Be
A Pole...Or Just Look Like One: local polish resouces
It's late
September, and I'm sitting in the food tent at the Portland
Polish Festival, sandwiched between St. Stanislaus Church
and the Polish Library building. Relishing a Zywiec beer and
chewy pierogis dipped in sour cream, I become aware of the
woman seated next to me. She is garbed in an intricately embroidered
folk-dance costume, speaking the native tongue at full tilt
and gesturing into the air, her eyes bright with intensity.
I understand none of the words, yet her voice wraps around
me as soothingly as the aroma of my grandmother's simmering
borscht. A man comes up and whispers something to her. Instantly
she's red-faced and angry, yelling in Polish. Just as abruptly,
she stops and returns to her story, all smiles.
That interlude made me feel like I was home. It's exactly
how my dad and grandparents argued when I was a kid: Lots
of hollering in Polish, followed by laughter and settled
scores. No grudges, no hard feelings.
This was just one of several recent events that brought
me back to my long-ignored roots.
During the past few months I've felt like a born-again
Pole: It seems that everywhere I go, I hear the dulcet tones
of the accordion or see folks grooving to oompah polka rhythms.
While devouring stuffed cabbage and watching folk dancers
at the festival, I caught an undeniable whiff of trendiness
in the air. I looked around at hundreds of people digging
the Polish vibe and thought, it's finally happening. It's
becoming hip to be a Pole!
I first noticed the rumblings of revival last May at "Polka
Party '99, The Kielbasa Kronicles," one in a series of private
parties organized by a dedicated, irony-loving pack of Poles.
Marychris Mass, a local scenester and costume designer who
helped plan the event, explained the group's origins.
"It started 10 years ago with a bunch of us transplanted
Chicagoans who grew up hearing polka music," Mass said.
"It used to happen on Pearl Harbor day. It was sort of a
spinoff of the Archon Players [a local theater group], but
now it's a huge party." This year, the smoky Eagles Lodge
in Southeast Portland was transformed by the rousing beats
of bands such as the Polka Doubts and illuminated by homemade
satirical videos such as Saving the Thin Red Kielbasa,
Polka Fiction and Mission Impolkable. Again,
I was transported to another time and place; the club exuded
the authentic funkiness of the Polish halls back in Michigan.
I hadn't felt so ethnic since before I left Detroit in 1974.
Then, with the smell of sauerkraut and bratwurst swirling
in the air, I found myself itching to polka at Portland
Brewing's Oktoberfest, held in September. When cult favorite
Brave Combo performed a hopped-up version of "The Happy
Wanderer," people swarmed the stage. Hundreds of revelers,
including baby boomers and their children, teenagers and
senior couples, bounced on the portable dance floor in a
polka frenzy. Brave Combo from Denton, Texas, has been rolling
out the barrel for 20 years, infusing the infectious polka
beat in everything from "More" and "Pop Goes the Weasel"
to "Purple Haze." The group's MO surpasses gimmickry.
Announcing the band's upcoming profile in Billboard
magazine, bandleader Carl Finch exulted, "I think this polka
thing is really gonna happen, people!"
Yes, now that the Celtic craze has run its hardy course,
I think our time has come. After being a private Pole for
most of my life, I'm ready to step out and go public.
I was born Susie Cieszewski, of 100 percent Polish descent--a
Roman Catholic, mass-attending, two-stepping, pierogi-eating
Pole. My paternal grandparents lived in Hamtramck, Detroit's
Polish enclave, and every Sunday after church, my dad, mom,
brother and I would join them for dinner. Though we ate
the traditional sausage, kraut and dumplings, there was
never any reminiscing about the old country, the siblings
left behind or hardships suffered as new immigrants. Grandma
(Babcia) and grandpa (Dzia Dzo) wanted to live in the here
and now, in a new country that allowed their ethnicity and
religion to flourish.
And flourish it did. I remember fairy-tale Polish-Catholic
weddings with formal church masses followed by food, drinks,
live music and dizzying waltzes and polkas. Even funerals
were celebrated with a bounty of food and flowing liquor.
I was happy to be surrounded by my people.
In grade school, many of my classmates also had long, consonant-packed
surnames. I liked how my name had so many silky S sounds,
even though my hand cramped up by the time my pencil scrawled
the last "ski."
