Jacek Piwowski was born on 23 November 1962 in St. Vincent de Paul Hospital in Gdynia’s Kaszubski Square. He grew up in Gdynia Witomino neighborhood, where he attended primary school No 35. He attended a technical vocational school and did his apprenticeship in the port of Gdynia. After dropping out of high school, Jacek worked at a greenhouse in Mały Kack, where he dealt in horticulture, in addition to being a shorthand typist – he was also a laureate of the Polish Typewriting Championship in Sopot. Since he was a child, Jacek has shown keen interest in the culture of Native Americans – he was member of the Indian Association of Poland, as well as being fascinated with nature and animals. In 1988, he quit his desk job and moved to Lubiatowo near Kopalino to take care of a wolf named Loco. He and the wolf moved into a house with a large pen in the middle of a forest, from which Loco would sometimes escape and hunt for hens.
It was during that time that Jacek learned of the “Sacred Run” – originating from Pre-Columbian Native American culture, where the only way to share information was to go on foot. It is a race with no winners and no prizes, a prayer for harmony and world peace. The route of the 1990 “Sacred Run” ran from London to Moscow. The organisers of the Polish section, the Polish American Indian Friends Movement, asked if Jacek would like to participate. Even though he had never run such long distances, Jacek took the risk and joined the race at the Belgian-German border. At the finish line, Dennis Banks, the organiser of the entire event, a Native American rights activists and the leader of the American Indian Movement, chose Jacek as the person whose participation would be sponsored in the next “Sacred Race” in 1991, in Canada.
Before the event, Jacek was invited by the organisers to the Sun Dance Camp in Seattle, where he took part in Indian ceremonies. After the Canadian race, Jacek moved to Dennis Banks’s house in Kentucky, the office of the “Sacred Race”. His Canadian visa was not extended, which forced him to wait at the border to participate in the 1992 edition of the race, the route of which ran partially through Canada. Afterwards, he moved to the Indian reservation in Browning, Montana, where he looked after Indian children.
When it turned out that Dennis Banks would no longer be able to sponsor Jacek’s stay in the United States or participation in the next “Sacred Run”, this time in Australia, Jacek decided to make the United States his permanent residence. He settled in the Browning preserve in the autumn of 1992. That is also where he married his first wife, Merle. He worked at a shop while attending college, where he studied the language of Blackfoot Tribe Indians. He was well on his way to becoming a teacher of the language, but the local community was opposed to the idea.
In 1995, Jacek Piwowski moved from Browning, Montana, to Fairbanks, Alaska. A year later, he became a U.S. citizen. In Alaska, he has worked as a cook. Fairbanks is also the place where he met his future wife, Anna. Jacek lives in Alaska to this day, and visits his family in Gdynia every few years.
Interview done by Barbara Majchrowicz on 28th September and 4th October 2016 in Gdynia.
Thanks to those trips to the countryside I learnt to tell the edible mushrooms from the poisonous ones. By the way, let me tell you that the same Birch Boletes and Boletus mushrooms grow at home, in Fairbanks. At home I’m afraid to touch any other mushrooms, because I don’t know them. They are toxic and caused a bad reaction in other people’s organisms, so... it’s the same with blueberries. The country gave me an opportunity to spend time out in the open, in fresh air together with cows, geese, and other animals. I remember the good times. Later, when we were older, our parents would stay at home, they didn’t need to help, because there was better harvesting equipment – tractors; and now there were buses, no horses, so my sister and I would go by ourselves, unaccompanied. Her name is Beata. But it wasn’t the same countryside anymore. To us, it seemed like it had lost that innocent character of the past. Later we stopped going to the country altogether. It became uninteresting. Maybe it had become too civilized, there were too many changes that we didn’t want. When my grandmother was making bread, the whole house was filled with its smell. Nowadays you buy bread in the shop, full of additives, unhealthy. When you wanted milk, it would come with
a foamy layer on top, now you buy it in the shops. Many more examples. The eggs from the henhouse, warm and covered with bits of straw. A child can see it. If you wanted a cake, you would make it yourself. Nowadays you buy cake in the shops, as my mother says “They have better cakes at the shop”. There is no time for baking cakes. There was no TV. Then the TV arrived in the countryside. Everyone grew bigger, we have grown up and stopped going to pick blueberries. Many of my mother’s siblings got married and did the same as my mother - left the country to live in town. They went to many different cities in Poland; and today’s countryside is very different than it was in the past - satellite dishes, everyone has a phone and a good car.
