everything on the current regime, because it was all they could do. They knew they lived deplorable lives, and had all the arguments as to why and how; who was to blame, and the prescription for remedy. But as soon as the source of their woes was removed, and they were required to hold themselves up, they were having a more-than-difficult time shifting from intellectualizing their lives into the action needed to live their lives. The excuses for their plight no longer existed – it was terrifying for them. They did not have the tools to go from the creation of their world in their minds to the physical action needed to realize their world in the flesh.

This phenomenon even afflicted some of the country’s most ardent supporters of Solidarity, including Anna Walyntenovicz and Jadwiga Staniszskis. Anna is quoted in the NY Times as she reflects on the new democracy in 1999: ''We wanted better money, improved work safety, a free trade union and my job back,'' Walentynowicz, now 70, recalls. ''Nobody wanted a revolution. And when I see what the so-called revolution has brought -- mass poverty, homelessness, self-styled capitalists selling off our plants and pocketing the money -- I think we were right,'' (Roger Cohen, The Accommodations of Adam Michnik, November 7, 1999).

Jadwiga still lectures and has written many books about what happened and why. She is probably not as disappointed as Anna, but she was disappointed in the outcome of the negotiations of 1980 (21 X Tak). She felt their demands did not go far enough, and that they could have asked for so much more. She is still a scholar, and remains above the fray, as she did during the communist regime.

It was the student generation that the implementation of democracy and personal freedoms fell to. People like Andrjez, Kuba, Janick, Jerzy Koblynski and Julian Skelnik had been able to recognize the lies they were being taught in school, and had formed underground universities where they could learn historical truths and the English language. The students came together with the Intelligentsia like Jacek Kuron and Bronislaw Geremek, along with the artists of their time (Piotr, Teresa and Pino – friends I would make later), and hung on to the truth until it broke through the darkness they were imprisoned in.

But they didn’t stop there. They didn’t achieve the over-throw of their government just to walk away. They stayed and got elected to Parliament where they could change the ridiculous communist laws; they formed private enterprise, and vehicles to facilitate private enterprise; and worked tirelessly to make their politics match their sudden free market economy. They may not have succeeded as they would have wanted to, but it was their destiny – their own choice – and they had this small window of opportunity to get it right. We were looking through that window, and we knew it. It was the most amazing time in my life, and in the lives of millions of people who lived it every day.

So the rest of the day was spent placing flowers at the base of the Monument to the fallen strikers/workers at the shipyard in Gdansk, and exploring main street. I had never been there, and was amazed to see that most of this part of town had survived World War II. It was storybook, picturesque: It seemed enchanted – cobblestone town square with the centerpiece fountain; a platz surrounded by shops, cathedrals, and the Maritime Museum on the Baltic sea. It was quiet now, but almost 10 years ago, it was in the uproar of the workers’ strike of 1980.

It was in this town square that my friend Joanna had participated in rallies and organized mass prayers when Solidarity was illegal. She later showed me a picture of herself: In the foreground was a Zomo holding a “billy-club” with his back to the camera – looking on at Joanna in the background. Joanna had her back to the Zomo, but turned three-quarters to look back at the uniformed man who had just whacked her on the butt with his club. Joanna liked the picture because it captured that painful moment in time, even though she never felt vindicated to her companions, as she could not boast by showing her injury. The bruise on her rear-end was black and painful, but it was not visible like a head or arm wound. She had to endure the pain with none of the glory.

As our Journey came to an end, it was decided that Martha would stay in Poland with Anna and do as much research as she could with TV Gdansk, and the Solidarity Foundation (i.e. Andrzej Kozakiewicz). I however, missed my boys desperately, and longed to get home. Missing my husband was another thing.

