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CHAPTER ONE

On Saturday, April 9, 2005, WJR Detroit announced Pope John Paul’s death. Joe thanked God for ending his hero’s suffering as he put aside the table he’d just sanded and he headed toward St. Florian’s Church, where his godparents prayed for the Pope’s peaceful release from his failing body. He’d share their sorrow, as he’d shared most of the joys and disasters of his life.
As he neared the church he saw people streaming out of their houses, stricken, not able to bear this loss alone. Many headed toward the church. Some carried bouquets of red and white flowers. Their progress slowed as they stopped to console their neighbors.
Inside St. Florian’s, Hamtramck’s huge working-man’s church, faithful hunched over their rosaries. Stars sparkled down from the bright blue ceiling, serving as a medium between this life and the next. Priests walked from one group to another, stopping for a whispered word here, a pat on the shoulder there.
Uncle Ted and Aunt Stella knelt in their favorite pew. Joe slid in beside Stella, whose aging hand squeezed his. “Joey, thank God for taking our brave lion peaceful.”
He prayed beside them, forsaking rote prayer, he pictured the dove like Holy Ghost descending to pick up John Paul’s soul in the form of a leaf and soaring toward heaven. When he sensed from their movements his godparents were ready to leave, he genuflected and walked them past other mourners and their Muslim neighbors who had come outside their homes to console them.
He drove to the alley behind Ted’s house and as they walked by Ted slapped the palm of his hand on the garage where Joe’s workshop used to reside. “Why you left here to spend money on that space you can’t use good without your boys, I don’t know.”
“Brad and Andrew will be home this summer and they’ll need space to work. I’m paying the bill and that’s penance enough. Let it go, Ted.”
Stella clutched her sweater tight as the cold April wind whipped her hair around her face. “Stop that, you two. Tonight is about John Paul. He’s earned his peace.”
Ted slapped Joe’s back, “Come on in. She who must be obeyed has spoken.” His white head was right behind Stella’s as they entered their spotless kitchen.
Joe bounded up their steps and pealed off his down jacket. His sense of peace increased every time he walked into their home, decorated with twenty-two religious objects, all lovingly venerated. The smell of cabbage wafted towards him and he pulled out a vinyl covered chair in their forty’s-style kitchen. “Will you two be alright?”
“The Pope earned his rest but I feel like the world’s less safe without him.” Stella filled a pan with of ravioli-like golombki and mashed potatoes. “I’ll warm this up and we’ll share a bite in his name.”
"The Pope suffering so bad and then dying peaceful got me thinkin’.” Ted nodded his bald head as he spoke. “God doesn’t make it easy, even for his friends. If I want to see my Lord I got to do what he expected of me. I didn’t bring peace when we went home in ’93 and John Paul said I could do it. He saw things. Besides, Babcia’s over a hundred. I got no excuse, it’s decided. We’ll fly to Poland, see my mother and pass out our savings.”
Stella added, “And Joe, we want you along to see your father’s home and meet your grandmother. Babcia deserves to meet one of Victor’s sons before she dies.” Stella must have noted the look of disbelief on his face, “The Pope expects us to do this, you know that. You heard him.”
Did he know? The Pope visited Hamtramck September 19, 1987. Joe had called around to see if he and Ted could help out anywhere. He was told, ever so gently, it was harder to turn help down then to get it.
He’d said, “Well, my uncle and I live within walking distance, I know CPR, and there will be folks out there who don’t belong in a crowd, so if you think of an unglamorous spot you need somebody, give me a call.”
The next day an organizer asked, could they go to the shuttle area near the railroad tracks and be available when people loaded up to return to their parked cars? Some folks might need help if they’d stood too long and the fervor of the faithful might outdo all expectations, they’d said.
And they were right. Poles came from all over to Hamtramck because there he was sure to say a few words in their native tongue. Joe and Ted set out buckets of water bottles and joined in the songs. Roving musicians performed for the crowd. He watched as a man offered a performer a tip the man refused. It seemed to Joe that everybody wanted to give to everybody else at this once in a lifetime event.
All morning Aunt Stella, Joe’s mother, his sister-in-law’s and Kate made dough- nut-middles and Uncle Ted, Joe, his brothers and the children old enough to hold a basket handed them out to people who’d arrived early. A couple who’d spent their honeymoon in a sleeping bag under a street light nearby asked Stella if they could use her toilet. She ushered them inside and fed them a full breakfast. Many had shown up the day before with chairs, sleeping bags and children. They carried bread and kielbasa with them and ate politely, cleaning up and apologizing if they bumped anyone as they used Hamtramck’s receptacles.