We have to go back to the 80’s. I’ve been interested in Native Americans since I was a child. My parents thought it a childish game. Over the years this interest has become a hobby, such as stamp collecting. One day I saw a TV newsflash, it was in ‘73, of an uprising which broke out in Dakota. It was the same Dennis Banks, of the AIM - American Indian Movement: the uprising lasted for 90 days and the newsflash I saw was broadcast on the News, and I saw choppers, military vehicles and Indians with rifles and I realized in a second that those were not Hollywood actors, this isn’t Wnnetou, but real people. There was a massacre at the same place in 1890..., 1897 ? In winter, in December [the massacre took place on December 29, 1890] U.S. Cavalry troops attacked the camp of the Dakota Indians and there was a massacre. The place is called Wounded Knee, and is located in Pine Ridge Reservation. So in ‘73 there was a stand-off organised in the same place, to attract publicity, knowing that European film crews will be present and the message will be disseminated across the globe. What was it about? Just as our Solidarity had its demands and Poles were fighting for their rights, in the same way the Native Americans were demanding to be heard, because the American government was breaking the treaties. The land in the Reserve was being mined for mineral resources. Coal, oil, fossil fuels. So the Indians had... this Reserve is impoverished. People sleep in very modest homes, drive cheap cars, it’s the third world. The New York slums are like this, infested with rats, a Reserve living conditions shouldn’t be like a slum. It’s their land. It’s where they were born. They arrived before Columbus. And so the protesters wanted to draw attention to these poor environmental and health conditions: the rivers have been poisoned, the air is polluted , the water in the homes is contaminated and unsafe for drinking. Unemployment, drug addictions, alcoholism. The nation has no future, there are no schools. People are being persecuted. So the Indians had enough and tried to be negotiate with the US government - Listen to us, we have our demands and we want to be heard and our requests granted. Dennis Banks was a young man back then and Russel Means was his friend. These are just two of them , but the AIM - the American Indian Movement had more leaders. There was even a Medicine Man, a spiritual healer. As it turned out, that from the small group, that... it happened on the same hilltop, on the same site as the massacre (of 1890) and the same time of the year. In December. Then representatives of other tribes from Canada, Arizona and other states, started arriving, claiming their lives are a struggle. They are uneducated, have bad jobs, why are others entitled to have a better life, but we are not ? We are the indigenous inhabitants. It turned out that large crowds have gathered. Women and children joined in too and there were many Europeans. Dennis got arrested, but he was found not guilty. The living conditions of this area remained wretched up till now. I was at that Reserve. We were busy doing the Sacred Run, running across Dakota in ‘92. Dennis directed the route of the run through that particular Reservation, so I saw it. The houses are... there is a ban on alcohol sales, but near the border of the Reservation there is a town inhabited by White residents, where one can buy alcohol, which is then smuggled in. And that’s why Native Americans often develop an alcohol problem. I also see this happen in Fairbanks. It’s not that widespread, but take a look from a wider perspective. How many Native Americans in the space programme? How many Native Americans in the American government? How many Native Americans qualify as medical doctors? How many Native Americans qualify as teachers? Very few. They prefer to stay quietly on the sidelines. That can also happen. Reservations that I’ve seen in Canada have better standards. Leaving a cultural heritage is what matters.
