Ringered in the Polish Triangle of Chicago

March 7, 2011

School’s out. It’s Casmir Pulaski holiday, the fourth in my tenure as a teacher in the city of Chicago. It was never celebrated when I taught in the western suburbs, so I decided to pay attention, knowing how important the day must be to the largest population of Poles in the world outside of Warsaw. Should be to the entire state, because the day is backed by Illinois law.

PUBLIC ACT 80-621. ILLINOIS STATE GOVERNMENT. BIRTHDAY OF CASIMIR PULASKI--FIRST MONDAY IN MARCH--HOLIDAY. Be it enacted by the People of the State of Illinois, represented in the General Assembly :

Section 1. The first Monday in March of each year is a holiday to be observed throughout the State and to be known as the birthday of Casimir Pulaski.

Within 10 days prior to the first Monday in March of each year the Governor shall issue a proclamation announcing the holiday and designating the official events which shall be held in honor of the memory of Casimir Pulaski and his contribution to American independence.

Passed in the General Assembly June 20, 1977 and approved September 13, 1977.

Americans often prefix their identity with their ethnicity, such as African American, Hispanic or Latino American, Native American, Asian American, and so forth, and in huge cities like Chicago, there is anything but a melting pot. Such is true in the Noble Square District, crisscrossed to form a one-block triangle at its center by Division Street, Milwaukee Avenue, and Ashland Avenue, the Polish Triangle, home to Chicago’s large Polish American community. Many here, I am sure, are proud to be Americans.

So was Casimir Pulaski, who is giving me my day off. Pulaski was born March 4th, 1747 in Warka, Poland. He became a national hero in 1771 when cavalry forces he led defeated the Russians in Czestochwa. Pulaski was wrongly accused in a plot to capture and kill the King, was arrested, and condemned to death for his part in the revolt.

Pulaski managed to escape, and made his way to Paris, where he heard of the British colonialist’s struggle to break free from England. Knowing he could never return to Poland, he sought out Benjamin Franklin in Paris to ask if he would consider hiring him to fight against the British. After hearing of his reputation, Franklin recommended him to General Washington. So the proud Polish patriot of an aristocratic lineage became a proud American patriot. In a letter to Washington, he wrote, "I came here, where freedom is being defended, to serve it, and to live or die for it..."

Washington knew that the colonists had no trained cavalry, so in September 1777, he convinced Congress to give Pulaski temporary command of the small, new cavalry detachment. On the same day Pulaski pushed back the British at the Battle of Brandywine. The next day he prevented a surprise attack at an area called Warren's Tavern. Congress acknowledged Pulaski's leadership and commissioned him Brigadier General. He was given command of four cavalry regiments.

During the winter at Valley Forge in 1777-78, Pulaski wanted to train the cavalry properly, but was instructed by Congress to rest his men during the winter, as was customary at the time. Later in 1778, Pulaski became frustrated that his cavalry had not been involved in any important battles. Considering resignation, he asked Washington to allow him to start his own legion. He offered to recruit men, outfit them, and train them his own way. He would prepare this cavalry for active duty. After many letters from Pulaski, Congress finally agreed. With 68 horses and 200 foot soldiers, the Pulaski Legion would become the colonists' first true fully-trained cavalry.

During a battle in Savannah, Georgia, Pulaski was wounded by a cannon. He died from complications of this wound, an American hero.

I can’t think of a better way to spend the holiday that celebrates a Polish American hero than catching a little background to help illustrate my attempt to complete the collection of plate number block first day covers with the Pulaski stamp, commissioned by the U.S Postal Service to recognize the birthday of the Polish patriot of the American Revolution 150 years following his death. So far, I’ve found five of this type of cover out of twelve cities in which the 2-cent commemorative postage stamp was sold on its first day of issue, January 16, 1931. Why so many cities? They had substantial populations of Polish Americans living in them. The general is modeled from a portrait in Jones's History of Georgia, printed from an etching by H. B. Hall. Behind the vignette are U.S. and Polish flags.

More significant to me, however, is what happened about a month ago. An artist friend from Cincinnati came up to take part in a gallery opening that featured her work. Staying with friends living in the Polish quarter, she invited me to eat at Podhalanka’s. You might miss this unassuming Polish mom-and-pop diner if walking by. But it sits on the south side of Division, a few feet east of Ashland, and half a block west of Milwaukee. In other words, it’s smack dab within the one-block Polish Triangle.

I got there early, and a gray-haired lady gestured to me to sit anywhere. I sat looking at the fake brick paneling and waited for my friend. The place looked like we were going to eat breakfast in a church basement or an American Legion hall. Of course there were pictures of the Pope and huge Polish and American flags. There was also a Matka Boska Gromniczna, Our Lady of “The Blessed Thunder Candle,” and plastic flowers. It was January, but Christmas lights adorned little plastic trees in the window. Once there, my friends said this was THE place for homemade polish cuisine.

The Polish mom bid me to pick up menus on the long counter. I practically expected her to be wearing fuzzy pink slippers. I ordered pierogi (Polish dumplings). My friend ordered sour borscht soup. Her artist friend ordered something made of cabbage. Then came a plate of potato pancakes with sour cream and applesauce. What I initially thought was a plain glass of water was a sweet drink called compote. The potato pancakes were perfectly crisped while not being too full of oil. But it was heavy food. I learned that the Poles have perfected a menu that feeds Slavic peasants, the basic ingredients which consist of pork, dough, potatoes, beets, and cabbage. Someone wrote the following Haiku to describe it.

Plump, buttery lumps

Smelling of onions and dough

You make me so fat

Her friend suggested that after breakfast we stop in to see the local Polish Roman Catholic Church, Saint Stanislaus Kostka, a grand neo-Gothic structure built in 1890. The chatter on the way was friendly and informal. We arched our necks to view its high tower of traditional masonry. The doors had their original, peeling paint. The interior was rich in old world grandeur. The sacristy was resplendent with silver and gold detail. And adorning the entire wall to the left of the alter was Our Lady of Guadalupe, quite a gesture to a tradition indigenous to the natives of Mexico who have assimilated the Spanish Catholic traditions into their own according to the experiences of a faith fashioned far away from Europe.

What happened next shook me to the bottom of my very sort of refurbished Catholic soul. And recounting it now is just as poignant to me. You see, my friend lost her sweet, kind, gentle, happy, thirteen year old daughter to the brutal sexual attack of a mass murderer. It happened March 7, 2009, exactly two years ago today. He is now on death row, and the family continues to heal. There has been an outpouring of sympathy, of course, and many memorials. My grieving friend said once that she is now a new kind of mother. "It is healing to have a sense of mission in life. I'm her mom in a different way. I feel like I'm carrying on her legacy now." And I have offered since meeting my friend any help I can to aid the healing process. My friend and I sat in a pew for awhile looking around.

“Look, Our Lady of Guadalupe.”

“Yes, Madonna and Child.”

“I have no child.”

“You have a child, and you are managing her legacy.”

We sat a few moments longer in silence before finally leaving the church.

It is fitting that today commemorates a Polish American hero so soon after a visit to the heart of the Polish community, the Polish Triangle, in a city that most certainly celebrates him. Because it is also a day during which many are commemorating the two year anniversary of the leave-taking of Esme Louise Kenney, the daughter of my friend. Esme too is a hero. It is my belief that through her incredible spirit she brought a serial killer to justice, and thus saves future lives. (See Strength Made Perfect in Weakness.) It is my hope and prayer that these many are also receiving inspiration and grace today like I am, and like I did in that Polish Catholic Church that day, from the sainted soul strength of this remarkable child.