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.