Le Tour
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Let the Tour Begin
The Tour de France, cycling's grand daddy spectacle, is a three week race occurring once a year during the month of July. France of course is the traditional staging ground, however neighboring countries have seen its roads crossed by many of the approximately 200 starters this race musters up. Each rider is part of a team of roughly nine members, one of whom is the designated leader. Unless of course, the year is 1986 (more on that later)...
Cinq—quatre—trois—deux—un...and you're off! The Prologue of approximately 21 stages typically begins in a solo start house where it is "contre la montre", or, against the clock (see above video). To the cheers of an absolutely fanatical crowd, you usually begin strong, then try to conserve energy as best you can while maintaining a typical speed of 35 mph which is no small task. Your "funny bike" is equipped with the latest aerodynamic components, like bullhorn handlebars and rear disk wheel. Though slightly heavier, it is set to produce greater speed. You, of course, are nothing but a drag as the saying goes. Your pointy helmet and truncated skinsuit help the air to flow freely over your body thereby decreasing resistance. At the midway time check, you are .001 seconds behind the fastest rider thus far. Yes, time trialing is that precise at the professional level. As you pound on your pedals, your heart rate resembles something akin to a jackhammer; you are now exercising completely anaerobically (without oxygen). With legs burning, you cross the finish line and hope for the best. Day 1 is almost over.
Cinq—quatre—trois—deux—un...and you're off! The Prologue of approximately 21 stages typically begins in a solo start house where it is "contre la montre", or, against the clock (see above video). To the cheers of an absolutely fanatical crowd, you usually begin strong, then try to conserve energy as best you can while maintaining a typical speed of 35 mph which is no small task. Your "funny bike" is equipped with the latest aerodynamic components, like bullhorn handlebars and rear disk wheel. Though slightly heavier, it is set to produce greater speed. You, of course, are nothing but a drag as the saying goes. Your pointy helmet and truncated skinsuit help the air to flow freely over your body thereby decreasing resistance. At the midway time check, you are .001 seconds behind the fastest rider thus far. Yes, time trialing is that precise at the professional level. As you pound on your pedals, your heart rate resembles something akin to a jackhammer; you are now exercising completely anaerobically (without oxygen). With legs burning, you cross the finish line and hope for the best. Day 1 is almost over.
Silky Smooth
After a quick spike of elecrolites, you relax, take a shower, and then go for your masseuse. Just make sure your legs are shaven. Contrary to popular myth, there are three valid reasons why male cyclists shave their legs. First, to prevent injury. When a rider falls on an unshaven leg, it is actually the hair that does the most damage by pulling the skin resulting in a bloody abrasion. A clean shaven leg slides smoothly along pavement resulting in no abrasion. Second, to decrease air resistance. In a sport where milliseconds matter, any advantage is welcomed. And third, smooth legs allow your masseuse to fully massage your tired thighs and calves, greatly increasing your recovery rate for the next day's trek. It's dinner time, and you are about to devour roughly 10,000 calories, no kidding. A typical pro cyclist's life is: waking up, eating breakfast, stretching, riding 100 miles, returning home, showering/masseuse, eating, a few hours in an endorphine-like trance, then going to sleep. In a sport where average body fat is nil, you are allowed to eat everything under the sun, and you indeed do.
Sacrificial Slaves
Back to the start line the next morning for a typical day's race length at 150+ miles. Your team plays a crucial role in the race, controlling the pace, breaking the wind, and relaying water. Most of the squad are called Domestiques, who are basically high paid slaves. The domestique does most of the energy absorbing work, allowing the team leader to benefit.
And at the end of the day, the team's efforts ideally pay off, as their leader is either at the top of the GC (general classification) or close to it, racing the course in the least amount of time so far. Unless of course, you have two contenders for the lead, as was the case in 1986.
La Vie Claire, the colorful team sporting red, white, yellow, and blue fashion (see photo) was arguably "the best team ever, probably ever, in the history of the sport" according to teammate Andy Hampsten. Run by the French mogul Bernard Tapie, the team's budget was limitless, and could afford to pay high salaries to riders like Bernard Hinault, Steve Bauer, Niki Ruttiman, Jean-Francois Bernard, Hampsten, and of course Greg LeMond. As you can begin to see, having so many stars on one team can only mean fierce internal competition, and that's what happened. In 1985, Greg LeMond was forced to intentionally slow down on a stage he could have won so as to assist team leader Hinault who was struggling. Had LeMond continued his pace, he would have won the day, and would have been the race leader. It was the first time in the history of the sport that a potentially victorious rider was told to slow down instead of speed up. Hinault went on to win the Tour and vowed to return the favor to LeMond the following year. But when the 1986 Tour unfolded, tensions once again mounted as both men had the chance to win the Tour. The 12 man team split friendships during the race; each rider siding with either the LeMond camp or the Hinault camp. And this occurred while they were supposed to be racing as one team in unison. Such is the price paid for victory in the Tour de France. LeMond went on to win, but with somewhat hesitant help from Hinault.
And at the end of the day, the team's efforts ideally pay off, as their leader is either at the top of the GC (general classification) or close to it, racing the course in the least amount of time so far. Unless of course, you have two contenders for the lead, as was the case in 1986.
La Vie Claire, the colorful team sporting red, white, yellow, and blue fashion (see photo) was arguably "the best team ever, probably ever, in the history of the sport" according to teammate Andy Hampsten. Run by the French mogul Bernard Tapie, the team's budget was limitless, and could afford to pay high salaries to riders like Bernard Hinault, Steve Bauer, Niki Ruttiman, Jean-Francois Bernard, Hampsten, and of course Greg LeMond. As you can begin to see, having so many stars on one team can only mean fierce internal competition, and that's what happened. In 1985, Greg LeMond was forced to intentionally slow down on a stage he could have won so as to assist team leader Hinault who was struggling. Had LeMond continued his pace, he would have won the day, and would have been the race leader. It was the first time in the history of the sport that a potentially victorious rider was told to slow down instead of speed up. Hinault went on to win the Tour and vowed to return the favor to LeMond the following year. But when the 1986 Tour unfolded, tensions once again mounted as both men had the chance to win the Tour. The 12 man team split friendships during the race; each rider siding with either the LeMond camp or the Hinault camp. And this occurred while they were supposed to be racing as one team in unison. Such is the price paid for victory in the Tour de France. LeMond went on to win, but with somewhat hesitant help from Hinault.
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Flower Power
The traditional "maillot jeune", or yellow jersey, is donned onto each day's race leader. And you, my friend, are in yellow today. The first third of the race traverses mostly flatlands, where the heavy legged sprinters find their forte. Rain or shine, the race goes on. The gamble is, how fast are you willing to take a turn? Classic racing tires are called tubulars, or sew-ups, due to their internally sewed-in tube. Weighing in at an incredibly light weight, they offer the advantage in weight savings at the most crucial spot, wheel rotation. The lighter your tires, spokes, and nipples are, the easier it is to rotate the wheel, therefore the energy saving ratio is significant. Tubulars are glued onto a wheel's rim, and your mechanic had better ensure they are glued on securely. Rolling a tire off of its rim on a turn is shall we say, not an adventure you want to experience. But enough of these redundant corn and sunflower fields, you want to see the snow. The mountains are approaching...
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The Mountains
Two to three sets of mountain stages are scheduled in the Tour de France. Depending on the clockwise or counterclockwise route of the whole race, you will be climbing over such colossal monsters as the Col du Tourmalet (see video), Superbagneres, Col de Portet d'Aspet, and Luz Ardiden (see videos) in the majestic Pyrenees which border France with Spain. The second set of mountains take place in the Alps, where you will climb over a row of shark's teeth such as Alp d' Huez (see video), Col de la Croix de Fer, and the Col du Galibier, the highest road in France. And sometimes, just sometimes, tour organizers throw in a bowl of cherries in the form of Mont Ventoux and its neighboring extinct volcano climbs in France's Massif Centrale region. Well, who determines how hard the race will be? Politics are everywhere, even at the Tour. Every year towns all across France bid on being either a starting point or a finishing point for a particular stage. The highest bidders win of course, which brings publicity to their town and some degree of notoriety. Paris of course, receives and automatic entry for the race's final stage finishing point. However, some argue that the entire race route is disproportional and unfair. To climb a mountain and to pedal the flatlands should not be timed on the same clock, as clearly it is much more difficult to ascend against gravity, thereby sharply separating those who are "billy goats" from those who are "snails".
You've made it over the penultimate peak and descending at 60mph. Instantly you realize the important ruling made rather recently requiring helmets to be worn on all stages, as you recall Motorola's Fabio Casartelli, who crashed on a high speed descent, cracking his head, and losing his life. You keep a safe distance behind the rear wheel of the rider in front of you, and it is only your descending skills that prevent you from overshooting a corner and catapulting over the guard rail, if there even is one. The feed zone approaches several miles before the final summit climb and you grab a bag of hi-energy goodies to fuel up for the nightmare ahead. With merely a few stages to go in this great race, if you fail to make it over this peak, you are dropped and full of tears. With legs burning, you must keep the pace with your rivals, who will intentionally attack your vulnerability on the HC (Hors Categorie) climb. An HC climb is the most difficult climb classified in the tour. With throngs of people absolutely mobbing you with encouragement, you cannot even hear yourself think. Your only objective is to reach the summit finish. You are experiencing the definition of pain. Once across the finish line, you fall from your bike but luckily your attendees are there and immediately slap an oxygen mask on your face. You are lucky to be semiconscious.