BACK TO GDANSK

We all gathered in the lobby of the Marriott Hotel at ‘O-Dark-thirty: Matha, Craig, Allen, Brian, Scott and a new face – a young woman who spoke English, German, and POLISH! Her name was Anna, and unbeknownst to me, Martha had met her while shopping the day before. Martha was a great shopper, and had shopped the whole world. Martha was also the all-American girl who attracted people wherever she went. She was very friendly and outgoing, so it didn’t surprise me that she had befriended and actually hired this girl to go with us to Gdansk and act as our translator. This was fantastic, because many of the people I had lined up to film and interview did not speak any English. Anna would be perfect. We all walked down the street to the train station next to the Marriott. If you’re not careful – or you don’t speak Polish– you can buy tickets for the wrong train. We could recognize the city name of “Gdansk” – but we couldn’t discern “Express” from “Slow.” But lucky for us, Anna kept us from making that silly mistake. The Slow train stopped at every little point (town or station) between Warsaw and Gdansk. The Express train stopped twice in Warsaw, and once just before Gdansk, and then at Gdansk. So without Anna, we might have been on that stinking train for 5 hours instead of just 3. I refer to the train as “Stinking” because it really did stink. People in Poland had had such a difficult life. Apparently, personal hygiene falls way down on the list when you are struggling just to survive from one day to the next. I remember one time when I was on the train from Warsaw to Gdansk and a Gdansk TV news anchor and her boyfriend shared a first class compartment with me. This woman stunk to high-heaven. I’m sorry, but I’m pretty sure that she had never heard of deodorant. I was physically ill by the time we got off the train. Another time, I was sharing a cab with another American businessman, and he started laughing so hard because the cab’s mirror sported a little car deodorant, but the cab driver probably hadn’t bathed in a month. Well, we are all so uppity about this – but the fact is, this was just evidence of how primitively these people were forced live. When you can’t afford bread – you don’t buy deodorant. In fact – women couldn’t even buy tampons without a prescription under communist rule!! I used to think you could tell how civilized a country was by how often you had to tip people. Case-in-point. When we visited Cairo, Egypt, we had to tip the guy to watch our guide’s car while we were visiting a Mosque, and then we had to tip guys everywhere we went inside the Mosque on every floor, for every tomb, etc. Then there was the tourist police that made sure we tipped everyone, i.e. the parking lot guy, the grounds-keeper, and on and on. Later, I revised my theory on how to gauge the advancement of a civilization: I now based it on how well they treated their women. Cairo would still lose – but the communists helped to validate the theory. While Polish women are treated with more deference and respect than American women by the men in that country, the communist government had all kinds of silly laws prejudiced against women. The civilization was at a literal stand-still by the fall of The Berlin Wall. We managed to enjoy our train ride thoroughly in spite of the smell because we had a chance to relax and see the vast fields of saffron, the prairie-like countryside, and chit-chat with the average Poles that were sharing this ride with us. It was fun to get their take on the democratic changes going on in their country. The average Pole at that time was either very excited about the prospects of democracy, or terrified into constantly grumbling against it. While Poland’s history is one of democracy to an outrageous degree, here was an entire generation that had grown up like the Jews in Egypt – with the rulers taking care of their every need (i.e. supplying cigarettes and Vodka); guiding their every footstep (who will work where, and when); and controlling everything from historical references to current events, and what was taught in schools; food and clothing rations, styles, music, books, television, all culture, etc., etc., etc.. The generation left over from World War II that could still remember what Poland stood for had become tired and just worn out. They had all but given up, and had become dependent on the nanny-state to take care of them. The baby-boomers had adopted a fondness to intellectualize everything, and blame everything on the current regime, because it was all they could do. They knew they lived deplorable lives, and had all the arguments as to why and how; who was to blame, and the prescription for remedy. But as soon as the source of their woes was removed, and they were required to hold themselves up, they were having a more-than-difficult time shifting from intellectualizing their lives into the action needed to freely live their lives. The excuses for their plight no longer existed – it was terrifying. They did not have the tools to go from the creation of their world in their minds to the physical action needed to realize their world in the flesh. This phenomenon even afflicted some of the country’s most ardent supporters of Solidarity, including Anna Walyntenovicz and Jadwiga Staniszskis. Anna is quoted in the NY Times as she reflected on the new democracy in 1999: ''We wanted better money, improved work safety, a free trade union and my job back,'' Walentynowicz, now 70, recalls. ''Nobody wanted a revolution. And when I see what the so-called revolution has brought -- mass poverty, homelessness, self-styled capitalists selling off our plants and pocketing the money -- I think we were right,'' (Roger Cohen, The Accommodations of Adam Michnik, November 7, 1999). Jadwiga still lectures and has written many books about what happened and why. She is probably not as disappointed as Anna, but she was disappointed in the outcome of the negotiations of 1980 (21 X Tak). She felt their demands did not go far enough, and that they could have asked for so much more. She is still a scholar, and continues to remain above the fray, as she did during the communist regime. It was the student generation that the implementation of democracy and personal freedoms fell to. People like Andrjez, Kuba, Janick, Jerzy Koblynski and Julian Skelnik had been able to recognize the lies they were being taught in school, and had formed underground universities where they could learn historical truths and the English language. The students and workers came together with the Intelligentsia like Jacek Kuron and Bronislaw Geremek, along with the artists of their time (Piotr, Teresa and Pino – friends I would make later), and hung on to the truth until it broke through the darkness they were imprisoned in. But they didn’t stop there. They didn’t achieve the over-throw of their government just to walk away. They stayed and got elected to Parliament where they could change the ridiculous communist laws; they formed private enterprises, and vehicles to facilitate their free markets; and worked tirelessly to make their politics match their sudden free market economy. They may not have succeeded as they would have wanted to, but it was their destiny – their own choice – and they had this small window of opportunity to get it right. We -- our little group of Americans -- were looking through that window, and we knew it. It was the most amazing time in my life, and in the lives of millions of people who lived it every day.

CELEBRATING THE 4TH POLISH-STYLE

The party at the Ambassador's Residence ended pretty soon for the group that I was with. We just didn’t speak Polish, and we could only participate in the glory of this day for the Poles from a distance, since we did not share their recent history. But we made long, fast friends, and our friends did not want to give us up too easily. So we all took taxi’s back to the Marriott.

Kuba, Andrjez and Dr. Janick all wanted to continue the celebration of the 4^th, but Martha, Craig, Alan, Brian and Scott were suffering mightily from jet-lag. I did not want the evening to end, myself. Here were young men, in their early 30’s, who founded a new nation and who wanted to spend time with some dopey Americans on the 4^th of July to celebrate the fact that they had something to celebrate. Being with these three men caused me to reflect on how our Founding Fathers must have felt when they won the Revolutionary War, even though it was impossible. I began to appreciate the awesome feeling that must have come over them when they came to the realization that their IDEAs came into the world as a reality. How impossible . . . How unbelievable ... How "Fantastic" (a favorite English word of the Poles). So I gleefully went with them to the bar at the top of the hotel, the Panorama bar.

I bought the drinks – now I don’t drink, thank goodness – because the amount of drinking that went on would have surely put me in a coma and I would not have been able to remember anything we talked about or did.

We managed to confiscate the balloons that decorated the bar, and proceeded to play volleyball around the table with them. This caused loud laughter, and opened the door for them to talk about what it was like to live under Communism – About how they would never have been allowed to drink, laugh and play volleyball in a bar/restaurant as this would have been deemed abnormal behavior, and they could be imprisoned for that. I just stared at them as they told me a million stories like this. I just couldn’t imagine what the quality of life in a place like this would have been like.