When I was growing up and my interest in the subject was growing instead of waning, one day I saw a TV presenter who had brought a small tent into the studio and was hosting an ‘indianist’ show. Now that was a whole new ball game. At that time there also was a man in Gdańsk, whose name was Sat-Okh. He lived in Gdańsk, which is next door to Gdynia. He always was dressed in full tribal attire, plus headdress and was telling legends and stories. He served on Batory. And other snapshots, that appeared in the newspaper, that was some kind of a youth magazine. The first rally of the Polish “indianist” movement took place in the Bieszczady Mountains. Only 15 people attended it. I didn’t go, but I saw the snapshots and this was when I realised that I am not the only one in Poland with strange ideas. I should have become interested in our local górale [Highlanders] instead, or the Piast dynasty, or the Kurpie people, our cultural heritage is so rich. But here I’ve taken an interest in a people who live on the other side of our hemisphere. At the vocational school I used to talk to my class mate about the Native Americans all the time. So he said “You must meet my brother. He is older. His name is Little Wolf. But his real name’s Henryk Wróbel”. We were so fascinated that we made up our own American Indian names for ourselves. And from then on, that became the standard practice at the rallies, you didn’t call each other by your actual name, but used the Indian names. So Wolf tells me - that’s already been in Gdańsk - when I arrived at his house and we met for the first time, he says “ You’ve just missed out, ‘cause the rally’s just finished”. So I ask “What rally?” - “Of the “Polish indianists”. It was their third rally. So I ask: “Are they going to have a fourth one?” And he replies: “Yes, in a year’s time. If you’d like to come along to the next rally, in Chodzież, then we’ll have to prepare research material. The rally takes place over four days, at the Jezioro Strzeleckie lakeside. What research would you like to prepare”. My research material dealt with mining of natural resources in the reserve. I set off to work, on something original that was also real and relevant, and I found this, and I showed him and asked if it was good enough...”Yes, this is good”. In any case, at this rally, it was for the first time that I met a whole lot of people who were like me, who respected nature, loved birds and animals. They won’t hurt you. There is one tipi at the rally, a conical-shape tall tent made of sailcloth. It is white and can be painted in different colours. Every year I used to attend these rallies, I learnt how to make bead patterns, I would design them myself and so it went year after year, year after year, after year. I met more people. The rallies grew to several hundred people. Dozens of tipis. It’s a whole city. It’s a popular event. To those who have never heard of it, it’s just a themed holiday camp. Clearly, there is a programme, a new activity every day, story time, kids have fun learning how to use a bow and arrows, fun and games. Some serious items, political and some fun things. You meet new people, exchange addresses, it’s just like a large summer holiday camp. My own passion brought me to a wider circle of interests, which in turn... that’s how I came across the Sacred Run idea.
Time went by. I had a friend, who worked at Oliwa Zoo. It’s not easy to get from Witomino to Oliwa. Take one bus, then train, then another bus. The Zoo manager eventually got tired of me; the first time I went I told him: “Sir, I would like to work as a zookeeper, please”. I went again, and again for the third time, the fourth, the fifth, until I had a feeling that I might not get that job. And I never got that position working with tigers, or whatever else they keep in their cages. And so one day, I’m without work. Haven’t got any money of my own. One day I get a phone call from a friend: “I’ve heard you’re out of work.” That’s right. “I own a property in Lubiatowo, it is outside Koszalin. And since Koszalin hasn’t got a Zoo... I have 10 acres of land with a fish pond, the village is called Lubiatowo, it has a lake... I’ve built a large cage”. So I ask him: how large? “The cage’s for a wolf”.
A wolf? “Yes”. His friend is a forest ranger who found three wolves in the forest last winter. One pup ended up at a Zoo somewhere in Lublin. I don’t know what happened to the third one. So Konrad said “I’m going to start a private zoo. This is going to be the first tourist attraction in Koszalin”. And so he took this wolf pup. There was no money involved here, no funding at all. Here you go, have a wolf. Konrad and his father run their own carpentry business. The moment I find out that I’m going to travel to Koszalin and live in a forest, because the property is outside of the city... I arrive, just as the wolf is busy chewing on table legs. We drive the wolf to the forest. We had to remove the upholstery from the car, because the wolf was devouring and gnawing and chewing on everything. So how was it supposed to work? I was going to live in a small house and look after the wolf. They had planned a building construction for that site, so there were some building materials there already... and someone was needed to make sure the villagers wouldn’t steal the timber or the bricks or whatever else. So if I was there, nobody would trespass on the property. 10 acres, you can’t fence it off. The area is too large. The place looks nice. The house has no electricity, or running water, but there is
a stream nearby. Drinking water. The wolf is inside the cage... and that was my job. Konrad was paying me money, and he would also pay the butcher. But the butcher wasn’t for me. It was for the wolf. The wolf would eat raw meat, raw bones the size of my hand. Wolves grow fast. One night
I hear howling. It’s 3am. Later I found out that wolves communicate with each other. This has nothing to do with the moon. He never slept at night. It’s called nocturnal behaviour, right?
A nocturnal animal. I decided it to call him Loco, a Spanish word. I don’t know why, it just came to me. But he has no name. It’s not a dog. He has no collar, no lead, but his eyes - one was milky blue, the other one brown, and we called him Loco.
