Of War, and Peace, and Sandwich bags

It was a cold, wet, December day. Saturday I think. For my father’s regular Saturday afternoon drive, he decided to drop in on Alex, one of his customers. My father was and is a landscaper, and in Alex’s case he took care of not only his house, but also his nearby factory and warehouse. I don’t remember the exact purpose of the visit, but it was probably to collect a check or give an estimate or some such. What I do remember clearly is my dad’s stern warning on the drive over.

“Listen,” he said “Alex walks with a cane, all hunched over. And his wife has a limp. When we get there DON’T SAY ANYTHING and DON’T ask him about it.”

I said I wouldn’t , but I was instantly curious. When we arrived, Alex and his wife invited us in welcoming us in mixture of broken English and Russian. He did indeed use a cane, and when he walked, hunched over considerably, though not as much as I had imagined. His wife didn’t limp so much as she slid one foot across the floor, dragging it behind her as she moved about.

I followed my dad’s instructions and did not say anything but my mind was swimming with questions. Sitting at their kitchen table with my mother and father, eating sweet cake I couldn’t help but notice a calendar on wall indicating that Christmas was January 7^th. This was just too much for my young mind to fathom. How on earth could ANYONE celebrate Christmas on January 7^th when EVERYONE knew that Christmas was December 25^th. Against my better judgment, I sheepishly said:

“Um, why does that calendar say that Christmas is January 7^th? Christmas is in December.”

My question was received pleasantly enough, and it was explained to me that Alex and his wife were Russian Orthodox and they used a different calendar. So for them, Christmas was January 7^th. I didn’t really get it, but it was enough of an explanation, so I let it rest.

After a while we said our goodbyes and headed home. Back in the car, I couldn’t help myself.

“So, why does he walk so hunched over? Why does she limp like that?” I asked my dad.

“Well” he said, “That’s kind of a long story…”

As a teenager, Alex fought for the Czar in World War I and in the Russian Revolution. On the eastern front, the fighting was a bizarre mix of old and new. While they had modern weaponry, the cavalry was still an important element of the Russian army and hand to hand fighting often involved swords and sabers.

During one battle, Alex was run through with a sword and left for dead on the battlefield.. But he was a tough old boy and he patched himself up and made it back to his unit. This then, is why he used a cane and was so hunched over. Years later, he would find out that the saber passed within and inch of his heart. As a result of his actions in battle, he was awarded what my dad described as “the equivalent of the Medal of Honor” given to him by Czar Nicholas himself.

After the Russian Revolution in 1917 resulted in the abdication and murder of the Royal family, the Bolsheviks seized power and began executing those loyal to the Czar. Alex’s future wife was shot in the leg as she ran into the forest to escape the turmoil.

Their small band, including Alex and his wife and at least one of Alex’s brothers, made it into the mountains and managed to avoid Bolshevik forces, living, as my dad tells it, on snow and the occasional rabbit. Eventually, they made it to Yugoslavia, and settled into a relatively peaceful and successful life. Alex and his brother got into the steel business, and eventually owned a steel mill. They lived there until 1941, when they managed to escape to the United States just as the Nazi’s invaded.

Their steel mill was destroyed in the war, and after the defeat of the Third Reich, Alex and his brother received substantial reparations from the German government due to the loss of their property.

They invested their money wisely and, in a chain of events that is still unclear to me, in the 1950’s invented the re-closable plastic bag. This is what was manufactured at Alex’s nearby factory. The one my dad did the landscaping for. According to my father, at the time, in the ‘80’s they were the sole patent holder and so made all the bags for Ziploc and other companies.

I am starting a research project to find out more details about this man, his life and times. As I always say, I can’t make this stuff up.

A Dog's Life: Then and Now

A recent article in the New York Times Magazine lamented the disappearance of the rough and tumble childhood. Gone are the days of going out to play in the neighborhood or the ubiquitous “woods” with little or no supervision. Such carefree times have been replaced by play dates and latchkeys, and playstations. This generation of children are among the most watched over in the history of our nation. Childhood has changed in America, and the debate is raging as to whether it is for better or worse.

I don’t have children as yet, but I do have a dog. I must admit that I, like many dog owners, particularly single or childless ones, have often made the comparison between having a dog and having kids. It should come as no surprise then that the lives of dogs today, like those of kids today, are much more tightly controlled and organized than they were a generation ago.

In my neighborhood, growing up, dogs were everywhere. Nobody chained their dogs so they were free to wander and roam. Even during times when my family did not have a dog, there were always dogs in my yard. There was Picoh (Pee-KOH), a collie who lived over the hill and through the woods (literally). Sasha, my best friends Siberian Husky (For some reason, she liked to lay on the double yellow line, right in the middle of the road. She was eventually hit by a car). Bopper, a Doberman Pincer mix, lived about a half mile up the road, but spent most of his time down by us, because his owner beat him.

Once, when Bopper showed up bleeding after a particularly harsh beating, my mother went and confronted the owner, threatening to call dog control and the police. A few days later, he shot his aged parents, killing his father and seriously wounding his mother. He was killed in a standoff with police that same night. My mom always wondered if she set him off.

Then there was Duck. Duck was a Black Lab. She was one of a kind. Why they named a dog Duck I will never know. But I can tell you that it caused problems for me in Kindergarten. Any time the teacher showed a picture of a dog, I would point at it and say "Duck".

She originally lived in a house that lay behind ours, a short walk through the woods. But, she belonged to the Old Wife and when the New Wife came along she simply stopped letting her inside and stopped feeding her. She became a neighborhood dog. She wandered about the neighborhood and everywhere she went people fed her, took care of her.

After a time she developed an aversion to being inside, preferring cold but wide open spaces to a warm, but cramped living room. The only time she voluntarily came inside was when we had a bear in the back yard. She faithfully met me at the bus stop every morning from the time I was in first grade until I was a senior in high school. One day, in the spring of 1992, we found Duck in the back yard. She had laid down to sleep that night and never woke up. I still miss her.

Alas, most dogs today do not know such a carefree existence. Consider the life of my current dog Tippy, when compared with one of my childhood dogs, Molly:

NOW: When I leave the house everyday, I make sure the Tippy is IN. My neighbors wouldn’t tolerate a loose dog, and besides, he might run away!!!

THEN: When I left for school in the morning, I made sure Molly was OUT. My mom wouldn’t tolerate letting the mangy mutt have the run of the house all day. Besides, she might run away!!! Unfortunately for my mom, we also put food and water outside. She never did run away. The neighbors never seemed to mind.

NOW: When I want to take Tippy for a walk, like around my quarter of a mile block, I put him on a leash so as not to disturb strangers. Since I have lived in my current house for more than a year and have not met a single one of my neighbors, pretty much everyone is a stranger.

THEN: When I wanted to take Molly for a walk, like walking a mile or so across town to get soda and Ice Cream, I just let her tag along behind. I didn’t want to do anything that would prevent her from protecting me from strangers. Since I, and Molly, knew pretty much everyone on our block, almost no one fell into this category.

NOW: When Tippy wants to go outside, I let him run in my small fenced in back yard, again, so as not to disturb my neighbors, who are also complete strangers.

THEN: When Molly wanted to go outside, I opened the front door and let her out. My parents did not have a fenced in yard, and neither did any of our neighbors. Nobody seemed all that disturbed. They all let there dogs run loose too.

The lives of out children and our dogs have changed. There is nothing I can much do about it I suppose. But I don’t have to like it.