Then I remembered Walter Whipple telling me that when he lived in Poland under communism, it was always safe to walk the streets – whether in the middle of the day, 3 in the morning – it didn’t matter. The jails were over-flowing, and there was no crime to speak of. I guess it makes perfect sense (and perhaps it would work here), that if you were hauled off to the poky for acting “funny” how would anyone ever dare to commit an actual crime? What would the punishment be for say, stealing: Death? Torture? Siberia?

We stayed up until 3 in the morning. I had to catch a train with the rest of the gang to Gdansk at 7:00A – so I finally broke up the party. We had really become fast friends. We were forever bonded from this day forward. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for these men if it were in my power – and I knew that there was nothing they wouldn’t do for me if it was within their power also.

4th of July at the US Ambassador's Residence in Poland

Martha, Craig and Alan, Brian and Scott and I all piled into a cab and headed out to Ambassador Davies’ residence. Here we entered a home where a huge crowd of Solidarity and Catholic Church dignitaries mingled delightedly with the Embassy staff. Jacek Merkel spied us immediately and drug us around the room and introduced us to, Priest Jankowski, Kuba, Andrjez Kozakiewic and Dr. Janick. Priest Jankowski did not speak English, but he gestured to me that he wanted exchange his pin of Lech Walesa for my American/Polish flag pin I was wearing. Of course. Priest Jankowski was an important figure in the demise of communism in Poland and the world. He was the Priest at St. Brygida’s Cathedral.

The Cathedral was located in Gdansk in direct view of the upper floors of the Hevelius Hotel, where the Communists often worked to spy on the comings and goings of the congregation. Both the hotel and the Cathedral were juxtaposed to the Lenin Shipyard, and so were pivotal in all the activities – whether it was the Solidarity opposition or communist regime. St. Brygida was used as a sanctuary for hunted Solidarity Leaders and sympathizers, such as Andrzej Kozakiewicz; and it was used as a triage hub during the 1970 massacre. Jankowski’s role was constant, and emboldened with the support of Pope John Paul III and the martyrdom of Father Jerzy Popielusko.

The story of Priest Popieluszko is that he was a Solidarity promoter. He was so eloquent in his passion for the movement even though it had been outlawed during the 1980’s, the Polish people never lost hope or the spirit of the Solidarity (Solidarnosc) because of his fervent support. His power to enhance the hope during Martial Law led to his death. He was abducted along a lonely stretch of road outside the city of Torun on Oct 19. His body was found in a reservoir on the Vistual River, 85 miles northwest of Warsaw. The Secret Police had spread the rumors that he was a victim of gang violence, but the Priest’s driver easily identified the Secret Police Captain, Grzegorz Piotrowski (an officer in the Interior Ministry section that monitors the activities of religious groups in Poland) as the ringleader. He and his co-conspirators believed that eliminating the popular Priest would cause the weakened Solidarity Movement to fracture. It had quite the opposite effect.

Popieluszko’s murder gave Solidarity a Martyr. He was a man who preached that no sacrifice was too great for the truth, and was now compelled to be a symbol of that sacrifice, now hallowed by baptism in blood.

Although Jankowski was continually in harm’s way, he managed to escape Popieluszko’s fate. He held many prayer rallies, and covertly supported the efforts of the men and women in Solidarity. Andrzej Kozakiewicz particularly relied on Jankowski during Martial Law.

Andrzej had lived in the U.S. in exile during most of Martial Law. He was able to escape under the Political Asylum provisions at the US Embassy. Although he had been an ordinary roofer, he was truly one of the country’s best. He was the head of the Solidarity Fund founded by Lech Walesa when given a grant from the US Congress (Senator Orin Hatch). The Fund was put in place to find work for those who had been black-listed from all work by the communist regime for their participation in Solidarity.

Later, I met Joanna Woijechowicz who was instrumental in providing employment for these “unemployable” people in her pottery/ art shop – a direct beneficiary of this fund. But I was only learning these things at this time. I was so caught up in all the people I got to meet at this 4^th of July party :

Thadeus Mazowiecki was another man I was introduced to. He was the acting, or interim President of Poland after the resignation of General Jaruzelski (the very man who declared Martial Law on his own people). Naturally, Jaruzelski was not present at this party, but neither was Lech Walesa.

I began to notice that Pan Walesa was being a recalcitrant at this time. His strategy was NOT to be the transitional government. To his credit, Walesa knew that transitional governments were always temporary: notably, they did not last very long after being intruded into the political system. So he was very willing to let Mazowiecki work out the very difficult kinks and then swoop in at a later and more perfect time.

Eventually, Kuba (Zaborowski), Andrzej (Kozakiewicz), Dr. Janik ,and I left the party and made our way up to the bar at the top of the Marriott Hotel.

A BLAST FROM ANOTHER GUMP PAST

The next day in Warsaw was the 4^th of July for us Americans and the first person I saw in the Hotel lobby was a Walter Whipple! Probably no one cares about who Walter Whipple was is, but the whole Gump thing for me is that I knew him when I was a junior at The American High School of Zürich, Switzerland. He was my Uncles office assistant. And here he was in the lobby at The Marriott hotel.

I waved him down and shook his hand while yelling “hello!” at him. He looked at me like he was trying to figure out why this strange woman was going to so much trouble to say “hi” to him. Obviously I was an American – but he couldn’t get the connection. OK – it had been 20 years since I last saw him – but he hadn’t changed at all. I, on the other hand had changed drastically from a shy, awkward 16 yr. old to a grown mom and traveler – but it made me laugh to see him so stunned!

