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.