One person I did not get to see much of is my dad. The day after I came home he went to Poland for his father's funeral. My grandfather was such a wonderful guy, and I must admit to getting a bit emotional when I reminisce about him. Sadly I lost touch with him over the course of the last few years, and save for a few short and terse phone conversations, we hadn't spoken much since the late 1990s. Soon before he died I began writing a letter to him about how much I loved Tucson and about how cool it was to do historical archaeology out here (he was a wild-west buff). Much to my regret I never finished writing it.
The Wild West featured lots of playing with pretty little dolls, PilgrimI stopped talking to my grandfather not because of any kind of falling out or anything, I just felt I never had anything to say to him which he would find important or even interesting. He was always a very serious, and sometime morose man who didn't smile much and only on rare occasions would he crack a joke, let alone laugh at somebody else s. Still he was one of the most caring and loving people I had ever met, and when I was a young boy he influenced me in so many ways and really was instrumental in my becoming who I am today. Again, I only wish I could have told him this before he died.
circa 2001
My grandfather came from Poland to visit us in the States in the summer of 1990 and lived with us for maybe a year or so. During that time I was a fat little turd about to go into the 6th grade, whose interests included the Ninja Turtles, The Chicago Cubs and video games. I had a fleeting interest in history, and WWII care of my uncle who turned me on to building model tanks a few years prior, but by then I didn't care much.
My grandfather came armed with stories and model airplanes. He would tell me stories about being a young man in Poland in the 1930s, of training on gliders to become an aviator, and of how the war put a stop to all that. He would also sometimes talk about the war and the horrible Stuka dive bombers strafing civilians on the roads, and of the little Polish P11c fighters going up to knock out German bombers. He told me about the Battle of Britain and all this other aviation history. He also got me my first model airplanes. He rarely spoke about his involvement in the Polish Underground or AK (Armia Krajowa) during the war, maybe because the Communist government that ruled Poland after the war lost no time in arresting and often torturing former AK members who were pretty thoroughly anti-Soviet. After the fall of the Iron Curtain the exploits and accomplishments of the AK were finally officially recognized, and they could come out of hiding as it were. My grandfather was made an honorary Lt. Colonel and awarded a medal for his services.
All of this all awoke my imagination. I began building model planes prolifically and reading about pilots and armies and generals, I became engrossed in WWII history; drawing planes and air battles and attempting to write little stories of my own. I became convinced that I would become a pilot.
Ju-87 Stuka in a dive
Well things didn't turn out that way because of shit genes that led to a shit right eye. I think I'm fit to fly, but try telling the FAA doctors that. Fucking tits! But despite my crushed dreams, my grandfather lit the spark that set off my lifelong love of all things historic, interest in WWII soon sparked interest in European history, that led to ancient civilization, and that to prehistory, to hunter/gatherers, to everything else. And who knows maybe someday I'll get to take some flying lessons after all.
Incidentally, after my spotty teen years when girls, rock&roll, and being cool temporarily eclipsed everything else, I came back to my airplanes and I'll never stop enjoying that. I don't care how uncool it makes me.
I'm not much on spirituality or afterlife stuff, but if you're out there somewhere grandpa, I just wanted to say thank you, and maybe someday somewhere out there we can both learn to fly together. I've got your six!
RIP
Stanislaw Koziarski
May 1920- Nov 2009
circa 2001My grandfather came from Poland to visit us in the States in the summer of 1990 and lived with us for maybe a year or so. During that time I was a fat little turd about to go into the 6th grade, whose interests included the Ninja Turtles, The Chicago Cubs and video games. I had a fleeting interest in history, and WWII care of my uncle who turned me on to building model tanks a few years prior, but by then I didn't care much.
My grandfather came armed with stories and model airplanes. He would tell me stories about being a young man in Poland in the 1930s, of training on gliders to become an aviator, and of how the war put a stop to all that. He would also sometimes talk about the war and the horrible Stuka dive bombers strafing civilians on the roads, and of the little Polish P11c fighters going up to knock out German bombers. He told me about the Battle of Britain and all this other aviation history. He also got me my first model airplanes. He rarely spoke about his involvement in the Polish Underground or AK (Armia Krajowa) during the war, maybe because the Communist government that ruled Poland after the war lost no time in arresting and often torturing former AK members who were pretty thoroughly anti-Soviet. After the fall of the Iron Curtain the exploits and accomplishments of the AK were finally officially recognized, and they could come out of hiding as it were. My grandfather was made an honorary Lt. Colonel and awarded a medal for his services.
All of this all awoke my imagination. I began building model planes prolifically and reading about pilots and armies and generals, I became engrossed in WWII history; drawing planes and air battles and attempting to write little stories of my own. I became convinced that I would become a pilot.
Ju-87 Stuka in a dive
Well things didn't turn out that way because of shit genes that led to a shit right eye. I think I'm fit to fly, but try telling the FAA doctors that. Fucking tits! But despite my crushed dreams, my grandfather lit the spark that set off my lifelong love of all things historic, interest in WWII soon sparked interest in European history, that led to ancient civilization, and that to prehistory, to hunter/gatherers, to everything else. And who knows maybe someday I'll get to take some flying lessons after all.
Incidentally, after my spotty teen years when girls, rock&roll, and being cool temporarily eclipsed everything else, I came back to my airplanes and I'll never stop enjoying that. I don't care how uncool it makes me.
I'm not much on spirituality or afterlife stuff, but if you're out there somewhere grandpa, I just wanted to say thank you, and maybe someday somewhere out there we can both learn to fly together. I've got your six!
RIP
Stanislaw Koziarski
May 1920- Nov 2009
Grandma and Grandpa Koziarski circa 1945/1946