When Walter lived in Switzerland, he could speak any and every dialect of Swiss German (and I’m sure he picked up the other 4 languages spoken by the Swiss). He was truly gifted linguistically. He was also musically gifted. Remembering this about him, I asked him why he was in Poland. I knew he had been appointed the Mission President for Poland by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, so I asked him because I assumed it was his gift of tongues that brought him here (Heaven knew I had not even mastered “hello” in Polish myself),

I was surprised to hear that he and his wife and children had lived in Poland during the communist era where he had studied to learn how to make Cello's. So he already spoke Polish, and would not have to be burdened by learning it.

OK -- I had learned some Swiss-German while I attended Zürich High, but no one speaks that anywhere in the world but there -- so I was (and still am) really rusty. My year in Zürich was so magical, it feels like it almost never happened. The more time that goes by -- the more it becomes one of those faded memories that I begin to question being real. But this is an adventure to be discovered at another time. For now -- I'm back in Poland, and things are really beginning to happen. It was, after all -- Independence Day -- and the Poles identify as much with our 4th, as we do -- and maybe the even appreciate it even more.

UNIFICATION DAY

For the meantime, Martha and Craig, Studibert and Frank, Ryan and the Foundation, and Fred and I were all one big happy family working for the stabilization of free markets in Poland through our contacts in Solidarity.

Our next trip into Eastern Europe was planned to include Martha, Craig and their 16 yr. old son Alan and I; a film director, Scott Swofford; and cinematographer, Brian Capner. Fred couldn’t get off work, and I needed someone to watch the boys. Craig and Martha were funding the trip and so they wanted to look into the possibility of doing a documentary on the emergence of Poland from the ashes of communism. Craig had some film/video experience where he had been nominated for an Emmy for his short film on pro-wrestling in “I Remember Gorgeous George.” Then he and Brian Capner had written a screen play titled “Giant Joshua” that they had been seeking funding for. That is – until Robert Redford (a well-known celebrity, Utah resident and co-founder of The Sundance Institute for independent film makers), read the script and wanted the rights to produce it. Craig told the story that the script hadn’t been for sale, but because Redford wanted to control it, he had threatened any and all funding sources that if they backed Craig and Co., they would never be allowed to back any of his future films. So that project died an agonizing death.

But now here they were, embarking with me on another historical journey that might prove to be better than “Giant Joshua.” Our trip would take us into Berlin and on to Poland. We would be skipping Hungary this time because we just had too much going on in Poland for now. We landed in Berlin on July 1, 1990. It was a rainy day, and the prospects of filming that day were not good. But the next day, July 2, the clouds parted, the sun came out, and Germany united, thus ending World War II – finally!

So much happened in the 2 days we spent in Berlin. We really only had the evening of the 1^st to acclimate to the time-change, etc., so one of the first things we did was go back to the wonderful restaurant we had experienced with the Common Market and U.S. Mission and Embassy folks on our initial visit. Of course, the menu was in German, so everyone had to trust me that what they ordered would be delicious. I’ll never forget the look on Alan’s face (Craig and Martha’s son) when they delivered a pig foot on a plate and set it in front of him. I could see tears welling up in his eyes, as he contemplated what he was about to do. Fortunately, hunger compelled him to pick up his knife and fork and begin cutting the flesh away from the hoof. We all busted out laughing. No worries, however, because by the end of the meal, he was licking the bones of that foot in order to get every morsel of flavorful flesh he could find!

Our meal was delicious and we hung around to plan our next day. I would just Like to stop here and say that I love Europe and their whole culture surrounding their café’s and restaurants Life is still not hurried, and café’s and restaurants are the gathering places for friends and families. No one hurries you in, or out. You are seated, and the bill is not brought to you unless you request it! When Craig and Scott began to wonder when-on-earth they would be getting the bill, I explained that they had to ask for it, and I got up and spoke to the waiter in my pathetic German and took care of the matter.

The next day began with a roaring thunderstorm. Was this an omen? It was July 2^nd – Unification Day for Germany and tradition had it that every time Germany united, it went to war on all its neighbors. Would the bad weather spoil our Wall tearing-down efforts as well? All of this seemed to contribute to Martha’s bad humor that morning. She spent most of her time in a corner of the hotel confiding in Brian about something. She seemed very unhappy – but I couldn’t take the time to find out what was going on because I had a lot of work that needed to be done in arranging transportation and venues for us to visit. Finally – around 10:00AM the clouds parted and the sun broke through the white and black, very fluffy clouds. It was the dawn of a new day, a new era, and new life for the people of East Berlin.

We first visited Brandenburg gate where we rented hammers and chisels and joined in with the symphony of the city. The clanging and chipping; the jack-hammering and banging were all percussions of joy and thanksgiving to God-Almighty for bringing about this miracle! And we were a part of the orchestra.

We wandered over to Check-Point-Charley where I had been just a few short months ago, and had been scrutinized by the communist machine. The bars on the windows of the apartment buildings that helped create the wall of the check-point had been ripped off and placed on the ground and slanted sideways against the Wall, creating ladders whereby people could climb up and over both east and west sides.

On a grassy portion in front of the Wall on the West side was a wooden cross with the name of a young boy – the first to be shot while crossing the Wall. We read the inscription that appeared in both German and English and wept at this wasteful loss. How this child must have been rejoicing with the Angels that morning as he saw the concerted activities of a united people tearing down this hated, Russian abomination.

As we continued to chip away, an East German man offered to break some pieces of the razor wire that was strewn along the ground for us. Of Course! So the man – yelling obscenities at his former oppressors -- took his hammer, bent the razor wire over and pounded on the crease until the metal fatigued and broke in half. He did this again and again, and while sustaining cuts to his hands he eagerly handed us each a length of the once, deadly barrier. We offered to pay him for his efforts, but he would have none of it – it was a triumphant labor of ultimate revenge for him, that money couldn't buy!