1989 arrived. It’s the time of European transformations. The Berlin Wall comes down. The news reaches me in the forest that Poland is going to host the Sacred Run. The Sacred Run is a prayer for harmony between all the world’s nations, for peace, a prayer for oneself and one’s family. It’s a prayer. It’s an institution consisting largely of Native Americans, to say it in the briefest sense, but it’s a revival... in pre-Columbian times there were no cars or horses. Horses were brought by the conquistadors. So in order to convey the message to the other side of the mountain pass, or to another village, about a wedding or a hunt, was to sent out the runners. Dennis Banks was the father of the Sacred Run idea in the 90’s, a uniting of all nations, of all four races. At that time I was a member of the Polish American Indian Friends Association. So we find out that we have to prepare around 300 people. None of them can speak any Polish. They will be running from London to Moscow across 13 countries. Everything was organized. And runners require masseurs, doctors, the police and fire services, road closures, overnight accomodation, event coordinators. It involves a whole complex network of individuals to organize such a thing. The last meeting in Poznań. Everyone is thrilled. Then someone asks - who’s going to run? Nobody volunteered. The excuses given included family, wife, work-related or other commitments. Everybody had prior engagements. I was in a forest with the wolf. Those happened to be my circumstances, if I worked for some Gdynia Port Authority as a crane operator - I wouldn’t have been able to go, because it would have involved two and a half months. I wouldn’t have been able to take that much time off work. I took a chance. I’ve never been a long distance or a marathon runner. I took a chance. I thought I would really like to participate in this run. To see more European countries, that I’ve never been to before. Before the Berlin Wall came down, I required a visa to go anywhere, even to East Germany. But now all the gates are open. One can visit other countries. I have invitations from every country. Living in the forest, you don’t get your letters, my correspondence gets forwarded to Gdynia, to my mother’s address. There is no electricity in the forest, so no telephone. One day Konrad brings me a pile of letters. My mother used to send them to his address in Koszalin. Half of the correspondence has to do with the Sacred Run. And so I tell him now, that I’m going to take part in it. The wolf is now an adult, someone else can take care of him. I have to say goodbye, but I will be back in autumn. I’ve been granted many visas. The ones I didn’t get are the French visa and the British visa, for the British Isles. But it was due to the time factor - some of the embassies are in Gdynia, and some in Warsaw. All the train trips left and right - I ran out of time. I meet up with the runners at the Belgian border. It’s my first Run. And why have I decided to meet them at the border? Because it’s the only place you can catch them. Sometimes there changes to the route within a given country and it’s difficult to track them, but there are customs officials at the border, which makes it possible to catch them. It’s the first time that I see real live Native Americans with my own eyes. I’m fascinated. My English is still only rudimentary. It’s so embarrassing. But the curiosity to meet new people and the promise of opportunities created by new places was stronger, and this run brought about some incredible changes in my brain. If this run hadn’t materialized, I would have returned to Poland and my life would have been very different. I would have most likely got married, just like all my other pals and would have been a father of three by now.
There were 250 of us runners. That’s how we set out: none of us was an Olympic athlete, nobody was a winner, there were no prizes, it was a run of solidarity. To those who see us for the first time, we must seem exotic. And for us too, it’s interesting to be in a new country; we spend three days in one country and then another and again the currency changes. The run enters its final stage. We have run through Poland, Estonia, Latvia and Riga, then took the ferry to Stockholm, run across the Scandinavian countries and then on to Lenin... St Petersburg. Let me mention here, that we used to have the so-called “talking circles”. Every morning and afternoon, in the evening at the end of the run, everyone would gather together in a circle. There would be a discussion on organizational matters - what to expect, who is feeling ill, who cannot run, who’s leaving us, who is joining us. At one of those circles, which took place the day before our Moscow arrival, ending at Red Square, so the day before Moscow, Dennis Banks moves to the middle of the circle and says: “I have a surprise for you. Our next run will happen in Canada, we will cross from Victoria Island, on the West Coast to Montreal, located on the other side, off the Atlantic coast”. That’s not Europe anymore. So I say to myself, my God, this is across the ocean. A dream. To be on the other side. So he says: “I’m going to sponsor one person”. Everyone fell silent. Hearing him say my name, made me feel weak at the knees. All I can do is stand there motionless, unable to utter a single word. My throat is dry, my brain cannot comprehend that this is really happening. Everyone’s hugging me, jumping up and down, punching the air, Congratulations - you’re going to Canada. I’ve been chosen. And I had a sponsor. The paradox is, whether you happen to be an explorer, a writer, a researcher, or... whatever else, everyone’s always looking for a sponsor, but here a sponsor has found me. [ns 00:02:11]. I’ve never even dreamed of ever going to Canada. When he said that, I thought: this isn’t happening. I’d need
a barrel of money, I’d need a Canadian visa, forget it. But at that moment I’d been chosen. At the border, Dennis tells me we are going home, the run is about to come to an end, we part ways at the Czech border. He whispers in my ear: “The news will come in spring”. I don’t believe him. After the Sacred Run I’ve returned to the forest, yes, to my wolf. In spring I hitchhiked to Paris. It took two days. I’ve never hitchhiked before. The idea was to visit the European runners who took part in the previous edition of the Run. They gave me the address, telephone number: “please come”. At that time there was no electronic mail. “Come and visit us”. I don’t speak French but my poor English did the trick. And I had the photos from the run we did together. I received letters from Japan. It felt completely exotic. I had never had any contacts abroad. I had no one abroad. No unknown forebears, no bloodline, no uncles or aunts, dogs or bears, nothing. Not even a tiniest part of my family extends beyond the borders of my country of birth. Oh, so it’s about meeting new people then - my mother raises her eyebrows, the post box is overflowing with letters. I visit Paris, return to the forest, and that’s when the invitation arrives. I still have that envelope from Canada. A beautiful envelope with an Native American image. The Sacred Run, in English, 1991.