Along Jos Campau Ave, 50,000 people made the air reverberate with laughter, songs and greetings. Having a relative living in Hamtramck was a badge of honor and even people who weren’t, were proud to be Polish.
Then finally, the crowd reverently called out, “Juznad jezdza, (He’s coming),” just as they must have in Jerusalem when Jesus passed by.
The faithful watched in thrilled reverence as the Pope-mobile approached. Joe perched a twin on each shoulder and when Sarah hollered, “I can’t see God, I can’t see God,” Ted scooped her up and held her in front of him. Joe couldn’t see much, but the electrical current of the crowd buoyed him up as bodies pressed around him in waves.
John Paul blessed his roaring fans all the way to Farmer Jack’s Market and into the parking lot, where he spoke to the crowd.
They weren’t near enough to hear John Paul’s voice, but word came back he’d said, “People who work, each is a human being, not a mere instrument of production.” The crowd murmured their acknowledgement and Joe saw tears rise in Ted’s eyes.
John Paul said, “Immigrants found here in Detroit, a great hospitality.” The ensuing roar might have knocked them over, if they hadn’t been so tightly packed.
While John Paul blessed the crowd, and before the motorcade got word there was a bomb threat, Ted and Joe handed the children to the women and headed toward the shuttle to be in place when people began to board. Almost there, they overtook a woman struggling on legs so swollen she could hardly place her feet. Ted got on one side and Joe on the other to ease her load. She’d instructed her family to look for her near the shuttle so they eased her onto a bench, where Ted joined her, winded. Seven people were there already, talking with the bus driver as Joe fetched water. He’d bent over to help the woman drink when suddenly one of the women speaking to the driver cried out, “It’s him, Matka Boska. Look, he’s here!”
A police car led the Pope-mobile away from the crowd, out and around, because of a bomb threat. They had spotted him and stood transfixed when his Pope-mobil slowed to cross the tracks and John Paul saw them waiting there.
The woman peeked from behind her fingers. “After all I’ve survived, and now, this joy I can die happy,” she said.
The Pope touched his driver’s arm and they stopped just before the tracks. An arm waved, John Paul needed something. Joe sprinted to his side.
John Paul leaned forward, “Who are you? What are you all doing here?”
“Holy Father, I’m Joe Winowski, a volunteer. I’m helping a woman whose legs have swollen from standing too long. I teach accounting and I’m a carpenter on the side.” He babbled, not sure what kind of answer was expected.
“Our Lord was good to widows. He was a carpenter and a teacher too. You follow His example, my son.”
“I call on Him when the young resist reason. I work in His name, Holy Father.”
“Yes, yes, our young are our hope. Example speaks to them. I pray for you to keep heart, it is not an easy thing but it is precious to Our Lord.”
Joe blessed himself then turned to indicate the solidly built man with the wide open face who now stood directly behind him, “Let me present Tadeusz Winowski, a man who resembles you so closely he could pose as you when your arm tires.” He backed up and left a startled Ted to face his Pope.
John Paul’s hand shook as he bent down to look Ted over closely. ”Yes, yes I see the possibility. What languages do you speak?”
Ted recovered himself enough to answer, “I speak Polish, Russian, German and English, Holy Father. If you need me, I stand ready.”
“Oh, Beloved Brother, I bless you, and I pray for your continued good health but you must not tempt me, for even a Pope tires.” John Paul’s laugh rumbled through the air and the lines of fatigue lifted from his face.
The lead police car had doubled back, but the Pope didn’t look away. “Where do you come from?” he asked Ted.
Ted described the farm near Tarnow where his mother and extended family live.
“Farm life is hard, but it allows man his dignity. Have you returned home?”
Ted said, “In ‘46 my wife and I returned to rebuild our burnt out farm house. Our six year old son died of typhus. In my grief I tried to rally opposition to Communism and caused trouble for my family. My wife and I fled into Austria as enforcers came for us. I can only send dollars till now, but I pray each day I’ll live to return.”
“Do not despair. Communist resolve will break, Our Lord wills it. Jesus intends you to reunite with your family and bring peace to their hearts. I see it. Pray each day and your time will come. Never lose heart. Through us He accomplishes all things.” Then he turned to the woman and the others and lifted his hand. The Papal ring flashed as he blessed all those who stood nearby.
They responded by making a Sign of the Cross simultaneously.
Then the Pope signaled his driver to go on.
The witnesses to that special moment laughed and cried and gave each other a group hug as the rest of the crowd descended upon them.