While Craig, Brian, Scott and Alan continued to film, Martha and I browsed the make-shift market where we bought various Russian Military insignias and communist lapel pins. I purchased a Polish square military hat, and army and navy metal hat decorations. I also purchased a chunk of The Wall that was a much bigger size than the crumbs we were able to chip away. Then we went back to Check-Point Charley and continued to chip away.

My most cherished piece of the Wall was a two-inch chunk I managed to free from the East Side. Unlike the West side of the Wall, this piece was pure white-washed smooth – well-maintained by the evil empire. It represented to me that if I – an ordinary housewife from an obscure state in America could own Russian military paraphernalia and a piece of the east side of The Wall, then the evil empire had truly been utterly defeated at last.

FOUNDATION FOR FREE MARKETS

Studibert had morphed the Freedom Foundation non-profit organization we went to Poland with the frist time into the Foundation For Free Markets and moved all activity from Ohio to Utah. He talked Ryan Simmonds, a Professor of Political-Economics, into being the President of the Foundation, and then faded discreetly behind the scenes. While Dr. Simmons did everything he could to lay a legitimate plan down for the course of the Foundation, Studibert began to bleed it dry for his own gain.

Because of my persistent efforts on behalf of the men and women I had met in Solidarity, I was invited to work with Studibert out of his Salt Lake offices. This was great for me, because even though my work was completely voluntary, I was now relieved of paying for every phone call I made across the U.S. and internationally to Poland, although I still made many calls from my home because of the time change between Utah and Poland.

So I went to work at the foundation almost every day, but I noticed a growing resentment for my presence. I was issued comments such as “What are we going to do with Kathy? She has so much enthusiasm and is doing so many things!” Huh? I also noticed an office romance blooming between the brain-dead receptionist at the Foundation and Frank the Lieutenant. This eventually caused Frank to divorce his current wife and marry the receptionist. Apparently the receptionist didn’t mind that he was a weasel, and was 20 years her senior. She also didn’t mind that he was vague, sneaky and always on the move.

I also saw the fax’s and messages surrounding the controversy of an SUV that a local dealership had loaned the Foundation for a short amount of time. For some reason, Frank decided it would be his mode of transportation in Utah, since he deserved it for all the work he was doing for Studibert. Studibert agreed, and later on used this precedent to swing a deal with some businessman from Hong Kong that paid off his mansion in Alpine in return for introductions to the right political people. Talk about influence-peddling!

But I believe it was Studibert’s absolute jealousy that put him over the edge where I was concerned. He was in constant contact with John B. (the underwater explorer I got to know better on our way home from Poland). John was a happy, enthusiastic guy who happened to ask how I was doing one time when speaking on the phone with Studibert. Next thing I knew, Studibert was confronting me (smiling of course) with “John loves you, you know.” “Well I love him! He’s a great guy!” was my reply. Now I didn’t mean anything by this statement, and I certainly didn’t read anything into the comment John supposedly had made. I loved a lot of people. But as far as any “romantic” love – excuse me! I was married with 5 sons, held down a part-time job as an Endodontic Assistant, and spent the rest of my time trying to make Poland safe for democracy! Studibert just grinned at my statement, and unbeknownst to me, filed it away in his squirming brain for later use.

I plodded along, and Craig and Martha would show up now and again at the office to meet about Studibert’s latest business scheme for Solidarity: A “cause” credit card. Studibert planned to send his lackey Frank over to Poland to negotiate the terms of this undertaking. The basic plan was to issue a credit card targeting U.S. credit-worthy Poles to get them to accept and use a credit card that had the Solidarity logo on the front. Then the agreement would be made about the percentage of the interest that would paid from the underwriting bank into the Solidarity Fund.

The Solidarity Fund was established when Senator Hatch from Utah presented Lech Walesa with a Million Dollars of U.S. Dept. of Commerce funding for Solidarity. This was used to create the Solidarity Fund where the organization would help those people who had been black-listed for employment by the communist government to find jobs, or at least be sustained while trying to eek out a living. When I went to Gdansk that first time, I met Julian Skelnick – the head of the Fund, and our presence in Poland was of great importance to him and this Fund, as jobs through joint-ventures and investments were made because of our efforts.

The whole idea of a cause-credit card project seemed simple enough – and it sounded a lot more feasible than the tennis-shoe factory my husband Fred had come up with out of the blue. But as I watched Studibert and Frank wheel and deal, the amount of time and finagling that was taking place eventually seemed odd to me. It seemed odd to Craig and Martha, too. But then the credit card project was also shrouded in extreme secrecy, and so what exactly was going on with it was not immediately apparent. It wasn’t until – at a later time — Studibert reminded me that no one was allowed to do business in Poland without going through him, and then Solidarity, that I realized he was not interested in a free Polish economy, but rather Polish money in his pockets! (And Solidarity thought they had gotten rid of all the communists! tsk! tsk!).

STUDIBERT REVEALED

When we got back home to Salt Lake City, Utah, I couldn’t shut up about my experiences in Poland. The first person I burdened with my stories was one of my best friends Martha Rycicles. She had been the head of a charitable foundation that had gathered food and blankets for Poland during Martial Law. She was doing this before I even CARED that there was such a country. She was eager to know everything about the trip – and before long, she and her husband, Craig were figuring out ways they could get involved.

This was my whole goal – to get people involved and doing something for this emerging democracy. It’s all-too easy to go and see all the horrible things in the world, but to be energized and then keep the energy going to accomplish the goals you promised with all your heart you’d do was a difficult task all by itself. So now we were about to embark on a slew of remarkable activities.

