A Story from the Sauna

He greeted me cheerily when I entered the sauna after my workout. He was small and of a wiry build. His wife, an attractive blond, sat quietly next to him. He was immediately talkative, telling me that he and his wife came to Evans Plunge every year on their vacation to the Black Hills. After a bit of chit chat, without any prompting on my part, he eagerly shared his story.

I was born in Poland. In 1974, when I was twenty, the Russians were in control of Poland and I wanted to escape the oppression. All that was on TV were stories of Russia and the bad things about America. There was one exception. We watched Bonanza. We loved that show and I wanted to go to America to see the cowboys. My friend, who was nineteen, and I went to a festival in France with a group. We jumped from the train in West Berlin looking for asylum. Since I had a trade as a tool and die maker I could get work with the English army until I could get papers to go to another country. the Poles had worked with the British and there were many of them that had stayed on in West Berlin after the war. That was good for me since I could communicate with them. I only wanted to go to America, but in order to be accepted then I needed three things: 1. to be healthy 2. to have a trade so I could support myself and 3. I had to serve in the American army and go to Vietnam.

I was so eager to go to American that I accepted those conditions, including military service in Vietnam. The war ended in 1975 so I did not have to go in the service, but I had been willing to do my part in order to get to America. At that time we immigrants got no health insurance or welfare. I met my wife in Chicago and when she went to the hospital to have our baby, I paid all the bills from my work. I never asked for any help. Today my son is a successful businessman.

In time I traveled throughout the States, and after working and living in New York and Chicago we settled in Wisconsin. I could not go back to see my family in Poland until 1990, but then I brought my mother and siblings to America.

"I want to write your story", I said to him as I got up to leave the sauna, sweating profusely. I had stayed too long, fascinated by his story and his enthusiasm. "I won't use your name."

"My name is Stanley", he said as I left.

Food for thought: it is because of a TV western that our country has been enriched by a Polish immigrant and his family.