On this run I find out that I can collect my ticket in Berlin. I collect the ticket in Berlin, but Seattle, in Washington State, is in the United States, not Canada. And the date on the ticket is nearly two weeks prior to the beginning of the Run. I had no idea why. I had 200 dollars, a duffel bag - what were its contents? Some items of clothing, no food - since you cannot take it onboard, shoes, socks, running clothes, because I knew it was going to be a run across Canada and that was all. It was a small duffel bag and I had a guitar, in a case. Later I gave it away as a present, when the aircraft... because the actual airplane, was the very first plane in my life. And was afraid. None of those people flew together with me, and... I was alone again. I ran across Europe alone and now I’m alone again. On this plane. A transatlantic flight. Finding the Gates. But I managed somehow. Two Native-Americans are waiting to collect me from the airport. I know one of them, he was with me on the Run across Europe. I don’t know the other one. They won’t tell me anything. We are going to... Seattle is a big city, around the size of Gdynia. We are leaving the city behind us, driving out into the countryside. I ask them in my poor English: “where...” “Now we will not tell you anything, but Dennis is waiting for you.” I thought that Dennis or Alice will come to the airport, but neither of them did. There are two of them, Native Americans, and I know one of them, but I don’t know the other one. We drive on and on, until I can see a large camp. We are nearly at our final destination. We drove for one and a half hours. It turns out this is the camp of the Sun Dance, the loftiest and most noble of all the Dakota Indian ceremonies. And this is one of the Dakota tribes. I am only a guest. Dennis organized a large military tent for us. He brought all the runners to the same place at the same time, so that we may witness a rare event. As a rule non-indigenous people are not allowed access to any sacred rites, there is a ban on taking photographs, and wearing shorts. There are certain protocols. From Seattle we went to Vancouver, by ferry to the island. I’d just like to mention that I was the only Pole on that run of Europe. In the Canadian run at Seattle there was a Polish woman, Ania Pejchert, my acquaintance from the Polish American Indian Friends Association. So now at least I will be able to share my impressions with a fellow Polish speaker. There will be another Polish person near me. Ania ran with me, for three months we ran together. Dennis is a Chippewa Native-American, based in Minnesota. I quickly realized that he organizes stop-overs in reservations, which are plentiful in Canada. He has friends there, and we would be frequently greeted on the way, kids would give us flowers, ask for autographs, we were like celebrities.
On this run I find out that I can collect my ticket in Berlin. I collect the ticket in Berlin, but Seattle, in Washington State, is in the United States, not Canada. And the date on the ticket is nearly two weeks prior to the beginning of the Run. I had no idea why. I had 200 dollars, a duffel bag - what were its contents? Some items of clothing, no food - since you cannot take it onboard, shoes, socks, running clothes, because I knew it was going to be a run across Canada and that was all. It was a small duffel bag and I had a guitar, in a case. Later I gave it away as a present, when the aircraft... because the actual airplane, was the very first plane in my life. And was afraid. None of those people flew together with me, and... I was alone again. I ran across Europe alone and now I’m alone again. On this plane. A transatlantic flight. Finding the Gates. But I managed somehow. Two Native-Americans are waiting to collect me from the airport. I know one of them, he was with me on the Run across Europe. I don’t know the other one. They won’t tell me anything. We are going to... Seattle is a big city, around the size of Gdynia. We are leaving the city behind us, driving out into the countryside. I ask them in my poor English: “where...” “Now we will not tell you anything, but Dennis is waiting for you.” I thought that Dennis or Alice will come to the airport, but neither of them did. There are two of them, Native Americans, and I know one of them, but I don’t know the other one. We drive on and on, until I can see a large camp. We are nearly at our final destination. We drove for one and a half hours. It turns out this is the camp of the Sun Dance, the loftiest and most noble of all the Dakota Indian ceremonies. And this is one of the Dakota tribes. I am only a guest. Dennis organized a large military tent for us. He brought all the runners to the same place at the same time, so that we may witness a rare event. As a rule non-indigenous people are not allowed access to any sacred rites, there is a ban on taking photographs, and wearing shorts. There are certain protocols. From Seattle we went to Vancouver, by ferry to the island. I’d just like to mention that I was the only Pole on that run of Europe. In the Canadian run at Seattle there was a Polish woman, Ania Pejchert, my acquaintance from the Polish American Indian Friends Association. So now at least I will be able to share my impressions with a fellow Polish speaker. There will be another Polish person near me. Ania ran with me, for three months we ran together. Dennis is a Chippewa Native-American, based in Minnesota. I quickly realized that he organizes stop-overs in reservations, which are plentiful in Canada. He has friends there, and we would be frequently greeted on the way, kids would give us flowers, ask for autographs, we were like celebrities.