You've made it over the penultimate peak and descending at 60mph. Instantly you realize the important ruling made rather recently requiring helmets to be worn on all stages, as you recall Motorola's Fabio Casartelli, who crashed on a high speed descent, cracking his head, and losing his life. You keep a safe distance behind the rear wheel of the rider in front of you, and it is only your descending skills that prevent you from overshooting a corner and catapulting over the guard rail, if there even is one. The feed zone approaches several miles before the final summit climb and you grab a bag of hi-energy goodies to fuel up for the nightmare ahead. With merely a few stages to go in this great race, if you fail to make it over this peak, you are dropped and full of tears. With legs burning, you must keep the pace with your rivals, who will intentionally attack your vulnerability on the HC (Hors Categorie) climb. An HC climb is the most difficult climb classified in the tour. With throngs of people absolutely mobbing you with encouragement, you cannot even hear yourself think. Your only objective is to reach the summit finish. You are experiencing the definition of pain. Once across the finish line, you fall from your bike but luckily your attendees are there and immediately slap an oxygen mask on your face. You are lucky to be semiconscious.
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Drug Tripper
During the race, many riders find that sleeping in an enclosed chamber specially designed to acclimate their bodies to the rarified atmosphere of the mountains does indeed work. Still other riders, like Andy Hampsten, rely on a fresh supply of Mexican food favorites to do the trick. And still other riders rely on...something else.
"Got a good reason, for takin' the easy way out. Got a good reason, for takin' the easy way out now. She was a ..." Drug tripper, not quite the exact line from that famous Beatles song, but appropriate enough indeed. Drug use in the Tour de France has a long history, and a sad one. In a sport where physically testing a body's limit is par for the course, combined with a direct connection between salary and results, it is no wonder then why performance enhancing drugs are rampant. Amphetamines were the drugs of choice through the 1970's, combined with caffeine through the 80's. More recently, such substances as testosterone and erythropoietin (EPO) have been added. This is in addition of course to the well-known "natural" technique of blood doping, which is extracting your blood, refrigerating it for awhile, then injecting it back into your body, which by this time has regenerated the lost RBCs (red blood cells), resulting in an increased RBC count in your bloodstream. RBCs carry oxygen to weary cells, so the more you have, the more you can endure. Several riders have been caught via unannounced sporadic testing, but, the crook is always one step ahead of the cop, isn't that correct? With the help of team physicians, riders have found clever ways at beating the rap. One way, only a theory of mine and never proven, involves the strategic use of the domestiques. Remember these guys are the work horses for the team, all focused on getting their leader at the top of the GC. A technique that is plausible is for these domestiques, maybe one or two of them, to be intentionally loaded up on either testosterone, EPO, or another substance and to then nurse the team leader through about three quarters of the race, after which they drop out of sight and purposely finish back in the pack. The net effect is that the team leader, who had no reason to take drugs, has just had three quarters of the day's work done for him (breaking the wind, water supply, etc.) by the drugged domestiques. The team leader finishes with a fast time, and for that he is automatically tested with a urine test. The faster you are across the line, the more chance that you will undergo testing. About three randomly selected riders are also chosen from all regardless of finishing time, but the chances that one of these domestiques is picked is small since the field is large. The leader finishes strong, tests clean, and the team physicians chalk up another victory for themselves. It is a terrible tragedy. But as long as money rules, rules will be broken.
"Got a good reason, for takin' the easy way out. Got a good reason, for takin' the easy way out now. She was a ..." Drug tripper, not quite the exact line from that famous Beatles song, but appropriate enough indeed. Drug use in the Tour de France has a long history, and a sad one. In a sport where physically testing a body's limit is par for the course, combined with a direct connection between salary and results, it is no wonder then why performance enhancing drugs are rampant. Amphetamines were the drugs of choice through the 1970's, combined with caffeine through the 80's. More recently, such substances as testosterone and erythropoietin (EPO) have been added. This is in addition of course to the well-known "natural" technique of blood doping, which is extracting your blood, refrigerating it for awhile, then injecting it back into your body, which by this time has regenerated the lost RBCs (red blood cells), resulting in an increased RBC count in your bloodstream. RBCs carry oxygen to weary cells, so the more you have, the more you can endure. Several riders have been caught via unannounced sporadic testing, but, the crook is always one step ahead of the cop, isn't that correct? With the help of team physicians, riders have found clever ways at beating the rap. One way, only a theory of mine and never proven, involves the strategic use of the domestiques. Remember these guys are the work horses for the team, all focused on getting their leader at the top of the GC. A technique that is plausible is for these domestiques, maybe one or two of them, to be intentionally loaded up on either testosterone, EPO, or another substance and to then nurse the team leader through about three quarters of the race, after which they drop out of sight and purposely finish back in the pack. The net effect is that the team leader, who had no reason to take drugs, has just had three quarters of the day's work done for him (breaking the wind, water supply, etc.) by the drugged domestiques. The team leader finishes with a fast time, and for that he is automatically tested with a urine test. The faster you are across the line, the more chance that you will undergo testing. About three randomly selected riders are also chosen from all regardless of finishing time, but the chances that one of these domestiques is picked is small since the field is large. The leader finishes strong, tests clean, and the team physicians chalk up another victory for themselves. It is a terrible tragedy. But as long as money rules, rules will be broken.
Victory
Not to take away from you and the majority of riders who are dedicated professionals though. You've trained and raced 100 miles a day for 9 months out of the year in the toughest sport on the planet. Now you are racing the final stage into Paris. Once again, the cheering crowds welcome you from your gladiator-like battle over the past three weeks. The field rounds the Champs d'Elysees and then in a dramatic burst of effort collectively vault out of the saddle and dig hard for the most prestigious stage win in all of cycling. Afterwards, you can only reflect on the man standing atop the podium with trophy in hand, and, you wish that this man was you...
From 1986 through 1994 I held a United States Cycling Federation (USCF) international racing license which allowed me to compete in a handful of races in France. I remember going out on a training ride with my friend Gerard Baron. The first thing that raised my eyebrows was the sheer bravado of the typical European cyclist. Whereas I was exhibiting "proper American style" athletic preparation like stretching and eating fructose-based food, my friend here just got on his bike cold after downing a buttery croissant. Needless to say he kept the pace and was even eager to push it. A young buck you might say? No, because another person named Gerard, who was the father of a lovely French girl I knew, took me on a cycling tour through the rolling countryside into parts unknown, and he was 60+ years old.
I remember in one race I was in a 5-rider breakaway pack heading to the finish only 2km from the picturesque town of Cazeres, France with about 90 seconds lead on the peloton (main group). Glancing over my right shoulder, nobody in sight. Thirty seconds later, the tsunami-like peloton quickly engulfed us, chewed us up and spit us out, plain and simply put. European cycling is fierce, so hats off to all who compete.
From 1986 through 1994 I held a United States Cycling Federation (USCF) international racing license which allowed me to compete in a handful of races in France. I remember going out on a training ride with my friend Gerard Baron. The first thing that raised my eyebrows was the sheer bravado of the typical European cyclist. Whereas I was exhibiting "proper American style" athletic preparation like stretching and eating fructose-based food, my friend here just got on his bike cold after downing a buttery croissant. Needless to say he kept the pace and was even eager to push it. A young buck you might say? No, because another person named Gerard, who was the father of a lovely French girl I knew, took me on a cycling tour through the rolling countryside into parts unknown, and he was 60+ years old.
I remember in one race I was in a 5-rider breakaway pack heading to the finish only 2km from the picturesque town of Cazeres, France with about 90 seconds lead on the peloton (main group). Glancing over my right shoulder, nobody in sight. Thirty seconds later, the tsunami-like peloton quickly engulfed us, chewed us up and spit us out, plain and simply put. European cycling is fierce, so hats off to all who compete.
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The 2010 Pulaski Day Parade Committee Marshal Ball
The following was a speech prepared for the 2010 Pulaski Day Parade Committee Marshal Ball in anticipation of winning the nomination. However, in an extremely close election into the eleventh hour, the nomination was awarded to Ms. Janina Sobolewska. After careful thought, AndrewOstrowski.com has decided to release this drafted speech for the betterment of the entire Polish community.
"Thank you. Thank you very much.
I stand before you this evening, very humbled and very honored, that you have chosen me as your Marshal.
I had a few moments last night, in preparing my speech, trying to decide how I was going to open it and what I would address. I was tossing and turning, should I say this, should I say that, doing some rough drafts, tearing pieces of paper in half, throwing my hands up in the air, attempting to define exactly where we are and where I would like us to go.
I caught sight of an old book in my book case, kind of standing out with its red, black, and white binding, easy for the eye to pick up upon first glance. It was the 1976 St. Stanislaus Kostka anniversary edition. I had forgotten about it, forgotten that I had it. This was of course first acquired by my parents way back in those halcyon days of yesteryear. And I began to flip through the pages and all the memories it held, even spotting my 10-year old self in a photo shoot in front of St. Stan's. There I was in my plaid bell-bottom pants and striped shirt. My white-blond onion-head hairstyle stood out noticeably. For this I acquired the nickname "cebula". (...What happened though?)
