Foundation Center Database

Breakfast this morning was coffee and Danish, courtesy of the Springfield library. I had received an invitation to an open house highlighting the new resources available through the library's just-acquired Foundation Center database. An introduction to the Foundation Center, a tour of the print collection, and short demonstrations of the online database marked the event.

I have been working hard on behalf of the Polish Center for Discovery and Learning, helping them to acquire funding, so this event was timely. The online database, a treasure map to millions and millions of dollars waiting to be claimed, can only be accessed from the library's computers. Fortunately for me, the library is less than three pleasant blocks from my house. Living downtown rocks!

Mr. Caswell Comes Calling

Today Philip Caswell, President of the Beveridge Foundation, paid a visit to the Polish Center for Discovery and Learning. The PCDL had asked the BF for money, and the grant application had been approved. Step two of the application process was this site visit.

Stas Radosh, Executive Director of the Center, and Joe Topor, President of the Board, invited me to be present for the visit since I had written the grant. We gave Mr. Caswell a tour of all three floors of the new Center. Stas explained what had been done to the building since the Center acquired it, and what remained to be done. Joe had all the figures for work completed, and careful estimates for future phases.

Polish people are nothing if not fiscally conservative. Every repair and improvement in the building has been paid for in full, and nothing future will be done until the money has been raised to do it. Several banks, Joe explained, had offered low-interest loans, but they had been politely refused. Philip Caswell, who's Scottish by ancestry and a former banker, seemed impressed by our financial health, and also by the contrast between the before and after (as evidenced in these photos). A good deal of the labor was donated.

Mr. Caswell had had no inkling of the existence of our organization, although he's originally from this area (living in Boca Raton now). He was full of helpful advice and encouragement, suggesting names of other foundations from which we should also solicit funds.

The Beveridge Foundation Board meets on April 25 to pick this year's grantees. I'm not counting my chickens, but I did get very good vibes from this visit. So we'll see.

The Fort

The other day the Polish Center of Discovery and Learning held an open house. I've toured the building already, but new board member Helen hadn't, so Cousin Joanne and I accompanied her on a quick visit. Joanne's the standing board member who had nominated Helen.

We met at the Fort Restaurant in Springfield before heading over to Chicopee. We sat in a booth by the bar and had spiked eggnogs. The place, always animated and cheerful, was still decorated for the holidays and looking particularly festive. This display of carved wooden figurines suspended over the bar caught my eye amongst the amiable jumble of gewgaws.

I've been going to the Fort since I was a little girl. I've got a lot of happy memories of the place. It's a sort of Bavarian wonderland in the middle of downtown Springfield. The bar section is actually called the Student Prince Café, the same as a place my Uncle Stanley owned when I was a kid. And, according to Uncle Stanley, his café came first, and Rupprecht Scherff copied the name. That was back in the '30s. All parties privy to the truth are dead.

Anyway, Uncle Stanley's café is gone, and this one remains. The Fort stands on the site of the actual fort built in 1660 by William Pynchon to defend Springfield from the Indians. Springfield was burned to the ground in 1675 by the Pocumtuck Indians. Only the fort remained. It stood until 1831, a victim finally of urban renewal. Let's hope Charlie Ryan never decides to "improve" the spot.

Putting It Out of Its Misery

Today I attended the "Polka Dinner with Jimmy Sturr," a fundraiser for the Polish Center of Discovery and Learning in Chicopee, Massachusetts. A dinner of kiełbasa, pierogi, gołumbki, kapusta, potatoes, rye bread, pastry, and coffee was followed by an appeal for donations to the Center, followed by dancing to the music of Jimmy Sturr, followed by a raffle. I could have been five years old as I sat between my cousins Joanne and Geraldine. Nothing much has changed in all that time.

My mother, Joanne's mother, and Geri's mother were all sisters. Back in the day, we'd sit around the kitchen table in my grandmother's kitchen, eating and talking, eating and smoking, eating and playing cards. The aunts, uncles, and cousins numbered in the dozens, no one had moved very far away, and 23 Frontenac Street, Indian Orchard, was headquarters for everybody.

As long as my grandmother--"Babu" to everyone--was alive, she was a constant presence at the stove. When she died, Joanne's mother, Julia, took her place. When she died, Aunt Helen moved in to run things. Helen wasn't the cook her mother and sister had been, so when my mother got tired of her lonely widowhood, she moved back home and ran the kitchen.