The first thing we did was to create a corporation – Phoenix Ventures – as a vehicle by which we would work in and for Solidarity and Poland. On the Board of Directors was a prominent lawyer, a couple of prominent businessmen, a psychiatrist (don’t know why???), and Doug Carton (not his real name), who turned out to be a cousin by marriage.

Doug’s aunt was the second wife of my Uncle Johnny (who I lived with when I attended high school in Switzerland). OK – my uncle Johnny married my mother’s sister – so he was my uncle by marriage, and when his wife died (my aunt Mary), he re-married a gal we all called “Nanny” and she had a nephew named Doug Carton. So Doug was a cousin by a marriage that was not between any of my blood relatives.This is a long way to the point about Doug. He became a pivotal acquaintance for me, because he was able to give me insights into the nature of Studibert long before I had need of it. As we met as a Board, the discussion eventually got around to Studibert.

Craig was an entrepreneur who had a PhD in English Literature. He was extremely successful in his business of writing (for newspapers and brochures for companies), so he had a lot of influence and a lot of contacts. So Fred and I introduced Craig to Studibert, and Craig had a few “lunch meetings” with him about Poland. So as Craig was re-hashing his various encounters with Studibert, Doug squinted his eyes a little bit and then interrupted: “Steve Studibert?” he asked. Craig answered in the affirmative, ad then Doug began to turn red and roll his eyes.

Doug then began to relate to everyone his encounters with Studibert while growing up, starting with Jr. High. It seemed that Studibert was from a family of about 8 children. His mom was a regular bride – and by “regular,” I believe the number 6 was mentioned in conjunction with the number of husbands/fathers she went through in Studibert’s lifetime. His childhood was one of abuse and neglect (but aren’t all childhoods?). And so as he became of Jr. High School age, he desired to be the Student Body President. He was not very popular, because he was strange (from his childhood), and he wanted everyone to like him (he was also extremely ugly and thick), so he ran. But he was poor at the same time, and so as he needed to “buy” people’s votes, and populate the Jr. High School with propaganda, he saw an opportunity to raise some money by selling all of the typewriters in the school. So one night, he stole all they typewriters – pawned them somehow, and suddenly had enough money to finance a very successful campaign.

He won. And no one was ever caught or charged for the theft of the typewriters. So how did Doug know Studibert had stolen them? Because the day before the typewriters were stolen Studibert couldn’t afford even a poster, and after the theft, there were candy-bars, T-shirts, and posters of Studibert’s campaign plastered all over the school. Doug couldn’t prove anything, but he knew – and everyone in the school knew, but somehow Studibert was elected as Student Body President by a very thin margin anyway.

The next time Studibert reared his ugly head was at BYU. Here, Doug knew him as a student “spy” for the university’s honor code, and if he didn’t know of any students who were breaking the “code,” he’d set them up so he would appear to be a force to be reckoned with on the subject of honor (later on -- this "setting up" of his would foil a decent man's campain for U.S. Senator).

From BYU, he became a policeman in Brigham City,UT and then Police Chief. It was as a Police Chief that he became acquainted with the FBI and eventually the Secret Service. Studibert managed to massage his Secret Service contacts enough to get him into White House Duty. Here is where he made his contacts at The White House, and was eventually appointed as an Advance Man to President Reagan. The man that briefed us on the Pacific Rim at the White House Annex was Jon Huntsman, Jr. – and he had been an Advance Man for Reagan at the same time. What an eerie coincidence!

An interesting fact about Doug that added to his credibility as a Studibert detractor was the fact that he had been in a little organization called the C.I.A. Here, his operations overseas were fronted by an international newspaper. In fact, when it came time to deciding who would go on the next trip to Poland, Doug had to bow out stating that he was not allowed to travel to the Eastern European countries. There were still enough bad guys hanging around that would not only put him in danger, but the very issuance of a visa would alert international spies that he was coming, and he was just not allowed to travel to those places yet.

That’s as far as I learned about my cousin Doug and his input on Studibert. Except for this one time, we never spoke of any of this again. As I absorbed these revelations from Doug, and remembered what the fund-raiser for the Republican Party had said about Studibert, I began to wonder how someone who appeared so fair, could feel so foul.

BANNED FROM THE WHITE HOUSE

In May of 1990, Studibert invited Fred and I to attend the dedication of the Filo Farnsworth statue at the National Capitol Building Rotunda. Interestingly enough, Fred was a registered Democrat. Of course we would attend, and there we were – with the rich and famous Utah Republicans – pretending to be one of them – again. I made good use of my time while I was in D.C., and met with representatives of the Dept. of Commerce, Defense, and the Pentagon. The group of people all fit on one bus, and despite all my own meetings, I also attended and was a witness to a couple of meetings in The White House that began to reveal the true nature of Studibert.

The first meeting was a scheduled lunch in The White House, but somehow that got delayed. Our bus seemed to drive around endlessly all over the city. Studibert was chasing the bus in a smaller car. We’d get somewhere and park and wait. We’d then see Studibert appear, wave to Frank who’d get off the bus and chit-chat with him, get back on, and around in circles we’d go again. We finally landed at the White House visitors’ entrance to the Annex building, and we were ushered in to a waiting area.

We were then herded into a briefing room in the Annex building, where we were each given a box of Presidential M&M’s. Jon Huntsman, Jr. gave us a briefing on his specialty – The Pacific Rim. Jon Huntsman, Jr. was the son of Jon Huntsman, Sr. (a Utah billionaire who made his fortune in chemicals; inventing the Styrofoam box that Big-Macs used to be housed in). The Huntsman’s’ were related to my neighbors, the former Mayor of Palo Alto, CA., David B. Haight (Mrs. Huntsman, Sr.’s father), and Jon Jr. is the current Governor of Utah (at this posting).