But it dawned on me that here I was trying to write this speech while holding this tell-all book in my hand, because every page of that book spoke of our Polonia and how much we were involved in promoting the core values that Polish people the world over have come to be renowned for. Our heritage is one of dignity, forbearance...and faith. I remember one photo, of Msgr. Arthur Rojek. There he was, this towering figure of a man, you could almost hear his zestful voice speaking out from the pages. Almost page after page, photo after photo, groupings of Poles and Polish Americans appeared, all united in the photo, all having the element of the Church in its midst. In fact, I don't recall seeing one photo with less than a dozen people in it. Nor do I recall seeing one photo without some presence of the Church in it, some visual link to the institution we held so dear for countless years, and have been so extremely fortunate to later have been graced with the God-given man of our dreams, Karol Wojtyla.
But...these were mere memories. Long, distant, remote recollections of an age long gone. But still running strong with the grace of God, we ourselves are a perfect testament to the continued dedication and unwavering resolve of the Polish people. Along with many other organizations and pro-Polonia cultural groups, this Committee under the leadership of its President has steered our ship straight through an increasingly obstacle-laden environment.
Indeed the obstacles we face are many. Be them financial, administrative, social, or political, we look to better times ahead. Polish Americans keep this as their undying hope. Our "reputation, our image, and our soul"...the "Big 3" as I like to call them...unfortunately my friends, have been tarnished over the years in small ways...and sometimes big ways.
I recently heard a horror story about a couple of Polish immigrant construction workers. They arrived at a home ready to begin work, doing some vinyl siding and some window capping, and the homeowners, who were Polish, were glad to see a Polish working crew in their presence. One of the guys even had on a sweatshirt proudly displaying the white and red Polish national flag for all passers-by to see. However, the homeowners quickly became disenchanted, because as soon as the workers opened their mouths for all to hear what emanated was foul language and curse word after curse word.
My friends what does this do to our image? It is my goal that our involvement in assisting newly arriving Polish immigrant workers will be to include installation of a sense of dignity when we say that yes, America is the land of opportunity.
Speaking of opportunity. We are grateful for the past support of our political friends in working with us to further advance all-things Polonia. It is true, that without the help of some of our elected officials in office, we would not have achieved what we have thus far. But friends, as we stand by our word we must remember that our reputation is always at stake. Let us once and for all stand firm in our convictions and hold accountable politicians who claim to show allegiance to the Polish people, the vast majority of whom are Catholic, while at the same time continue to support anti-Catholic policies!
For what does this do but create inconsistency and justify people's sarcastic opinions of us. Maybe we should all adopt a quote from that famous Clint Eastwood film "Magnum Force" and tell them point blank: "Either you're for us... or you're against us".
It is also my goal to do whatever I can in my newfound capacity to keep our beacon lit and to promote the betterment of Staten Island's Polish American community by greatly increasing their involvement in the Church. What does this mean? Having a realization that above all, the sacrifice of the Mass should be at the forefront of our Polish heritage. Unfortunately there are still a few Poles out there considering the Mass as secondary and all of the glamour, the party throwing, and the parade fanfare as being at the top of their things-to-do list. Taking part in the Sacraments is essential, my friends, essential in upholding the purity of our Polish heritage.
And speaking of upholding the purity of our heritage, I would like to take a few minutes to recognize a few people with us here tonight. These are merely a handful out of the hundreds who need to be recognized for their contribution, their example, and their sheer bravado in fostering all-things Polonia.
I first heard her speak, just about 1 year ago this very day. As I sat in the corner of the room, her words seemed to radiate from the aura above her head, speaking of how thankful she was to the Polish community, how important her family was to her, and how proud she was of her newly elected position. Together with her husband this remarkable woman, raising a family of 5, something unheard of these days, proves that indeed the Polish family unit can still be strong and impervious to pressure. I am of course referring to the lovely Bernadette Zawisny.
I first met this gentleman in late October of last year. As I held out my hand to shake his, I discovered that he was... wearing lipstick and was dressed up as a woman. I had earlier spoken to him on the phone, again our first conversation, and it quickly became apparent to me that this guy had a gutsy personality. I failed to give him my name initially and he was quick to put me in my place. "Dammit either you tell me who the hell you are or I will not grant you entry into the St. Stanislaus Halloween Costume Ball!" were his very words. (OK I may have improvised a little bit there). Yes, he was in full costume dressed as a Ms. Polonia but in real life we know him as our own zestful President, Tom Kowalski.
If you've read through the St. Stan's bulletin you probably noticed a name continuing to appear week after week. Her financial support of the parish has been absolutely stellar year after year, through good times and bad, exemplifying a devoted effort to keep the engines of the Church running full steam ahead. Rather than think of herself, she continues to make the effort to think of the Church's needs first and all else second. I am referring to my own Ciocia... Emily Ostrowski.
These next pair of young Poles represent for all intents and purposes, the future of America's Polonia. Because we would be fools not to realize that our children will be the keepers of the keys to our heritage in years to come. Because of the sacrifice of this young lady's parents, relocating her to further develop her athletic skills, and a shining example of all that the Olympic spirit embodies, this proud-to-be polish gal skates for Team Polonia and the U.S. too. Zsa Zsa Riordan!
I first saw her picture in the Polish American World newspaper, in which I serve as a weekly columnist. She had just been chosen as Debutante at the infamous Kosciusko Foundation Ball. I eventually met her, we talked, and she granted me an interview which was published in the newspaper. As I was reading the answers she gave me to the interview questions which I proposed, I was entirely astonished at her responses. Here I was thinking that she would answer with the complacency and lax we know all too well exists among our younger generation. For many of them, the solid values of our forefathers are too strict, bear too much responsibility, and therefore are not popular. But rather than succumb to this growing trend in our society and in a show of defiance this young lady put forth a firm desire to uphold the values and traditions of our ancestors despite the temptations and pressures so popular today. That young lady is Adrianna Zawisny.
I'm saving the best for last. Because without this gentleman, I would not be standing here today speaking to you. Although I had already been writing for 2 Polish newspapers, it was only through the persistence of this individual that the realization of my Polish heritage came to a full fruition. He must have called me on the telephone a thousand times. Whether it was an invitation to a Polish party, a dinner occasion, or an invite to meet the President of Poland, his steadfast resolve was clearly the catalyst which sparked my engine. I refer to him as Staten Island's most famous Pole. The one and only...Walter Stojanowski.
There is a side note here: Walter asked me to write something for him but after thinking about it, I have to flat out refuse his request. He asked me to write his o-b-i-t-u-a-r-y. Walter, let me tell you exactly why I am refusing. It's because, Walter...YOU will never die!
In conclusion, it is my vision that with the help of God's grace, the Polish community will once again be at the forefront of our frontier just as it was many years ago, forging new ground and setting an example for future generations to follow. Let us echo the words of our first and only Catholic President thus far, when he said: "Ask not...what your country can do for you, Ask what you can do for your country" and in our case, what we can do for the Polish community.
And therefore, it is with great humility and honor, that I accept the nomination to be your 2010 Marshal of the Pulaski Day Parade.
Thank you. And God Bless the Polish people."
"Thank you. Thank you very much.
I stand before you this evening, very humbled and very honored, that you have chosen me as your Marshal.
I had a few moments last night, in preparing my speech, trying to decide how I was going to open it and what I would address. I was tossing and turning, should I say this, should I say that, doing some rough drafts, tearing pieces of paper in half, throwing my hands up in the air, attempting to define exactly where we are and where I would like us to go.
I caught sight of an old book in my book case, kind of standing out with its red, black, and white binding, easy for the eye to pick up upon first glance. It was the 1976 St. Stanislaus Kostka anniversary edition. I had forgotten about it, forgotten that I had it. This was of course first acquired by my parents way back in those halcyon days of yesteryear. And I began to flip through the pages and all the memories it held, even spotting my 10-year old self in a photo shoot in front of St. Stan's. There I was in my plaid bell-bottom pants and striped shirt. My white-blond onion-head hairstyle stood out noticeably. For this I acquired the nickname "cebula". (...What happened though?)
But it dawned on me that here I was trying to write this speech while holding this tell-all book in my hand, because every page of that book spoke of our Polonia and how much we were involved in promoting the core values that Polish people the world over have come to be renowned for. Our heritage is one of dignity, forbearance...and faith. I remember one photo, of Msgr. Arthur Rojek. There he was, this towering figure of a man, you could almost hear his zestful voice speaking out from the pages. Almost page after page, photo after photo, groupings of Poles and Polish Americans appeared, all united in the photo, all having the element of the Church in its midst. In fact, I don't recall seeing one photo with less than a dozen people in it. Nor do I recall seeing one photo without some presence of the Church in it, some visual link to the institution we held so dear for countless years, and have been so extremely fortunate to later have been graced with the God-given man of our dreams, Karol Wojtyla.
But...these were mere memories. Long, distant, remote recollections of an age long gone. But still running strong with the grace of God, we ourselves are a perfect testament to the continued dedication and unwavering resolve of the Polish people. Along with many other organizations and pro-Polonia cultural groups, this Committee under the leadership of its President has steered our ship straight through an increasingly obstacle-laden environment.