When the Run in Canada came to an end, Dennis announced that the next one was going to be from Fairbanks to Santa Fe in New Mexico. Fairbanks is in Alaska. I have only one question Dennis, where am I supposed to live? My visa expires in a few months. And you are my sponsor. So he says, “Don’t worry, you can stay at my place in Kentucky”. This is where the Sacred Run is based, where they have their Office with event coordinators and organizers. I stayed with Dennis in Kentucky until spring, that is right up till the end of 1991 and arrival of spring 1992. Following the Canadian event, Dennis revealed the motivation behind the next Run. 1992 - 1492: “Columbus swam ocean blue”. It was the 500th anniversary of the landing of Christopher Columbus in the Americas in 1492. And Dennis made a great deal of this, announcing the grand-scale, longest Run in history. We will run all the way from Fairbanks. It’s going to be unique. To Santa Fe in New Mexico. It’s going to take longer than any of the previous events. So I say, Dennis, I really want to take part, I’m here already, if I go back to Poland now, I won’t get another visa. I never met anyone, who was granted another visa following a previous visit. It’s difficult to get another visa again. I guess I just had this intuition, that this was a one-way-ticket. So I tell him, Dennis why should you waste money on another ticket, if I am here already, let’s extend my stay, so that I can take part in the run. Dennis said that an extension of a visa can be a very difficult task. But we submitted an application anyway, sent letters to the Canadian and the US embassies. We wait impatiently, and they grant me a 6 month extension of my American visa. But the Canadian visa extension is still out-standing. Today we still don’t know what happened to it. My documents vanished into thin air. I sent the originals and made copies for myself. Dennis says “Don’t worry, we’ll go to the Canadian embassy in Seattle and I’ll come with you to negotiate, so that you’ll get the Canadian visa, because in order to get from Alaska to Santa Fe one has to run across Canada, so you will need two visas again. At the embassy they tell me: “you have a copy, but we need the original. But the original has been sent off in the post. It is not here. It’s not in our files, we don’t know anything about you.” My Canadian visa cannot be extended. Dennis tries to comfort me: “you attended two runs. But this is a huge event, the Columbus anniversary, isn’t it? Let’s talk to the customs officials at the Canadian border, when we cross into Canada from Seattle”. This is the moment when I’m beginning to get worried about what’s going to happen to me. Dennis and Alice extended my airline ticket, so that if it comes to the worst, I can return to Poland. So I’m covered, but the fact of having only the American visa means that I can only do the American stage of the run. I have to get across Canada in order to get to Alaska. At the border I’m told, that everybody is allowed to go through, apart from me... Sorry, we cannot let you in. Then Dennis told me about a Montana border crossing -so when they run from Alaska across Canada, they will be at that border in two months. He gives me the name of the person and an address: “wait there for us”, it is a place in Montana. That’s how I learned about the Blackfeet Reservation in Montana.
