Frank Zielony; Amazing survivor's tale
Hyfler/Rosner
an easy obit to write this well.
The Oregonian
Sunday, September 26, 2004
AMY MARTINEZ STARKE
Frank Zielony might have lived his entire life as a Polish
farmer and brick maker like his father, in the plains of
what is now Ukraine.
But in 1939, war came. Soviet troops showed up at 7 o'clock
on a dark morning in early 1940 and told the entire
village -- including 19-year-old Frank, his parents, brother
and four sisters -- that they had half an hour to prepare to
leave the country.
They were packed in cattle cars and deported to Siberia --
among more than a million non-Jewish Poles forced into slave
labor camps.
That's how Frank, about 5 foot 4 and 150 pounds, came to be
cutting down trees and making railroad ties in sub-zero
weather. Food meant potatoes. Sleep meant a bare floor, and
taking turns. During those two years, he lost his mother,
father and three sisters to starvation, illness and
exposure -- his mother was buried while he was out in the
forest overnight cutting wood. None of their graves was
marked. Before he died, Sept. 9, 2004, at 83, he lamented he
could not go to Siberia to find the graves of his mother and
father.
In June 1941, during a three-day amnesty, Frank bailed out
of camp and joined up with other Poles on a long journey to
Britain, to unite with the forces of the Free Polish Army
via a route that took them around Africa's Cape.
He was trained as a radio operator and paratrooper and
became part of the Polish Independent Parachute Brigade.
It's now 1944, and the Allies are planning the ill-fated
Operation Market-Garden, attempting to take a bridge over
the Rhine at Arnhem, Holland, a bloodbath told in
excruciating detail in the movie "The Bridge Too Far."
Sgt. Frank Zielony parachuted in with a revolver and a large
radio set strapped to his chest. Attempting to help trapped
British soldiers, Frank was in a little rubber boat watching
as his compatriots were blown out of the river.
Luck however was with him. He continued to fight as an
infantryman with the rest of the Poles through the end of
the war, then served with Occupation forces in Germany. He
heard that Polish families from his village were being
reunited in England, and there in 1949 he married Agnes
Lopuszynski, a childhood neighbor.
His biggest struggle then became not survival, but learning
English. The man who was often mistaken for Bing Crosby
brought his family to Vancouver -- because his sister-in-law
and her American GI husband were here. He came in 1951 with
$50 in his pocket and a toddler son; a daughter was born
later.
He had heard that Alcoa was opening a big plant, and got a
machinist job and a for-sure paycheck for the first time in
his life -- and for the next 32 years. He worked all shifts,
each workday toting a black lunchbox with a red Thermos. His
job was to make a buck so his children could go to college.
Alcoa offered him a raise if he got a high school diploma,
so at 32, he took night classes at Hudson's Bay High School.
He got his diploma in 1956 and his U.S. citizenship in 1957,
and he changed his name from Franciszek to Frank.
Frank had an "America: Love it or Leave It" bumper sticker
on his car, and he meant it.
"Americans," he said, "just don't know how good they have
it. People can speak what they mean. Go to the church they
want to go to. The opportunity that is here."
Frank knew the names of all the senators, and never missed
voting -- even in local levies.
He told his son's football coach: "Make him work. And tell
your boys how good it is here. As opposed to cutting down
trees in Siberia."
With the Polish Library Association and the Polish National
Alliance, he helped build the parish of St. Stanislaus
Polish Catholic Church and helped save the historic
structure from being torn down. He partied along with the
rest of the parishioners when John Paul became the first
Polish pope in 1978.
But mostly, he helped Polish refugees. In the 1960s and
1970s, he sent food and clothing to Poland. But by the
1980s, Poles started arriving here with only suitcases. So
he and his wife filled their basement with bags of clothing.
He fed them, took them to school and found them jobs. He
helped them with paperwork and language difficulties and put
them on the road to a new life.
That was his way of giving thanks.
He made sure his house off Mill Plain Boulevard got paid
off. He enjoyed his Polish borscht, pierogis, cabbage rolls
and sausage, and like all good American Catholics, creamed
tuna on Fridays.
He went back to Poland several times, saw a brother for the
first time in 30 years, and a sister for the first time in
53 years. He visited the train station where he was
deported.
After retirement in 1983, he got hooked on fishing. He
visited every state. He walked seven miles a day in the
neighborhood.
"I'm a lucky man. I'm here, I'm free, I came to the real
America," he said -- meaning the Pacific Northwest.
He watched World War II programs on the History Channel or
Discovery Channel, and visited Europe on his couch,
regularly -- through TV host Rick Steves. More proof what a
lucky man he was, here in America -- he could travel the
world via TV.
"Dziadek" (Grandpa) told his experiences one little story at
a time, when the family got together at holidays. The
stories just never stopped, and there were always new ones.