Indeed the obstacles we face are many. Be them financial, administrative, social, or political, we look to better times ahead. Polish Americans keep this as their undying hope. Our "reputation, our image, and our soul"...the "Big 3" as I like to call them...unfortunately my friends, have been tarnished over the years in small ways...and sometimes big ways.
I recently heard a horror story about a couple of Polish immigrant construction workers. They arrived at a home ready to begin work, doing some vinyl siding and some window capping, and the homeowners, who were Polish, were glad to see a Polish working crew in their presence. One of the guys even had on a sweatshirt proudly displaying the white and red Polish national flag for all passers-by to see. However, the homeowners quickly became disenchanted, because as soon as the workers opened their mouths for all to hear what emanated was foul language and curse word after curse word.
My friends what does this do to our image? It is my goal that our involvement in assisting newly arriving Polish immigrant workers will be to include installation of a sense of dignity when we say that yes, America is the land of opportunity.
Speaking of opportunity. We are grateful for the past support of our political friends in working with us to further advance all-things Polonia. It is true, that without the help of some of our elected officials in office, we would not have achieved what we have thus far. But friends, as we stand by our word we must remember that our reputation is always at stake. Let us once and for all stand firm in our convictions and hold accountable politicians who claim to show allegiance to the Polish people, the vast majority of whom are Catholic, while at the same time continue to support anti-Catholic policies!
For what does this do but create inconsistency and justify people's sarcastic opinions of us. Maybe we should all adopt a quote from that famous Clint Eastwood film "Magnum Force" and tell them point blank: "Either you're for us... or you're against us".
It is also my goal to do whatever I can in my newfound capacity to keep our beacon lit and to promote the betterment of Staten Island's Polish American community by greatly increasing their involvement in the Church. What does this mean? Having a realization that above all, the sacrifice of the Mass should be at the forefront of our Polish heritage. Unfortunately there are still a few Poles out there considering the Mass as secondary and all of the glamour, the party throwing, and the parade fanfare as being at the top of their things-to-do list. Taking part in the Sacraments is essential, my friends, essential in upholding the purity of our Polish heritage.
And speaking of upholding the purity of our heritage, I would like to take a few minutes to recognize a few people with us here tonight. These are merely a handful out of the hundreds who need to be recognized for their contribution, their example, and their sheer bravado in fostering all-things Polonia.
I first heard her speak, just about 1 year ago this very day. As I sat in the corner of the room, her words seemed to radiate from the aura above her head, speaking of how thankful she was to the Polish community, how important her family was to her, and how proud she was of her newly elected position. Together with her husband this remarkable woman, raising a family of 5, something unheard of these days, proves that indeed the Polish family unit can still be strong and impervious to pressure. I am of course referring to the lovely Bernadette Zawisny.
I first met this gentleman in late October of last year. As I held out my hand to shake his, I discovered that he was... wearing lipstick and was dressed up as a woman. I had earlier spoken to him on the phone, again our first conversation, and it quickly became apparent to me that this guy had a gutsy personality. I failed to give him my name initially and he was quick to put me in my place. "Dammit either you tell me who the hell you are or I will not grant you entry into the St. Stanislaus Halloween Costume Ball!" were his very words. (OK I may have improvised a little bit there). Yes, he was in full costume dressed as a Ms. Polonia but in real life we know him as our own zestful President, Tom Kowalski.
If you've read through the St. Stan's bulletin you probably noticed a name continuing to appear week after week. Her financial support of the parish has been absolutely stellar year after year, through good times and bad, exemplifying a devoted effort to keep the engines of the Church running full steam ahead. Rather than think of herself, she continues to make the effort to think of the Church's needs first and all else second. I am referring to my own Ciocia... Emily Ostrowski.
These next pair of young Poles represent for all intents and purposes, the future of America's Polonia. Because we would be fools not to realize that our children will be the keepers of the keys to our heritage in years to come. Because of the sacrifice of this young lady's parents, relocating her to further develop her athletic skills, and a shining example of all that the Olympic spirit embodies, this proud-to-be polish gal skates for Team Polonia and the U.S. too. Zsa Zsa Riordan!
I first saw her picture in the Polish American World newspaper, in which I serve as a weekly columnist. She had just been chosen as Debutante at the infamous Kosciusko Foundation Ball. I eventually met her, we talked, and she granted me an interview which was published in the newspaper. As I was reading the answers she gave me to the interview questions which I proposed, I was entirely astonished at her responses. Here I was thinking that she would answer with the complacency and lax we know all too well exists among our younger generation. For many of them, the solid values of our forefathers are too strict, bear too much responsibility, and therefore are not popular. But rather than succumb to this growing trend in our society and in a show of defiance this young lady put forth a firm desire to uphold the values and traditions of our ancestors despite the temptations and pressures so popular today. That young lady is Adrianna Zawisny.
I'm saving the best for last. Because without this gentleman, I would not be standing here today speaking to you. Although I had already been writing for 2 Polish newspapers, it was only through the persistence of this individual that the realization of my Polish heritage came to a full fruition. He must have called me on the telephone a thousand times. Whether it was an invitation to a Polish party, a dinner occasion, or an invite to meet the President of Poland, his steadfast resolve was clearly the catalyst which sparked my engine. I refer to him as Staten Island's most famous Pole. The one and only...Walter Stojanowski.
There is a side note here: Walter asked me to write something for him but after thinking about it, I have to flat out refuse his request. He asked me to write his o-b-i-t-u-a-r-y. Walter, let me tell you exactly why I am refusing. It's because, Walter...YOU will never die!
In conclusion, it is my vision that with the help of God's grace, the Polish community will once again be at the forefront of our frontier just as it was many years ago, forging new ground and setting an example for future generations to follow. Let us echo the words of our first and only Catholic President thus far, when he said: "Ask not...what your country can do for you, Ask what you can do for your country" and in our case, what we can do for the Polish community.
And therefore, it is with great humility and honor, that I accept the nomination to be your 2010 Marshal of the Pulaski Day Parade.
Thank you. And God Bless the Polish people."
Church of St. Stanislaus Kostka 80 Years and Rolling
Mr. & Mrs. Anthony Ostrowski (Mary Turon)
STATEN ISLAND'S ONLY FULL-TIME POLISH PARISH STILL RUNNING FULL STEAM AHEAD
Published in the Staten Island Advance 04/03/2004
"There's a seat, grab it!" as I think to myself. The congregation begins to sing to a standing-room only celebration. Voices soar in unison as the organist's key notes bounce off the multi-faceted walls. It is Sunday's 11:15 a.m. Mass and I find myself amidst a powerful plethora.
With goose bumps running up and down my back, I totally become absorbed in this Polish tradition. I am in the Church of St. Stanislaus Kostka!
TRADITION
Webster's dictionary defines the word tradition as: a custom handed down orally from generation to generation. Well, simply put, they forgot to visit St. Stanislaus Kostka Church. Here tradition takes on mind, body, and spirit.
As the Mass unfolds, the richness of this tradition presents itself. Here before my eyes were the young, the middle-aged, the elderly, and children of all shapes and sizes. Polish Americans, and proud to be so. All united together as one.
Indeed much can be said of the Polish spirit of unity. Pope John Paul II, a Pole himself, has played a vital role in his own beloved homeland, inspiring "Solidarnosc", the Polish solidarity movement. And in 1976, then known as Cardinal Wojtyla, the Pope celebrated Mass at St. Stanislaus. This was almost a ghostly foreshadowing of the parish's own future metamorphosis. Like a fine wine maturing, this parish only gets better with age.
HISTORY
The emergence of the Church of St. Stanislaus Kostka began in 1921, when a group of Polish-American New Brighton residents petitioned the Archbishop's office for a Polish parish of their own. The proposal was rejected right on the spot, as the need wasn't deemed justifiable. But just as the Elvis Presley song goes, they simply were "hound dogs". Their zeal and bravado persisted, and finally in 1923, the group's request was granted.
Construction began on the Church in speedy fashion. The massive undertaking included voluntary work by parishioners, many of whom donned work gloves and shovels in a truly Herculean effort. It is this fact that identifies St. Stanislaus as being a true family parish.
The big day came on October 14th, 1924. Patrick Cardinal Hayes consecrated the new church and officially installed Fr. John Gloss as pastor. Multitudes of people attended the ceremony, a far cry from that small upstart group of a few years earlier.
A huge plus for the new parish was the creation of a Parochial school for the Polish-American youths. It was a dream come true, and provided the youngsters of the parish with a good, sound Catholic education.
Sadly though, reality hit hard in the 1930's. The Great Depression took its toll everywhere it seemed, even at St. Stanislaus church. The school was forced to close. Fr. Gloss then passed away soon after.
But this parish wouldn't be what it is today without some degree of struggle. "Cinderella stories" don't really exist I thought, or do they?
Entering a new era, the parish welcomed Fr. Stan Malinowski as pastor. Faced with a debt of nearly $200,000 which in those days was quite a sum, Fr. Stan rose to the occasion. A massive fundraising campaign was begun, and eventually the huge debt was paid off.
As the years passed, Fr. Stan eventually retired, having made it into his parishioner's "hall of fame". He celebrated his lengthy tenure's end in July 1971.