The woman on the bench said she felt better already. “If my legs burst like overcooked sausage, seeing the Pope so close and being blessed by him, makes the sorrows of my life less hard.”
Afterwards, whenever Ted told the story of what happened after the police received a bomb threat he added, “If Karol Wojtyla achieves sainthood, you can know he earned it. All that running around for our Risen Christ, that’s not easy.”
###
Ted had continued in good health, while John Paul visibly deteriorated—and now John Paul was dead, Ted was quoting him and telling Joe not only was he going to Poland, but somehow, the poor-old-dead-pope expected it of him. Joe turned his hands back and forth beneath the table, not sure how to react.
Ted added, “And don’t worry, we’ll pay everything; you don’t need a dime.”
“But you two went over in ’93 to settle things. What do you have to fix now?”
“We thought we'd never return after that, that’s right. “ Ted rushed on. “Everybody was getting old and crabby and we left them all upset. We couldn’t pass out all our dollars and we didn’t leave peaceful, so we want to go back and do it right while we’re both still able."
"We should all be dead by now,” Stella’s jaw was set, Joe saw she was determined, “but if John Paul kept going, sick as he was, we’ll find the strength to go back to that farm and set things right.”
“The Apostles slept in the garden because Jesus said he was leaving and they were scared, they didn’t know what would happen to them.” Ted’s eyes shone, “But Jesus couldn’t make it easy or they’d go running around like big shots. We have to suffer to follow Jesus and I forgot that. I thought because John Paul told me I should go it would be easy. I forgot God depends on our doing his will; he doesn’t wave a magic wand. Our love for Him helps us use all we got to make it happen, but He doesn’t make it easy.”
Stella said, “We thought if we went home it would just happen and when things didn’t go right we came home upset, like he’d let us down.”
“But when I saw that last picture of John Paul at his window, when he hit his head, I understood Jesus wants us banging our heads before we can do what He asked because it isn’t big shot me that gets things done, it’s Him, working through me. I’m our Lords servant, not some Enron blow-hard.”
Stella said, “We didn’t understand God’s Word so when we went in ’93 we made things worse. We have to give more of ourselves to make His plan move right.”
“I have to do the best I can, with the help of God. I can’t die peaceful till I do."
“But you know teachers don’t take off mid-semester and I’ve got carpentry jobs, three kids in college and Annie graduating. I’m out of the equation. Besides, Stella’s had pneumonia. What are you thinking, dragging her around a farm while it’s still cold?”
“You want me to put my money in a box and mail it? That’s not what John Paul said to me. I’m goin’ no matter what you say.”
“You two can’t go sprinkling dollars around Eastern Europe. That’s ridiculous.”
“Then we’ll wait till your classes are out for summer. It’ll be warmer then and the boys can work your shop, but we’re goin’ and we need you. I sat here, fat and free while my brother, Laszek, he suffered through war and Communism. He was beaten for my foolishness and he cared for Babcia. I have to go and we need you with us, Joe. We need you..”
Stella said, “We promised John Paul if he’ll look out for us, we’ll do our best.”
“What the--the Pope just died and you two are talking to him like he’s a saint?”
“John Paul did his best for Jesus. He’s in ‘The Communion of Saints,’ automatic. Priests don’t have to tell us. Besides, those guys say more then their prayers.” Ted said.
“And we need help if we’re going to do good, as old as we are.”
“Look, John Paul got grudge holders all over the world together.” Ted nodded his head as he spoke. “He’s the best there is, so we turn to him. I send fifty dollars a month home now and more when taxes are due, a litter of pigs die, or a niece of mine marries.”
Joe tried to cut off Ted’s recital. “And you never owned a car and you only drink one six-pack a week because you get the seventh at my house on Sunday. I know that.”
“I’m doing my best, but I can’t handle my brother alone. Laszek’s life didn’t go like it should and John Paul wants me to change things. Please, stand beside me, Joe.”
This is getting crazier by the minute, he thought.
Ted’s square jaw set. "Poland needs hard cash and it’s not just our folks. Laszek says they can hardly pay for seed, let alone buy another farm. We can help them.”
Joe’s accountant’s mind tallied Ted and Stella’s social security and retirement. If they emptied their pockets now, their care would fall on him and he couldn’t step in if their funds ran dry, not in the financial shape he was in, he couldn’t.
“But didn’t you tell me they’re sitting on rutted roads only two hours drive from Russia? Even if you doubled their 36 hectors, they couldn’t compete in today’s world. You’d deplete your savings only to prolong their suffering.”