I’m staying at Jackie Parsons and we have a problem. One day I make an announcement that I would like to apply for American citizenship and live at the Reserve. How can I accomplish that? Jackie Parsons is a museum curator and knows everyone in the village. So this is the moment when I ask her for help, and I don’t like doing that. It doesn’t happen very often to me. But at this time, I am truly desperate. I will have to go back home. So we go and ask at the local college: “can I enrol as a student? Students get study visas, but not citizenship. Where should I go ? Is there anything I can do?” Browning is a small village. I’ve been told that I should get married. I walk up and down, like a restless spirit in the prairie, thinking of what to do, what to change in order to save myself. Poland was still on my mind, but I was only considering that option with a half of my brain’s hemisphere. The other half was telling me - this makes no sense. Where am I going to find work now? I was feeling quite flattered. Marriage offers have been made... and I’ve always been the one to refuse them. As if I’d known that there may be something better in the offing. If I became a father and had children and a wife, then I would never leave, so one day Jackie Parsons announces: “I have found you a wife” She remembers you, when you came here last summer. Who is this? It’s a nice lady, with two grown-up sons and daughters, she is 50, I am 30. We’d known each other for a week. We talked in the car. It’s not like we met at a coffee shop, or went out to movies, or anything of this sort. The wedding took place on my birthday, 23 November. Look, only a month and a couple of days left. When your visa expires, they deport you, so I could have been deported, but just before it expired , I got saved by Jackie Parsons. My fate suddenly changes. I’m not worried anymore, I get the green card. I don’t have to worry anymore what will happen to me, about finding work... She can sort it all out. Merle has a big house. I ask her: “why have you chosen me?” And she replies: “I am a Catholic. At that time John Paul II was the Pope, and you come from the same country as him”. She never even asked if I was a Catholic, but 99.9% Poles are.
It was my dream to live in a reserve. Why there? Native Americans in the cities have a different mentality. Reserve dwellers celebrate their holidays, have their ceremonies and prayers, ride horses and hunt. They live like in the olden days. And speak Native American languages. I found all that impressive. I was there for two months. The person whose name Dennis gave me, was Jackie Parsons, who was a local museum curator. Jackie Parsons decided that I was going to look after the children - her grandchildren that is, I’m not going into details here, but it was summer, around June. During my two months stay at the reserve I made many friends. Amongst them was my first wife. I didn’t know that yet at that time. Brandishing a colt firearm, I protected the children from grizzly bear attacks, rode horses, took part in rodeos, in short - things I’ve never done before in my life. After two months it was time for me to leave. The Run had indeed reached the border by then. At the Reserve, while we were saying goodbye, they told me “You have to come back here, this is your second home. At that stage, I could of course not make any plans beyond that of reaching Santa Fe. And then my airline ticket expires, so does my visa, in other words 6 and 6 makes 12, another year passes. And I could count myself lucky. Hardly anyone gets granted a visa for a year. No such luck for most... So I was really lucky. Our run follows a zig-zagging route - Wyoming, Idaho, the mountains and then Santa Fe at last. This is my last marathon, the longest one. 76 miles, that is 120 km. The marathon was coming to an end, it was time to go home. The next run is going to follow the entire of Australia’s coastline. That was the following year - 1993. I cannot afford that... I haven’t even got an Australian visa, no money, no sponsorship. Dennis told me in Santa Fe “Look, I guaranteed the sponsorship”. The sponsorship means that the person who undertakes to look after you, is also the sponsor. Medical expenses, in case of an accident or illness, all this is covered, food, roof over your head, he provides for you. But when the sponsorship comes to an end, the sponsor leaves you to your own devices... Dennis tells me: “Here’s your return ticket, we already extended your visa, but now it’s about to expire. Go back home”. So I didn’t really have a choice. I was left stranded. But it didn’t feel like I was. I cannot go to Australia, check-mate. The thought of going back to Poland, after all those months spent running across Europe, then the months on the run across America, that is the US; after all that I saw at the Reserve, living in Poland didn’t seem attractive any longer, in fact - rather boring. I experienced the vast expanses. Each state has its own characteristic vehicle registration plates, featuring a slogan describing it - and Montana’s slogan said: “Big Sky”. Browning is situated 11 miles from the Glacier National Park. It was my first time in the Rocky Mountains. I went on a canoe trip, camped with bears, climbed rocks, saw two grizzlies from close range - as close as the length of this table. After all these adventures a return to Poland didn’t really make any sense. I knew that my life would shrink instead of expanding. Human nature always pushes on forward, the instinct is to progress, not to regress. When I was a kid, I would travel on the yellow suburban train from Sopot to Gdynia. On the right, from the side of the Bay, there was a sign: “Tourism - an ambassador of Peace”. And I think this is an important message, also for today. If everybody kept this idea in mind, there would be no conflicts or wars. In any case, I had no intention of returning to Poland. What are my options? Montana. It seems like a huge risk. I have no idea what will happen to me later, but I have only two months left before my visa expires.