At times offering the curious eye a glance at his arm, Msgr. Arthur Rojek took command as the new pastor. At the crux of WWII, then Dean of Warsaw, Msgr. Rojek was captured by the German forces and imprisoned in Dachau concentration camp. Suffering the unspeakable for 5 years, he was branded on the arm like so many others. Msgr. Rojek fortunately survived.
A big-time radio host, he quickly became known to Poles across the nation. He was noted for his deep voice and powerful zest for Catholicism.
Msgr. Rojek greatly sought to incorporate the timeless Polish folk traditions into his new parish. Coffee and cake were served after Sunday masses, the Gala Polka Dance was organized, and at Christmas, a manger was constructed as carols were sung. The St. Stanislaus Social Club was formed, which was responsible for a host of events to further develop the church.
And little did anyone know when Cardinal Wojtyla came to say Mass with his good friend Msgr. Rojek, that the Cardinal would later become our current Pope. It was truly an honor for the St. Stanislaus family.
In 1988, much to the sadness of his good friend Pope John Paul II, Msgr. Rojek suffered a fatal heart attack. His vigor however is still felt in the parish.
Many Staten Islanders refer to St. Stanislaus as the "Working Girl Church". In 1988, Hollywood came to 109 York Avenue to film the movie: The Working Girl. The church was used as a wedding set in the film. Newly appointed pastor Msgr. Leo Waszak humorously mentioned to the star Melanie Griffith: "If I perform the ceremony, you're really married".
Msgr. Waszak hailed from the former Augustinian Academy on Grymes Hill and also served as a chaplain at West Point Military Academy. His untimely death within a year's time was a shock to all.
St. Stanislaus Kostka Church, now with increasing notoriety, welcomed Fr. Joseph Tokarczyk as its newest head. Fr. Joe brought a fresh spiritual look to the parish, and a physical one too. He was in his mid-thirties when he took on the task.
Fr. Tokarczyk was the first Marshal of the famous Pulaski Day Parade, leading a group of Polish Islanders up 5th Avenue. Indeed, he became known as "the powerhouse priest from New Brighton". As more and more young Poles became inspired by his presence, they naturally flocked to St. Stanislaus. Needing some common ground, Fr. Joe worked diligently with a team of parishioners, including the Staaten's late Emilie LiGreci in setting up an English language school.
As the tide turned once again, Fr. Joe moved on, and in his place came the current pastor, Fr. Marek Suchocki. And yet another big plus for the parishioners!
Fr. Marek brings to the table a deep-rooted desire to keep St. Stanislaus on its toes. With a determined businesslike approach, he is keen to keeping tradition alive and well at the church. He quickly secured a much needed grant from an Island bank for the construction of a parishioner parking lot. His financial skills provided the impetus for the parish to reach new heights. And when it comes to discussing new ideas with Fr. Marek, the sky is the limit! He is a true leader.
THE CHURCH
As I gaze around the Church, I discover that behind every little bend and corner in its architecture, unique icons of Catholicism appear.
First and foremost among them, the icon of Our Lady of Czestochowa. This replica of the miraculous ancient painting stands proud for all to see. The original is housed in the Church of Jasna Gora, in Poland. The beautiful painting of St. Stanislaus Kostka peers over the congregation, ever keeping a watchful eye on his people. Standing proud for all to see, a sculpted bust of Pope John Paul II is displayed, guarded by angelic frescoes painted in the Michelangelo style.
Colossal paintings of the Last Supper and the Crucifixion of Christ adorn the side walls, coupled with a gorgeous array of finely detailed stained-glass windows. The recently sainted Maria Faustina is crafted in a life-sized effigy, and by her side, yet another huge painting of the Divine Mercy. And flanking the aisles, amidst alternating beams of ruby and violet cast from the stained-glass windows, 14 intricately carved stations of the cross explain the Passion of Christ.
These visually impressive stimuli are merely tangible things, but what of the hidden heart of the Church, its Polish people?
THE PEOPLE
Amazing, incredible, unreal...one can go on and on. To think that the spirit of unity, dedication, and hospitality is merely poetic fairy-tale, I soon discover that some fairy-tales are indeed true.
Because as I exit the Church at the conclusion of Mass, I am totally overwhelmed with a feeling of togetherness. The jam-packed Church now empties into the vestibule for a bit of socializing. And it's as if the proof is before my eyes and ears that yes, these people are just like family!
But who are these people, and what's their "story"? Imagine setting out on a journey across the Atlantic, seeking a land of opportunity, new growth, and religious freedom. Indeed this was the vision of so many immigrants in the early 1900's, arriving at nearby Ellis Island.
A significant number of these early Poles settled in New Brighton, which facilitated access to the working metropolis of New York City. The need arose immediately to have a common place of worship, akin to their homeland habits. Interestingly enough, the already established Church of St. Stanislaus in Manhattan offered some relief, as did Elm Park's St. Adalbert's Church, both of Polish origins. However, the feasibility of attending Sunday Mass at these churches proved difficult, as it necessitated a biblical-like exodus across land and water.
But the perseverance of the Polish people is their truest hallmark. As the number of families increased, their spiritual fervor did too. The parish family of St. Stanislaus Kostka became their most treasured blessing.
THE SOCIAL SCENE
Unique among the many Catholic parishes on Staten Island, the Church of St. Stanislaus Kostka is equally impressive on the social front. As if one were baking a cake, the sugar and spice of this parish is found in its cultural dimension. And how sweet it is.
Boasting a myriad of activities, the parish offers something for every parishioner, young and old. This is truly the great wing-span of the parish, reaching out boldly and supporting the church's body.
The renowned Pulaski Day Parade is planned and "blueprinted" at St. Stanislaus, as its committee members regularly hold meetings there. The installation of a state-of-the-art computer lab provides the necessary training for young parishioners approaching the job market. St. Stanislaus Church also provides a link to obtain Polish language lessons on Saturdays for those eager to advance their linguistic skills.
The Pope John Paul II Auditorium, directly below the Church, provides a perfect setting to see a play, listen to a Polka band, or enjoy a romantic evening of fine cuisine and dance. All of which are regular occurrences at St. Stanislaus.
Once a year, the parish organizes a bus trip to Doylestown, PA to take part in the annual Polish Festival held. Kielbasa is served up with song and dance.
REFLECTIONS
Amidst a Sunday evening sunset, as I reflect on this day's experience, I am reminded just how special the Polish tradition is.
I saw it today in a little girl's eyes, looking up at her mother who instructed her in making the sign of the cross. I saw it in the firm and lengthy handshake of two men during the exchange of peace. I saw it too in the reluctance of the people to leave the Church after Mass. Rather, they stayed to pray.
No, this wasn't just some superficial fleeting moment that comes and goes, this celebration was clearly a significant magnet of attraction for them.
And today I had been under the aura of this Church, even for just a glimpse. And this writer remembered his Polish roots.
I thought back to the steadfastness and resolve of my grandparents, just like so many other parishioners of St. Stanislaus, in nurturing the Polish faith and sustaining it for generations to come. I thought to myself, this was quite an honor indeed.
The Church of St. Stanislaus Kostka is located at 109 York Avenue in New Brighton, Staten Island.
Published in the Staten Island Advance 04/03/2004
"There's a seat, grab it!" as I think to myself. The congregation begins to sing to a standing-room only celebration. Voices soar in unison as the organist's key notes bounce off the multi-faceted walls. It is Sunday's 11:15 a.m. Mass and I find myself amidst a powerful plethora.
With goose bumps running up and down my back, I totally become absorbed in this Polish tradition. I am in the Church of St. Stanislaus Kostka!
TRADITION
Webster's dictionary defines the word tradition as: a custom handed down orally from generation to generation. Well, simply put, they forgot to visit St. Stanislaus Kostka Church. Here tradition takes on mind, body, and spirit.
As the Mass unfolds, the richness of this tradition presents itself. Here before my eyes were the young, the middle-aged, the elderly, and children of all shapes and sizes. Polish Americans, and proud to be so. All united together as one.
Indeed much can be said of the Polish spirit of unity. Pope John Paul II, a Pole himself, has played a vital role in his own beloved homeland, inspiring "Solidarnosc", the Polish solidarity movement. And in 1976, then known as Cardinal Wojtyla, the Pope celebrated Mass at St. Stanislaus. This was almost a ghostly foreshadowing of the parish's own future metamorphosis. Like a fine wine maturing, this parish only gets better with age.
HISTORY
The emergence of the Church of St. Stanislaus Kostka began in 1921, when a group of Polish-American New Brighton residents petitioned the Archbishop's office for a Polish parish of their own. The proposal was rejected right on the spot, as the need wasn't deemed justifiable. But just as the Elvis Presley song goes, they simply were "hound dogs". Their zeal and bravado persisted, and finally in 1923, the group's request was granted.
Construction began on the Church in speedy fashion. The massive undertaking included voluntary work by parishioners, many of whom donned work gloves and shovels in a truly Herculean effort. It is this fact that identifies St. Stanislaus as being a true family parish.
The big day came on October 14th, 1924. Patrick Cardinal Hayes consecrated the new church and officially installed Fr. John Gloss as pastor. Multitudes of people attended the ceremony, a far cry from that small upstart group of a few years earlier.