Then, seemingly from out of nowhere, Polack jokes swept
the nation. Poles were presumed to be stupid, dirty and
lazy, and we suffered silently during the days before political
correctness. My dad, who had a good job as a tool-and-die
designer for General Motors, suddenly felt persecuted. Arguing
with the jokesters only exacerbated the harassment. In shame
and embarrassment for his heritage, my father decided to
change our last name. We moved to a new suburb, discarded
ethnic pride and became un-Polish.
Overnight, at age 15, I went from being cute little Susie
Cieszewski to teenage, angst-ridden Sue Ceswick. I rejected
Polish food--too smelly and meaty. My budding feminism made
me rebel against the Catholic Church, and polka dancing
became so uncool it was invisible.
Some 30 years later, it's all flooding back to me: The
boisterousness of Poles, our love of good vodka and tasty
food, our religious devotion. But why now?
"There seems to be a focus on Eastern Europe right now,
with people becoming aware of Serbia and Eastern Bloc countries,"
says Mass, who is of Austrian and Italian descent. She also
points to the popularity of such cultural phenomena as the
Bulgarian Women's Choir. "Lots of cultures have their own
brand of polka beat, even us Italians with the tarantella."
Portland visual artist Cynthia Nawalinski says she believes
the nascent interest in Polish heritage derives from a general,
increasing awareness and appreciation of diversity. "They
say white people are from Europe, but there's a big difference
between Sweden and Poland," she says. "It's kind of an American
thing to dabble in other cultures, and everyone can enjoy
ethnicity at its most common and delicious level. Who doesn't
like little, meat-filled dumplings?"
Portland has a small but active Polish community that revolves
around the 350-member St. Stanislaus Church and the Polish
Library Association, both on North Interstate Avenue. A
keeper of Portland's Polish flame, Marek Stepien estimates
that the local Polish populace numbers about 1,000 native-born
Poles plus some 4,000 residents of Polish descent. A one-man
dynamo, the 37-year-old Stepien is a board member of the
Polish Festival, directs the 60-member folk-dance troupe
Sobotka and keeps subscribers up-to-date with his "Polish
Events in Portland" email list. He matter-of-factly reels
off harrowing tales of working as a photo reporter for the
Solidarity movement and early, unsuccessful attempts to
escape Communist Poland. But Stepien, true to his heritage,
is not one to dwell on the past. Instead, he proudly informs
me that Sobotka won the first-place award at the 1999 Rose
Festival junior parade and that plans for the 2000 Polish
Festival are already in the works.
For me, it's just the opposite. This small but earnest
renewal in all things Slavic has me looking back all the
time. I've barely touched the topsoil in digging for my
Polish roots. Pierogis and accordions are only the start.
Maybe next I'll research my Polish ancestors or investigate
my Catholic guilt.
So call me Susie Cieszewski. I'll meet ya after mass and
we can polka into the new millennium.
BE A POLE...OR JUST LOOK LIKE ONE
Polish or not, if you want to swing with the Eastern European
thing, here are some resources:
Plug into your Polishness and subscribe to Marek Stepien's "Polish Events in
Portland" e-mail list, which includes information
about community dinners, folk dancing and concerts, as well
as citizenship news: marek@gte.net
Take a polka lesson and check out scenes from the party
last May at the Polka Party Web site: www.firedrill.com/polka
Brave Combo supports a wonderfully complete and
reverent site for cult followers: brave.com/bo
Polish Mass: 11 am Sundays at St. Stanislaus Polish
Catholic Church, 3916 N Interstate Ave., 281-7532, www.jps.net/stanislaus
Polish language classes: Paula Godowski, a nine-year
Portland resident and booster of all things Polish, teaches
ongoing language classes at St. Stanislaus on alternating
Saturdays. Introduction to Polish: 11:15 am-12:45 pm; continuing
Polish: 1-2:30 pm.
Hungry for stuffed cabbage? Thirsty for Baltic brew? Authentic
Polish cuisine is served at A Taste of Poland at Saturday
Market, and the Burlingame Grocery carries about 12 different
Polish beers including Piast Premium, Zywiec, Kozlak porter,
Okocim and Polander (8502 SW Terwilliger Blvd., 246-0711).
RECOMMENDED READING:
*The Polish Way by Adam Zamoyski (Hippocrene
Books): A thousand-year chronicle of Polish history and
culture.
*God's Playground (Volumes 1 and 2) by Norman Davies
(Columbia University Press): Touted as the best history
of Poland around, it is used as a textbook in Polish schools.
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Willamette Week | originally
published November 10,
1999
|