So I listened attentively, but the soothing sound of Jon Jr.'s voice, and my lack of sleep the night before found my head bobbing in hopes of getting in a few “zzzzzz’s.” It is here that I discovered the great principle, that it is almost impossible to fall asleep while chewing. I put one M&M in my mouth and chewed. Then another – and I was able to ration them all out until the end of the briefing – and I didn’t fall asleep!

Afterwards, we were shuttled into the Indian Treaty Room of the Annex. I had never been there before, and was quite excited to see the beautiful paintings and mosaic floors, etc.. We were milling around when suddenly a bunch of box lunches appeared, and we sat on any available chair in the room -- and that was our “White House” lunch. Studibert was curiously absent, but Frank and the Republican Fund-raiser for Utah (I’ll call him Bill) was there handing out the lunches. Then another Utah White House staffer came and spoke to us about something . . .

I can’t remember who it was or what he talked about, but the man apologized for not knowing sooner that he needed to address us, and was confident that since we were all Utahan’s we would forgive him. We did, and he was very nice. We finished our lunches, and then we were ushered out of the Annex Building. We drove around the town for a little while longer, and finally it was time to dedicate the statue of F. Farnsworth.

Because we had a lot of free time to visit with one another and were able to get better acquainted, I offered to help out with whatever Bill needed to get done. We got to be good friends, and eventually then, and also later back home in Utah, Bill told me that Studibert was not allowed within 100 feet of the White House. Bill never told me why (I don’t think even he knew), but that’s why the lunch fell through, and Studibert was not present at our briefings at The White House. This seemed very curious to me, but later, as I began to add things up, the reason for his banishment became clear to me.

IN BETWEEN

Happily, we had a couple of occasions to meet back with our friends from the trade mission. One such time was at Cape Canaveral, that same summer. Here were all our Florida friends along with Frank and Studibert. It was a validation to the reality that we had indeed been to Poland together. My new friend John B. was there with his friend George B. and we just had such a great time catching up and recounting our adventures in Poland and what we had been doing since.

Studibert was the speaker at this gathering. He was well-rehearsed and very much accustomed to addressing large gatherings. He recounted his time spent in the White House, with emphasis on his impressions of President Reagan towards the end of his term. Studibert smugly noted that “Ronny” seemed a bit pre-occupied; slept a lot; and seemed a bit “detached” in carrying out his official duties. He made jokes about his mental capacities and his daily tasks until we all began to feel a bit uncomfortable about the trend of his speech. We all eventually stopped laughing at his punch-lines, and began to suspect he was taking every advantage to put the Reagan’s down because of what Nancy’s book said about him.

At the time, Studibert was our “friend” and so we all tried to cut him some of slack. It wasn’t until the Utah Elephant Club’s excursion to Washington, D.C. to dedicate a statue of Filo Farnsworth (the inventor of the modern T.V.) that I began to connect the dots between Judd Blakely’s assessment of Studibert and what the Republican fund-raisers on this trip were indicating: Studibert had left the Bush, Sr. White House abruptly, and not of his own volition! There was more going on here than we could have known.

HOME

We finally got back home, but not before we got to experience an aborted landing in Dallas. Other than the fact that the airport was socked in with clouds that could pass for fog (we descended for what seemed like an hour – and I never did get a glimpse of the ground), the pilot came on the intercom after an amazing surge of power to take us straight up into the air and explained that we had been instructed to land on a runway that already had another aircraft on it. It was nearly a Western Airlines catastrophe that had occurred many years earlier in Mexico. Again, the thought crossed my mind that I had traveled so far from home, and witnessed so much just to have it all end in Texas – it was unacceptable.

But when we landed and connected to our flight into Salt Lake City, I was so relieved to be home and to see that all my boys had fared well in our absence. I was still absolutely tingling with all I had soaked in from our encounters with the Eastern European heroes of our day. Even though I had passed through that portal-membrane that tends to strip all good intentions away from the minds of the good-intended, I was quickened with the desire to give the experience some meaning through actions.

I told everyone I knew where we had gone and what we had done. I pulled every string I could grab and met with CEOs, working-stiffs and good friends to try and get some Western enterprise back over to that emerging nation-market.

I will summarize here that since that initial trip, I kept my promise to the people of Poland that we had met in March of 1990. I went back to Poland with many businessmen: opened doors and helped create those promised joint ventures.

I brought in environmental specialists to help clean up the toxic pollutants left by the communist-run industries.
• I put together a venture with an American businesswoman and polish crystal exporting;
• Reported back on the film industry in Poland to Chuck and Aaron Norris;
• Helped resolve a strike of the air-traffic controllers in Warsaw;
• Worked as the catalyst for changing Polish law in Parliament on foreign grant money coming into the country;
• Worked on the successful election of Lech Walesa as President of Poland; and
• I partnered up with USAID (United States Agency for International Development), Solidarity and the University of Michigan to execute a 2-day seminar in Gdansk for all the healthcare professionals in Poland, where they were taught how to revamp their existing healthcare system. It was here that I met Alina Pienkowska, one of negotiators to the strike of 1980, and co-founder of Solidarity.

The adventures and melo-dramas to accomplish these few items is the Forrest Gump part I played. For the good I truly wanted to impose in Poland, I was met with death-threats from my good friend Studibert, backed up by Frank, and a nasty divorce from Fred. But everlastingly, the men and women I met in Solidarity stayed true and courageous as they unfaltering brought about the sweeping changes they needed to enjoy their God-given free agency.

FLYING HOME

While in Budapest, Fred and I became better acquainted with everyone on the trip. I guess you could say that all of us got better acquainted with each other. But it was on this particular flight that I got better acquainted with John B. and George B. We all sat in the first class section of our Pan-Am flight to Florida, and John B. and I talked the whole way home.