A huge plus for the new parish was the creation of a Parochial school for the Polish-American youths. It was a dream come true, and provided the youngsters of the parish with a good, sound Catholic education.
Sadly though, reality hit hard in the 1930's. The Great Depression took its toll everywhere it seemed, even at St. Stanislaus church. The school was forced to close. Fr. Gloss then passed away soon after.
But this parish wouldn't be what it is today without some degree of struggle. "Cinderella stories" don't really exist I thought, or do they?
Entering a new era, the parish welcomed Fr. Stan Malinowski as pastor. Faced with a debt of nearly $200,000 which in those days was quite a sum, Fr. Stan rose to the occasion. A massive fundraising campaign was begun, and eventually the huge debt was paid off.
As the years passed, Fr. Stan eventually retired, having made it into his parishioner's "hall of fame". He celebrated his lengthy tenure's end in July 1971.
At times offering the curious eye a glance at his arm, Msgr. Arthur Rojek took command as the new pastor. At the crux of WWII, then Dean of Warsaw, Msgr. Rojek was captured by the German forces and imprisoned in Dachau concentration camp. Suffering the unspeakable for 5 years, he was branded on the arm like so many others. Msgr. Rojek fortunately survived.
A big-time radio host, he quickly became known to Poles across the nation. He was noted for his deep voice and powerful zest for Catholicism.
Msgr. Rojek greatly sought to incorporate the timeless Polish folk traditions into his new parish. Coffee and cake were served after Sunday masses, the Gala Polka Dance was organized, and at Christmas, a manger was constructed as carols were sung. The St. Stanislaus Social Club was formed, which was responsible for a host of events to further develop the church.
And little did anyone know when Cardinal Wojtyla came to say Mass with his good friend Msgr. Rojek, that the Cardinal would later become our current Pope. It was truly an honor for the St. Stanislaus family.
In 1988, much to the sadness of his good friend Pope John Paul II, Msgr. Rojek suffered a fatal heart attack. His vigor however is still felt in the parish.
Many Staten Islanders refer to St. Stanislaus as the "Working Girl Church". In 1988, Hollywood came to 109 York Avenue to film the movie: The Working Girl. The church was used as a wedding set in the film. Newly appointed pastor Msgr. Leo Waszak humorously mentioned to the star Melanie Griffith: "If I perform the ceremony, you're really married".
Msgr. Waszak hailed from the former Augustinian Academy on Grymes Hill and also served as a chaplain at West Point Military Academy. His untimely death within a year's time was a shock to all.
St. Stanislaus Kostka Church, now with increasing notoriety, welcomed Fr. Joseph Tokarczyk as its newest head. Fr. Joe brought a fresh spiritual look to the parish, and a physical one too. He was in his mid-thirties when he took on the task.
Fr. Tokarczyk was the first Marshal of the famous Pulaski Day Parade, leading a group of Polish Islanders up 5th Avenue. Indeed, he became known as "the powerhouse priest from New Brighton". As more and more young Poles became inspired by his presence, they naturally flocked to St. Stanislaus. Needing some common ground, Fr. Joe worked diligently with a team of parishioners, including the Staaten's late Emilie LiGreci in setting up an English language school.
As the tide turned once again, Fr. Joe moved on, and in his place came the current pastor, Fr. Marek Suchocki. And yet another big plus for the parishioners!
Fr. Marek brings to the table a deep-rooted desire to keep St. Stanislaus on its toes. With a determined businesslike approach, he is keen to keeping tradition alive and well at the church. He quickly secured a much needed grant from an Island bank for the construction of a parishioner parking lot. His financial skills provided the impetus for the parish to reach new heights. And when it comes to discussing new ideas with Fr. Marek, the sky is the limit! He is a true leader.
THE CHURCH
As I gaze around the Church, I discover that behind every little bend and corner in its architecture, unique icons of Catholicism appear.
First and foremost among them, the icon of Our Lady of Czestochowa. This replica of the miraculous ancient painting stands proud for all to see. The original is housed in the Church of Jasna Gora, in Poland. The beautiful painting of St. Stanislaus Kostka peers over the congregation, ever keeping a watchful eye on his people. Standing proud for all to see, a sculpted bust of Pope John Paul II is displayed, guarded by angelic frescoes painted in the Michelangelo style.
Colossal paintings of the Last Supper and the Crucifixion of Christ adorn the side walls, coupled with a gorgeous array of finely detailed stained-glass windows. The recently sainted Maria Faustina is crafted in a life-sized effigy, and by her side, yet another huge painting of the Divine Mercy. And flanking the aisles, amidst alternating beams of ruby and violet cast from the stained-glass windows, 14 intricately carved stations of the cross explain the Passion of Christ.
These visually impressive stimuli are merely tangible things, but what of the hidden heart of the Church, its Polish people?
THE PEOPLE
Amazing, incredible, unreal...one can go on and on. To think that the spirit of unity, dedication, and hospitality is merely poetic fairy-tale, I soon discover that some fairy-tales are indeed true.
Because as I exit the Church at the conclusion of Mass, I am totally overwhelmed with a feeling of togetherness. The jam-packed Church now empties into the vestibule for a bit of socializing. And it's as if the proof is before my eyes and ears that yes, these people are just like family!
But who are these people, and what's their "story"? Imagine setting out on a journey across the Atlantic, seeking a land of opportunity, new growth, and religious freedom. Indeed this was the vision of so many immigrants in the early 1900's, arriving at nearby Ellis Island.
A significant number of these early Poles settled in New Brighton, which facilitated access to the working metropolis of New York City. The need arose immediately to have a common place of worship, akin to their homeland habits. Interestingly enough, the already established Church of St. Stanislaus in Manhattan offered some relief, as did Elm Park's St. Adalbert's Church, both of Polish origins. However, the feasibility of attending Sunday Mass at these churches proved difficult, as it necessitated a biblical-like exodus across land and water.
But the perseverance of the Polish people is their truest hallmark. As the number of families increased, their spiritual fervor did too. The parish family of St. Stanislaus Kostka became their most treasured blessing.
THE SOCIAL SCENE
Unique among the many Catholic parishes on Staten Island, the Church of St. Stanislaus Kostka is equally impressive on the social front. As if one were baking a cake, the sugar and spice of this parish is found in its cultural dimension. And how sweet it is.
Boasting a myriad of activities, the parish offers something for every parishioner, young and old. This is truly the great wing-span of the parish, reaching out boldly and supporting the church's body.
The renowned Pulaski Day Parade is planned and "blueprinted" at St. Stanislaus, as its committee members regularly hold meetings there. The installation of a state-of-the-art computer lab provides the necessary training for young parishioners approaching the job market. St. Stanislaus Church also provides a link to obtain Polish language lessons on Saturdays for those eager to advance their linguistic skills.
The Pope John Paul II Auditorium, directly below the Church, provides a perfect setting to see a play, listen to a Polka band, or enjoy a romantic evening of fine cuisine and dance. All of which are regular occurrences at St. Stanislaus.
Once a year, the parish organizes a bus trip to Doylestown, PA to take part in the annual Polish Festival held. Kielbasa is served up with song and dance.
REFLECTIONS
Amidst a Sunday evening sunset, as I reflect on this day's experience, I am reminded just how special the Polish tradition is.
I saw it today in a little girl's eyes, looking up at her mother who instructed her in making the sign of the cross. I saw it in the firm and lengthy handshake of two men during the exchange of peace. I saw it too in the reluctance of the people to leave the Church after Mass. Rather, they stayed to pray.
No, this wasn't just some superficial fleeting moment that comes and goes, this celebration was clearly a significant magnet of attraction for them.
And today I had been under the aura of this Church, even for just a glimpse. And this writer remembered his Polish roots.
I thought back to the steadfastness and resolve of my grandparents, just like so many other parishioners of St. Stanislaus, in nurturing the Polish faith and sustaining it for generations to come. I thought to myself, this was quite an honor indeed.
The Church of St. Stanislaus Kostka is located at 109 York Avenue in New Brighton, Staten Island.
Follow Andrew Ostrowski Each Week at: Am-Pol Eagle - The Voice of Polonia!
Who's Who ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ In Polish America
Josie's Babka Recipe
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Of Heroes, Heroines, and Everyday Polish Folk
Spotlight: Henryk Zygalski
Henryk Zygalski was a Polish cryptologist who worked at cracking German encrypted messages during World War II. He was born in Poznań in 1908.
In 1932, as a civilian cryptologist with the Biuro Szyfrów (Polish Cipher Bureau), he worked alongside Marian Rejewski and Jerzy Różycki, two fellow Poznań University alumni who, with Zygalski, would later become known as “the trio of cryptologists” responsible for quickening the end of WWII through their work. The Enigma code-busting machine was a combination of mechanical and electrical subsystems, made up of a keyboard, rotating disks called rotors arranged along a spindle, and a stepping contraption to turn the rotors with each key press. When a key was pressed, a current flowed and ultimately lit a display lamp, indicating an output letter of the alphabet. After a few maneuvers, voila!...the message was discovered.
In 1938, Zygalski designed what was to be termed “the perforated sheets," later taking the name “the Zygalski sheets," which targeted the finding of Enigma settings.