Apparently, Babu fed not only her husband and nine children, but everyone else in the neighborhood as well. Everyone had a pack of kids back then--there must have been hundreds of children in a one-block radius from our family mansion--and everyone was poor. More than one family credited Babu with keeping them from starving to death during the Great Depression.

Babu couldn't speak English, and I couldn't speak Polish. My memories of her are mainly of being pinched and cuddled, being spoken to in an incomprehensible tongue, and of having a piece of rye bread slathered with butter pressed into my hand. I guess I was too skinny for her liking--but even had I been a chubette, it would have been the same. Food to her was love.

So every memory I have of family is intimately associated with eating. We'd clear the table, someone would walk in, and out would come the food and plates again. "I've already had supper" was no excuse. "How many times?" somebody else would reply.

Not that we were gluttons. On the contrary, we were dainty in our habits. A platter of pastry would be set down with the injunction, "Eat!"

"I couldn't possibly," you were supposed to reply. "Oh...it's homemade? Well, in that case...." And then you'd slice off a corner and try it. And then, when you were pressed continually to have more, you'd take another sliver, "...just to be polite." And so on and on it went, until only a sliver was left. And then you'd say as you reached for it, "Well, let me put this out of its misery."

Dessert today was a plate of freshly-made doughnuts, half sugared and half glazed. Cousin Geri, who is 5'8" at least and can't weigh more than ninety pounds, automatically cut a sugared one in two. Someone else did the same to its glazed sister. A few minutes later, the plate was empty anyway. I happened to be the old maid today. I was full...but someone had to put that last piece out of its misery.

The Polish National Home

This afternoon, cousin Joanne and I headed to Hartford to have lunch at the Polish National Home. John Jeski, who broadcasts the "Polka Party Radio Show" from there every Sunday, had graciously offered to let us plug our fundraiser for free. By "our" I mean the Polish Center of Discovery and Learning in Chicopee, and by "fundraiser" I mean the Jimmy Sturr concert coming up next Sunday. Joanne is a polished public speaker, so the Director of the Center, Stas Radosz--who's been working tirelessly for eight years without a salary, and is getting a bit tired of riding all over New England--was happily relieved of the duty.

John Jeski advertises his show as "the longest running remote broadcast in the country, reaching over 350,000 people in as many as 7 states." In addition to being a DJ, he is the leader of a popular polka band ("The John Jeski Band") and, with his wife Lorraine, owner of "JOLO Multimedia." A visit to his website, johnjeski.com, is an adventure. In the ten years I have been playing around on the Internet, I have never seen a site with so many animated banners and clipart gifs. Once your eyes have adjusted, you can download dozens of songs, buy CDs and tapes, play games...even write a letter to Santa.

With John's polka selections as backdrop, we followed our hostess to a booth and ordered off the menu. Being a vegetarian somewhat limits my choices, especially in a restaurant like this one. But with pierogis only 85 cents apiece, vegetables cooked from scratch, and beer-battered onion rings, I managed to get full for about five dollars, while Joanne happily polished off the "Polish Plate" of kiełbasa, pierogi, gołumbki, etc., etc. The slender blonde waitress had a lilting old-country accent and manners to match, the coffee was delicious, and the atmosphere congenial.

We were stuffed, but couldn't resist shelling out another two dollars for the dessert crepes. Piping hot, perfectly browned, filled with cottage cheese, and served with seedless raspberry jam. Joanne, who had grown up in our grandmother's house, was in heaven. "Just like Babu's," she kept saying. "These are exactly like what Babu used to make."

At this point in my life, I don't need anybody to tell me what to think about something I've experienced for myself. But the many framed reviews I noticed as we exited provided a nice affirmation. "One of those semi-secrets that I'm just reluctant to share with the world"..."tasty, substantial fare"..."almost criminally cheap." No less an authority than the Sterns, in no less a rag than Gourmet, waxes enthusiastic about the restaurant at the Polish National Home.

Making fun of Polacks is like shooting fish in a barrel. But there's something to be said for a group of immigrants who have been, after all, extremely successful. Just be honest and friendly, work hard, and keep doing what you've always done for about a hundred years, no matter how hard anybody laughs at it, and people will eventually come to respect you.