"I’m not Scrooge McDuck openin’ his vault here," Ted banged the table and plates jumped. “but our farmers need something between them and disaster.”
“So, If we give to them and invest the rest in Polish firms they’ll have something when we’re gone,” Aunt Stella said. “You’re a teacher, you understand business."
Joe felt sick He had enough worries, why were they dumping this on him?
Ted threw his hands open, "We'll help Poland too. So, what do you think?"
“I think your heart is bigger then your wallet. How much cash are we talking?"
Ted looked away. "Well, our house is paid, we have Medicare and extra insurance, so if we keep fifty thousand, we could invest say, seven-hundred-thousand."
"Zloty or dollars? You can’t mean seven-hundred-thousand dollars?” Joe’s chair nearly flew out from under him. He grasped at the table. “Let me see your figures."
Stella unlocked a drawer, removed a ledger and opened it in front of Joe.
He pushed aside dishes to scan impossibly high numbers. How was he going to tell them they’d made a gigantic error and compounded it over the years?
Then Ted reached over and turned back to cash out prices he’d gotten in 1993. Joe jerked back when he saw the value of stocks in Chrysler, General Motors and Ford, listed in Ted’s neat hand. The force of his reaction almost knocked him to the floor.
"Cholera, when did you two buy these?"
"In the thirties one of the file clerk supervisors at Chrysler hired me."
He knew how Stella was hired. How much history would they march him through to get a straight answer? His throat tightened as he studied Ted. People smiled when they saw Ted’s resemblance to John Paul, but besides his angelic looks, Joe knew that John Paul’s sharp intelligence was Ted’s too, though Ted’s could be more cagy then sacred, Joe thought. The question was, what else hadn’t he said?
“Stella, you tell him how we earned it. You talk better than me.”
Her hazel eyes got enormous. "I waited outside the Chrysler Building for the rain to stop and a junior executive told his girl that the banks could fail, but the Big Three auto-makers--they were the future. He was investing every extra penny he got in stock."
Ted said. "Pretty girls were sent upstairs to deliver files. Next time Stella went she asked an executive how we could buy stock. He might have been pulling a joke, sending us to his broker, but he made an appointment for us.”
“Mr. Donovan was on Grand River. He was a real gentleman. We both took a day off work and rode the trolley downtown.” Stella patted Ted’s hand as she spoke.
Ted nodded at the memory. “He smiled when he met us, a file clerk and her Polak husband, all dressed up to invest our pennies, but he treated us right,”
“He told us we should buy stock in more then one company, than he said to send him a money order twice a year, regular.”
“We only missed in ‘47 the year our Teddy died. The water was polluted and Teddy and Pa---nobody should have to live—or die like that, nobody---.”
Stella’s voice called him back, “We were all dressed up, so we went to Hudson’s Tearoom for lunch, remember that, Ted? It had chandeliers and linen table cloths.”
Ted cleared his throat, reminding her to get back on track.
She said, “We paid everything and invested too. Sometimes we nearly didn’t make it, but helping our family through rough times made losing Teddy more bearable. He taught his cousins to care for the seeds he carried sewn in his clothing for their garden while we worked repairing the house. He ended his life helping them, so we will too.”
“Once I sold the pocket watch Stella gave me for our wedding. It took years to buy it back, but we didn’t want the broker forgetting us. We did our part and he did his.”
Curious but agitated, Joe got out of his chair behind the table and paced the room.
“Our war bonds rebuilt the farm. I signed them before we left here and your pa cashed them and sent me dollars—after the war American dollars were king, you know.”
Joe’s head spun, these were people whose errands he’d run and bulbs he’d changed. He’s jumped when they called, even as he’d juggled two jobs, four children and Kate and now they were telling him they’d used his precious time to conserve pennies while they hid this wealth?
Their picture of The Sacred Heart of Jesus Crowned with Thorns hung above the table. As a child he’d looked at Jesus sorrowful eyes, tiny droplets of blood dripping down his forehead, and he’d always decided against a convenient lie in His presence. He’d come clean and Stella had said, “You’re a good boy. I knew my Joey wouldn’t add to Our Good Lord’s suffering.”
But they’d lied to him through omission. While he’d put them above himself, they’d held back. He walked in circles. Kate had wanted to move to the suburbs, creating more distance, but he figured she lacked the love that motivated the Winowski clan. How could he ever admit this to her?
Ted’s voice brought him back. “Donovan said, ’When you sell your stock, sell slow, or taxes will eat you.’ We didn’t want to talk foolish and then be shamed.”