Following WWII, Zygalski lectured in mathematical statistics at the University of Surrey in England until his retirement. It should be noted that due to the Official Secrets Act, Zygalski was prevented from speaking about his cryptology genius.
Henryk Zygalski died on August 30th, 1978. ~
Post script: Before his death, Zygalski was honored with an honorary doctorate by the Polish University in Exile for his role in breaking Enigma.
Henryk Zygalski was a Polish cryptologist who worked at cracking German encrypted messages during World War II. He was born in Poznań in 1908.
In 1932, as a civilian cryptologist with the Biuro Szyfrów (Polish Cipher Bureau), he worked alongside Marian Rejewski and Jerzy Różycki, two fellow Poznań University alumni who, with Zygalski, would later become known as “the trio of cryptologists” responsible for quickening the end of WWII through their work. The Enigma code-busting machine was a combination of mechanical and electrical subsystems, made up of a keyboard, rotating disks called rotors arranged along a spindle, and a stepping contraption to turn the rotors with each key press. When a key was pressed, a current flowed and ultimately lit a display lamp, indicating an output letter of the alphabet. After a few maneuvers, voila!...the message was discovered.
In 1938, Zygalski designed what was to be termed “the perforated sheets," later taking the name “the Zygalski sheets," which targeted the finding of Enigma settings.
Following WWII, Zygalski lectured in mathematical statistics at the University of Surrey in England until his retirement. It should be noted that due to the Official Secrets Act, Zygalski was prevented from speaking about his cryptology genius.
Henryk Zygalski died on August 30th, 1978. ~
Post script: Before his death, Zygalski was honored with an honorary doctorate by the Polish University in Exile for his role in breaking Enigma.
The Polish Nostradamus
What If?
The World was Flat?
An adolescent Nicolaus Copernicus concludes that the Sun is not at the center of the spherical revolving Earth and decides to set sail for the New World on July 3rd, 1492 at the age of 19, beating Christopher Columbus by 31 days, only to plunge over Earth’s edge into the abyss of space, forgotten about forever. Centuries later, Sir Isaac Newton and Albert Einstein have no role model and become poets instead.
The British took over America?
Thaddeus Kościuszko decides to secretly concur with Benedict Arnold in his plan to provide the British with strategic information on West Point’s fortifications. George Washington’s Continental Army is defeated. The course of history is changed. Instead of British General Cornwallis surrendering to Washington at the Battle of Yorktown, Washington surrenders to Cornwallis. Tea replaces pizza as our national pastime treat, and God Save the Queen becomes our national anthem.
Pole wins the Tour de France?
Polish inspirational speedster cyclist Lech Piasecki emerges from retirement and wins stage 1 of the 1997 Tour de France in record breaking time. He goes on to overall victory and the coveted yellow jersey. The following year he accepts a huge contract from the Festina team and months afterward becomes part of the infamous drug scandal which ousted the entire team from the race. Piasecki ends his career on a sad note.
Marie Sklodowska (minus Curie)?
Born on November 7th, 1867. She decides not to pursue her strange interest in magnetism, thereby never meeting the influential Pierre Curie in Paris, who was also strangely interested. The new element, “Polonium”, named after Poland, is never discovered, nor is radium, from which we get the huge field of radiology. She dies a little known college professor living off a pension.
Karol Wojtyla cries at 23?
While crossing the street, Wojtyla gets hit by a Nazi truck and, instead of making a miraculous recovery, becomes a paraplegic. He cannot continue his secret studies for the priesthood, and his acting career is not on the contingency plan. He will never ski the slopes of the Carpathian mountains again. In October of 1978, he sits at home in his dungarees and flannel shirt and watches on T.V. as John Paul I’s successor is chosen by the conclave of Cardinals. The destiny of the world is forever altered. The Solidarnosc movement never succeeds. Nova Huta prevails and the Soviet Union eventually annex Poland with no resistance. The way, truth, and life of Christ never manifests and remains merely a dream…
Note: The Polish Nostradamus is designed to remind us of how fortunate we are and of how proud we should be of our fellow Poles and their destinies.
An adolescent Nicolaus Copernicus concludes that the Sun is not at the center of the spherical revolving Earth and decides to set sail for the New World on July 3rd, 1492 at the age of 19, beating Christopher Columbus by 31 days, only to plunge over Earth’s edge into the abyss of space, forgotten about forever. Centuries later, Sir Isaac Newton and Albert Einstein have no role model and become poets instead.
The British took over America?
Thaddeus Kościuszko decides to secretly concur with Benedict Arnold in his plan to provide the British with strategic information on West Point’s fortifications. George Washington’s Continental Army is defeated. The course of history is changed. Instead of British General Cornwallis surrendering to Washington at the Battle of Yorktown, Washington surrenders to Cornwallis. Tea replaces pizza as our national pastime treat, and God Save the Queen becomes our national anthem.
Pole wins the Tour de France?
Polish inspirational speedster cyclist Lech Piasecki emerges from retirement and wins stage 1 of the 1997 Tour de France in record breaking time. He goes on to overall victory and the coveted yellow jersey. The following year he accepts a huge contract from the Festina team and months afterward becomes part of the infamous drug scandal which ousted the entire team from the race. Piasecki ends his career on a sad note.
Marie Sklodowska (minus Curie)?
Born on November 7th, 1867. She decides not to pursue her strange interest in magnetism, thereby never meeting the influential Pierre Curie in Paris, who was also strangely interested. The new element, “Polonium”, named after Poland, is never discovered, nor is radium, from which we get the huge field of radiology. She dies a little known college professor living off a pension.
Karol Wojtyla cries at 23?
While crossing the street, Wojtyla gets hit by a Nazi truck and, instead of making a miraculous recovery, becomes a paraplegic. He cannot continue his secret studies for the priesthood, and his acting career is not on the contingency plan. He will never ski the slopes of the Carpathian mountains again. In October of 1978, he sits at home in his dungarees and flannel shirt and watches on T.V. as John Paul I’s successor is chosen by the conclave of Cardinals. The destiny of the world is forever altered. The Solidarnosc movement never succeeds. Nova Huta prevails and the Soviet Union eventually annex Poland with no resistance. The way, truth, and life of Christ never manifests and remains merely a dream…
Note: The Polish Nostradamus is designed to remind us of how fortunate we are and of how proud we should be of our fellow Poles and their destinies.
M E D I A H Y P E
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Island's own Indiana Jones and his Kingdom of Crucifixes
As Christians all over the Island prepare for Easter, one among them is taking an especially unique interest. West Brighton resident Andrew Ostrowski, a 43 year old freelance writer and self-admitted Indiana Jones fanatic, started collecting crucifixes several years ago, after his travels took him to the streets of Europe. It was there that he discovered the vast artistic realm in the styles of crucifixes. In Europe, he found that many churches standing since the Middle Ages still contained original crucifixes, albeit covered in dust.
Says Ostrowski: "I am particularly interested in the Corpus (body of Christ) design of a crucifix. The Corpus design we see today is rather different than what was seen, for example, in the early Middle Ages. Back then, the body of Christ on the Cross was pictured in a simplistic "+" style. The arms were straight extensions of the shoulders, the legs were very stiff and the feet did not overlap. Even Christ's head looked straight out and was not drooping or hanging down."
As the humanistic endeavors of the Renaissance emerged however, this indeed affected the art of the crucifix. It soon became "acceptable" to portray Christ as the Suffering Messiah. Ostrowski recently visited the Church of San Juan de los Reyes, in Toledo, Spain and reports that the late 15th Century crucifix there is so agonizing to look at that one must cease any long term glancing. But his personal favorite is the crucifix of San Damiano, located in Assisi, Italy. This was the crucifix that "spoke" to St. Francis of Assisi in the year 1205. Says Ostrowski: "I saw the original Damiano crucifix in Assisi about two years ago, having entered a chapel to standing room only. It was hung high; a thick, dense wood construction. The Corpus was life-sized."
His oldest crucifix comes from Rome and dates to the year 390A.D. It was the first public production of the symbol, issued by the newly Christianized Roman Empire, and appearing on a coin. Then while walking the streets of Jerusalem, he browsed through a "junk pile" in the gutter and after about 20 minutes, he discovered a vintage iron crucifix.
In the town of Zakopane, Poland, he acquired a hand-carved Corpus from a local woodcrafter which was constructed from a Y-shaped branch of a tree. And his "deepest" cross (literally) was acquired in the Wieliczka salt mines near Krakow, and is fashioned entirely from salt.
The collector is also frugal when he says: "If a particular Church decides to update their inventory, for instance, I'll inquire about the old stuff. I have a processional crucifix from the 1940's used in Sacred Heart Church on Castleton Ave. The fact that this crucifix traveled up and down the center aisle, Mass after Mass, captivates me completely. Here now is tradition in my own hands!"
Local events particularly stir his emotion. "I was especially upset about one year ago, when Fr. Eugene Carella of St. Adalbert Church here on Staten Island reported that the church's 3-foot tall, intricately carved wooden crucifix mysteriously disappeared one day. It was apparently stolen from the church right out of the blue!" says Ostrowski. Fortunately NYC detectives solved the case and it was recovered, though was missing an arm.
Ostrowski has a total of 41 "treasures" making up his collection of crosses and crucifixes. Though not a vast number, the diversity and age of his pieces are its hallmark. Ostrowski confesses: "Staten Islanders refer to me as a modern-day 'Indiana Jones' and yes, I'll gladly star in a movie called Raiders of the Lost Crucifix."