We left in the morning, and arrived around 2:00PM that same afternoon (chasing the sun). John told me about his meat-packing company, and about his family. Some of it was very touching, and so I won’t divulge such private matters in this blog. But there is one thing he spoke of that has since been reported in the news, so I’ll touch on some of it – because it is such a Forrest Gump thing.

Before this point in time, John was suffering from depression brought on by his business falling off and his family-life faltering. So he had determined that he would take a break by taking his boat (it had a crew, so it was probably more like a yacht) out in the ocean to stay for awhile and drink – just to get away from it all. So according to plan, he took off from where he lived in Florida, sailed away for awhile, then chose a spot to drop anchor and sit.

He was in the territory of the Bahamas’ when he ordered the anchor dropped. He got an alert from the crewman who dropped the anchor to come take a look. Curiously, the anchor certainly didn’t go down very far for how far out to see they were. So he had a diver go over the side to see what the anchor had hit. Wouldn’t you know it! The anchor had struck a portion of a sunken Spanish ship – possibly an old Galleon (the kind that carried gold).

Now John was completely cheered up, and had a new purpose to his life! Because he was one of the ones who had taken President Bush out on his fishing trips of late, he was politically very well connected, including with the Bahamian government. So his plan he told me, was when he got back from Poland, he would solicit the Bahamians to lease this portion of the ocean (since it was in their territory), to explore this find. He suspected it was the ship that had reportedly sunk with 9 billion dollars worth of doubloons on board – so he couldn’t exactly tell them WHY he needed the lease, but would be more general about his petition in order to get an exploration grid over the sunken ship.

Of course, many years have gone by since this flight home, and I did receive some faxes from John stating what he was up to in the context of underwater exploration. And when I went back to Poland, I did some negotiations with the Gdansk Maritime Museum curators for John on the possibilities of exploring the Baltic Sea and river that emptied into it where Nazi treasure was suspected to be sunk.

All of this was such an interesting way to pass the time on the long flight, but the very best part was getting to know John. He was just such a wonderful, friendly, intelligent man. It was a privilege to know him as a friend and watch him in the next couple of years go from the brink of his life changing forever, to living the life he had wanted all along.

Where was Fred on this flight? Fred was where he always was on every flight I ever took with him. He was off talking to the flight attendants, the general passengers, and the rest of our trade mission group. When not bothering everyone around him, he was reading the newspaper. I never traveled with Fred where we ever carried on a conversation. We didn’t really have a lot to say to each other. Fred preferred to do squats in the isle so he could be the center of attention (he never exercised a day when he was on the ground), or to read the paper. On this flight however, I hardly knew he was around, because my interest was truly engaged with the stories of sunken treasure and exploration.

I don’t remember anything about Studibert and Frank. I’m sure they were on the same flight with us because only a few months later, Studibert began to formulate a plan he was certain would utterly destroy me that had been sparked by this chat on the plane with John. It took me a long time to figure out why he would even bother with such a plan, but it would became annoyingly apparent all too soon.

In the end, the flight was too short, and as we went our separate ways, we all vowed to stay in touch, and do what we could to coordinate our efforts to benefit the people we met in Poland. And so we did for awhile.

BUDAPEST

Our plans took us to Budapest, Hungary. Here we were able to observe the first free elections in over 45 years (technically the first free election in over 1100 years, the election in 1945 was overthrown to put the communists into power). We boarded the Hungarian airline, and were terrified to notice some glaring differences between flying on an American/European aircraft and the iron-curtain variety. First of all, there were no overhead “bins,” just shelves to put all our heavy stuff on. No one cared if our tables were in their upright and locked positions. In fact, the “tables” where perfectly cut plywood rectangles that folded in half on brass hinges. You could poke a knee out on these 90 degree weapons just getting in and out of your seat!

We were all picked up at the airport by a bus, and our guide for the duration was a young man name “Gabor,” (as in “Eva!”). He pointed out the Danube river (pronounced daNOOB in Hungarian), and we crossed from the Buda to the Pest side where we settled into our hotel. Here I have to stop for a minute and state for the record that the Poles had good food, but the Hungarians had the best food in the world – no matter where we went or what we ate – it was simply the best food ever! I could happily gain 200 lbs if ever I stayed there for more than a couple of days – and it would be worth every ounce.

At one little restaurant, we were treated with the gypsy violin player, and then the Transylvanians sitting next to us began to sing their anthem of independence (which they desired from Hungary). In the communist days, many otherwise separate countries were forced to behave as one, and with the break up of the Soviet Union, all the otherwise separate nations wanted to resume their historical separations. This would cause many problems, particularly in Yugoslavia.

Also, here in Hungary, the mission seemed to break down. Frank and Studibert had not fixed our agenda except for shopping and dinning. However, we did observe the elections, and watched the results in the U.S. Embassy. But there was a problem getting into the Embassy – and I would find out later why Studiber himself was probably source of that problem.

We ran into Walter Mondale. He was there to observe the elections as well (I wondered what had happened to him?). We witnessed masses of people streaming into the polling places. Old men escorting their even older fathers to cast their secret ballots. Where a citizen was too infirmed to vote, the ballot box was taken to them by one of the election officials. We followed one of these boxes with our cameras, and have on video tape the account of an elderly woman filling out her ballot. When she had completed it, she carefully folded it into quarters and held it above the box and pronounced these words in Hungarian: “I am casting this vote for my sister, who was murdered by the Russian tanks in 1956,” and she cast her paper with that precious vote -- bought with innocent blood -- into the ballot box (I never miss voting in any election, no matter how insignificant it may seem).