“But stocks grew faster than taxes by the time we cashed out to help them.”
“But just as I opened my mouth to tell Laszek I had money for him, he said bad girls had set their sights on his grandsons. He told them there wouldn’t be more dollars from the U S, so the girls left town. He said, ‘Your help worked perfect. More would bring disaster to us.’” Ted shrugged, “So we’ve dished it out in dribbles, but what if we die or get goofy? Everything we sacrificed for would be lost. You see that don’t you?”
Stella had been watching Joe as Ted spoke. She added, “And now they must learn how Capitalism works too. Should we leave them to swindlers as others have? If we buy stock in Polish companies our relatives will see how money can work for them. Then maybe life won’t get so desperate."
“So, you built this up since before I was born?”
They exchanged self-conscious looks. Then it struck him. He’d bought the workshop just as the boys scholarships came through. Then the banks turned down his loan applications so he didn’t have the resources to pay his mortgage and hire men he’d have to insure privately. Ted was the first to realize Pateck wouldn’t have given him the space free, Joe had admitted he paid, but not that he owned the space. Anyway, they knew he’d been desperate—Ted rubbed it in every time he walked by the old workshop’s home in their garage. They knew, they had it, and they hadn’t loaned him the money. His blood roared in his ears as Ted sped up his story, as if talking faster made his omission acceptable.
“After the war soldiers staggering towards home died beside our stream. Typhoid spread. Stella’s hair fell out and rose colored spots covered our Teddy. I bathed him and spooned boiled water down his throat, but I knew, I knew we’d lost our boy.”
“I wanted more babies, but the doctor here said I’d been too sick, so helping them live through Communism made us feel Teddy didn’t die for nothing.”
They’d come home childless in 1949 and he’d been born the next year He knew his mother had put him in Stella’s arms every time she walked in the door and Pa had encouraged him to stay by Ted’s side. Joe knew this, but put together as it was now, it unnerved him.
Joe’s mind blurred. "But you’ve let me worry about you."
Ted went on as if he hadn’t heard. “We thought after the Cold War ended Poles would be safe, but now we worry about their being in the European Union. I admit they did good this first year, but their standards aren’t easy, either.”
“So when I prayed you could manage, there was no need?”
Ted raised his thick brows. “Poles need hard money like a gorilla behind them.”
That wad of cash sat in some safe-deposit box well over ten years while he’d struggled? Why, he could have established his business while the boys were still kids and paid Ted interest on the loan. How could they have watched him writhe like that?
Stella said, "If you don't come with us, we’ll hire somebody. And you know how strangers cheat old people.”
“Matka Boska,” Joe threw up a quick prayer to the Mother of God. Did they expect him to dispose of cash he needed to avoid foreclosure? He had to get away fast or his mouth would get ahead of his brain. He said, “Don't plan on me. Get Fred.”
"We'll pay for everything. Here,” Ted pulled hundred dollar bills out of a shoe-box. “Set up an account. Here’s five thousand and there’s more where that came from. We’re not stingy; we want to spread this around. We thought you’d be excited."
Excited wasn’t the word that came to his mind. Confused, distressed, resentful—yes. He’d done for them out of love, but to realize they’d had wads of cash and ignored his need? He felt foolish, stung, used. He could barely swallow.
He shook his head, "Just where was this wad when the bank refused to back me?”
“If things didn’t go good, we wouldn’t want you avoiding us.” Ted said, “Besides, we don’t loan family money since your folks got stuck for your Uncle Joe’s debts.”
Uncle Joe had been out of their lives since the depression when he’d abandoned his failed repair shop and run off. His mother had named him after her brother, but nobody even mentioned Uncle Joe anymore. Referring to him now was crazy.
Ted continued. “Look, my people took the food out of their mouths to ship me to America. Our Teddy’s buried there--.”
Stella broke in, “You’re educated and you have all that’s American behind you.”
“We’ve done all we could to help you, except money. We promised God we’d use our dollars in the old country and that’s what we’re doin’.” When Ted spoke in that tone the conversation was usually over.
But Stella added, “Poles will be the peasants of the world again if we don’t stand by them. They shouldn’t have to produce as cheap as China, they deserve to live decent—replacing one form of slavery with another isn’t right. They need our help, Joe, they do."
He felt like yelling, “I need your help. I need you too,” but pride restrained him. Instead he headed out without a good-bye.
Ted followed to shove his box of dollars in the back seat of the Lincoln. If he had been a drinker he’d have gone to a bar, but he was a homebody so he drove on home.