There is one crucifix that eludes him however. "I'm still hunting down a 12th Century Spanish crucifix, stolen from the convent of Santa Clara de Astudillo. It's probably on the black market, but if I find it, probably after braving a few dark alleyways and a couple of fistfights, it will be returned to its rightful owner. I'll go to the ends of the earth for this one" proclaims the collector.
But travel is not a prerequisite all the time. Some pieces were acquired from friends, over the internet, and on Ebay. His Web-bought Celtic cross from the cemetery of Clonmacnoise, in Ireland is an exact replica on a smaller scale. And a mini replica of former Pope John Paul II’s crucifix, which he got from a Franciscan friend, is among his favorites. Admits Ostrowski: "I have to be careful 'who stands beside who' in the pecking order, because each of these pieces has a heritage all their own."
His most sentimental favorite is the famed Zagajewski Crucifix, passed down through the ages and originating in Poland. The late Helen Zagajewski of Grymes Hill, known for her radiant warmth and amicability, was its caretaker for many years. "I was truly honored to have it entrusted to me by her daughter Mary-Felicia, making it a heartfelt addition to my collection" says Ostrowski.
Ultimately, the 43 year old Crucifix hunter draws all of his attention to Calvary, the site of Christ's crucifixion. "When I went to Jerusalem, I climbed the hill to Calvary. Here was the very spot where it all happened. Though I would obviously go nuts over receiving a mere splinter of the original crucifix of Christ, I realize that this is for no one man to have, it is for all, and so I think it's good that fragments have been distributed around the world for adoration."
Tight security is paramount for his collection as he explains: "Any house burglar eyeballing my house would be out of luck because my entire collection is nicely hidden away in a secret location known only to me and my two domesticated one-third hybrid pet Puma cats bearing razor sharp claws!"
Whatever crucifix he gets his hands on, Andrew Ostrowski is always keen to remember the real thrill. "For me, the style and age of a crucifix is quite captivating, but ultimately it's the meaning in it that counts. All speak the same message: Christ's sacrifice for us."
As Christians all over the Island prepare for Easter, one among them is taking an especially unique interest. West Brighton resident Andrew Ostrowski, a 43 year old freelance writer and self-admitted Indiana Jones fanatic, started collecting crucifixes several years ago, after his travels took him to the streets of Europe. It was there that he discovered the vast artistic realm in the styles of crucifixes. In Europe, he found that many churches standing since the Middle Ages still contained original crucifixes, albeit covered in dust.
Says Ostrowski: "I am particularly interested in the Corpus (body of Christ) design of a crucifix. The Corpus design we see today is rather different than what was seen, for example, in the early Middle Ages. Back then, the body of Christ on the Cross was pictured in a simplistic "+" style. The arms were straight extensions of the shoulders, the legs were very stiff and the feet did not overlap. Even Christ's head looked straight out and was not drooping or hanging down."
As the humanistic endeavors of the Renaissance emerged however, this indeed affected the art of the crucifix. It soon became "acceptable" to portray Christ as the Suffering Messiah. Ostrowski recently visited the Church of San Juan de los Reyes, in Toledo, Spain and reports that the late 15th Century crucifix there is so agonizing to look at that one must cease any long term glancing. But his personal favorite is the crucifix of San Damiano, located in Assisi, Italy. This was the crucifix that "spoke" to St. Francis of Assisi in the year 1205. Says Ostrowski: "I saw the original Damiano crucifix in Assisi about two years ago, having entered a chapel to standing room only. It was hung high; a thick, dense wood construction. The Corpus was life-sized."
His oldest crucifix comes from Rome and dates to the year 390A.D. It was the first public production of the symbol, issued by the newly Christianized Roman Empire, and appearing on a coin. Then while walking the streets of Jerusalem, he browsed through a "junk pile" in the gutter and after about 20 minutes, he discovered a vintage iron crucifix.
In the town of Zakopane, Poland, he acquired a hand-carved Corpus from a local woodcrafter which was constructed from a Y-shaped branch of a tree. And his "deepest" cross (literally) was acquired in the Wieliczka salt mines near Krakow, and is fashioned entirely from salt.
The collector is also frugal when he says: "If a particular Church decides to update their inventory, for instance, I'll inquire about the old stuff. I have a processional crucifix from the 1940's used in Sacred Heart Church on Castleton Ave. The fact that this crucifix traveled up and down the center aisle, Mass after Mass, captivates me completely. Here now is tradition in my own hands!"
Local events particularly stir his emotion. "I was especially upset about one year ago, when Fr. Eugene Carella of St. Adalbert Church here on Staten Island reported that the church's 3-foot tall, intricately carved wooden crucifix mysteriously disappeared one day. It was apparently stolen from the church right out of the blue!" says Ostrowski. Fortunately NYC detectives solved the case and it was recovered, though was missing an arm.
Ostrowski has a total of 41 "treasures" making up his collection of crosses and crucifixes. Though not a vast number, the diversity and age of his pieces are its hallmark. Ostrowski confesses: "Staten Islanders refer to me as a modern-day 'Indiana Jones' and yes, I'll gladly star in a movie called Raiders of the Lost Crucifix."
There is one crucifix that eludes him however. "I'm still hunting down a 12th Century Spanish crucifix, stolen from the convent of Santa Clara de Astudillo. It's probably on the black market, but if I find it, probably after braving a few dark alleyways and a couple of fistfights, it will be returned to its rightful owner. I'll go to the ends of the earth for this one" proclaims the collector.
But travel is not a prerequisite all the time. Some pieces were acquired from friends, over the internet, and on Ebay. His Web-bought Celtic cross from the cemetery of Clonmacnoise, in Ireland is an exact replica on a smaller scale. And a mini replica of former Pope John Paul II’s crucifix, which he got from a Franciscan friend, is among his favorites. Admits Ostrowski: "I have to be careful 'who stands beside who' in the pecking order, because each of these pieces has a heritage all their own."
His most sentimental favorite is the famed Zagajewski Crucifix, passed down through the ages and originating in Poland. The late Helen Zagajewski of Grymes Hill, known for her radiant warmth and amicability, was its caretaker for many years. "I was truly honored to have it entrusted to me by her daughter Mary-Felicia, making it a heartfelt addition to my collection" says Ostrowski.
Ultimately, the 43 year old Crucifix hunter draws all of his attention to Calvary, the site of Christ's crucifixion. "When I went to Jerusalem, I climbed the hill to Calvary. Here was the very spot where it all happened. Though I would obviously go nuts over receiving a mere splinter of the original crucifix of Christ, I realize that this is for no one man to have, it is for all, and so I think it's good that fragments have been distributed around the world for adoration."
Tight security is paramount for his collection as he explains: "Any house burglar eyeballing my house would be out of luck because my entire collection is nicely hidden away in a secret location known only to me and my two domesticated one-third hybrid pet Puma cats bearing razor sharp claws!"
Whatever crucifix he gets his hands on, Andrew Ostrowski is always keen to remember the real thrill. "For me, the style and age of a crucifix is quite captivating, but ultimately it's the meaning in it that counts. All speak the same message: Christ's sacrifice for us."
Winter Wonderland
Who likes a Staten Island winter? Not many people. But ask West Brighton resident Andrew Ostrowski and he'll tell you: "There's nothing as captivating as discovering the Greenbelt amidst a blanket of white."
Ostrowski, a freelance writer, took to the woods last week immediately after our latest dusting. As a writer, he draws inspiration from these solo walks among the trees and wildlife. And for him, this past winter was a wonder.
"I adore the snow," he said. "Gone are the days of yesteryear, when a snowstorm necessitated warm family conversation in front of a fireplace, or the serenity of handwriting a letter to a loved one as heavenly flurries fall from the skies. I cherish these winter attributes and being immersed in the solitude of a Greenbelt winter certainly is mind-refreshing."
His latest trek began at suburban street level and gradually ascended up into the heart of the "snow-white belt." He continued across the wooded terrain, navigating ice ponds here and there and traveling a southeast course.
"In addition to the tranquility of it all, the overwhelming attention catcher for me was definitely the snow covered branches. This was pure beauty, plain and simple. Here I was in the center of a winter wonderland, like something out of the 'Nutcracker' ballet. No artist's canvas could ever come close to this."
Navigating in the vicinity of High Rock Park, the writer describes himself as being "surreally" off Staten Island.
"Two hours into the trip, and I've forgotten the real world" he adds. "Here in the crux of this paradise, I see nests of birds, birch trees, dormant plants and shrubs, all awaiting the warmth of spring."
Ostrowski, known to be reflective in his writings, is critical of the typical Islander's attitude when it comes to the winter.
"I hear it over and over, everybody hates the snow. Whether it means shoveling the car out, delaying that supermarket trip, or taking the extra three minutes to bundle up, a lot of folks fail to see the fulfilling side of a snowfall."
He concluded his rite of winter as the sun began to set, and as sure as future snows will come, you can bet Andrew Ostrowski will be waiting for them and looking skyward.
"I now have to begin the hibernating process of waiting until next winter. But this 'DVD' was burned into my mind so not too many tears will be shed over the long wait."
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