Someone from Poland gave me the idea. The letters are too simple, time-consuming and too short.I completely agree. It was someone else’s idea - record a cassette. But this was my link with Poland. I was recording them, you can flip it to the other side. It was a small cassette recorder, a small recorder. I recorded spoken letters. And they were sending me spoken letters from Poland I had a friend, who worked at the Zoo, and I asked him if he could record the sounds of the animals at night, because I used to go to the Zoo often, even tried to apply for a job there. Yes, the animals. They even had bisons there, from America. I made a register of the various letters. Not only from one, but from several people. Once it started, it went wild like a bush fire. I was getting cassettes from many different people. Especially cassettes from the Polish ‘Indians’. So I got the idea –no one is forcing me to stay indoors. I can go to the stream and record there. I recorded water and talked. Then later I thought, why not, I will go to the pow-wow gathering to attend a public ceremony. It’s a social gathering with a dancing competition. There are different categories of traditional dances. There are children and also some very old people, it’s fantastic. I love the pow-wow. That’s what I’m missing in Browning, they don’t do it here, the people are different. So I would go to the pow-wow and record. And some really liked my idea - it’s great, because it’s live. You can hear my voice, talking in Polish and in the distance, in the same hall - the sounds of the drum, singing, the voice of the MC, master of ceremony. I talk about the colours, the flags, about the dance that is performed at that time. I mention the details which I would not write about in a letter. So these cassettes... someone somewhere has them. I still have some of them. I bought a tape recorder in a second-hand shop, because they don’t sell them anymore [laughter]. The cassettes are still working and one can convert them to digital form.
Learning the Blackfoot language
The language of the Native Americans. Why not try learning it? Take it as a course, only one subject. I already had the job in the store, so I had my own money, and could pay for college. It cost around three hundred dollars for a semester. The entire college, the whole staff is Native Americans. I was the only White person there. When I joined the class, again I was the only White guy. The class was no more than 15 students. It’s a small Reservation. It’s a paradox that the American government which was attempting to suppress the tribal languages in the 18th c, is now investing billions of dollars into their recovery. At this time, the same is happening in Alaska. The older people who still speak the language fluently are being sought out and then it gets recorder with a recorder and transcribed. The tribal languages always existed in spoken form, so there were no dictionaries. But nowadays the words are written down as syllables. Within a short space of time some students drop out, the language is too hard for them, too complicated. I have a recorder. The same that I used to record the talking letters with. I go to the teacher and ask him directly “May I please record the lesson?” And he says, “You can sit in the front of the class. Record if you want to. If I tell you not to record something, just stop the tape”. Okay. That’s fine. For the whole semester and the next I sat in a seat right in the front of class. Polish language is beautiful, Blackfoot language is beautiful. The language of the Reservation was dying out, it was like a dinosaur that had to be brought back to life; so in a nutshell - everything that I wanted to write down in the native tongue, I would transcribe using the Polish phonetic spelling. In this way I was able to pronounce all of the complicated words correctly, even those that the locals could not pronounce. It was an irony that the school children who were taught at pre-school, Would come home and say to their parents in the native tongue - please pass the milk, what are we having for breakfast, but the parents could not answer back.
A paradox. Because a child has an absorbing mind, soaking up the knowledge like a sponge. So... I was like that too. I was absorbing everything like a sponge. I would stay with the teacher after class for two hours. He had to chase me out of the class. It was the strangest thing, that I have found something that suited me ideally. I was feeling quite relaxed. So, that moment when the school year ends and I get top marks on my report, I get a diploma, and my student advisor asks me: Would you be interested in a teaching position? You can teach the Kindergarten grade. I reply “I’d be happy to”. And I wrote on the reverse side of my diploma:” Happiest Day of My Life”. I still have this diploma. That was the other side of the looking glass at that moment. I even went to that school. I talk to the secretary, go to look at the classrooms, thinking -I’m going to walk down these halls. I’m going to work here. It had never even occurred to me...I’m not a qualified teacher, haven’t even got any tertiary education, nothing like that. But they need teachers - in order to revive the language. Then my teacher comes up to me one day and says: “Jack, you’re not gonna make it”. “Why?” The parents of those children whom I was going to teach were protesting. The news reached the village that a White man with long hair, blue eyes, wavy blond hair will be the new teacher. If I taught physics there would have been no problem, or chemistry or physical Education. But teaching their own language - that was too much of a paradox. Whenever there is a racial conflict, then it’s usually Whites who have a problem with another race. Always, whether it’s black people or the Mexicans, or other races. There is always tension. This is how it’s been, and how it’s going to continue. Slavery is an example. But here, suddenly Native Americans turned against Whites. And I am alone. There are many of them. It’s no use bashing my head against a brick wall. I am very disappointed, because I am talented. Later I even enrolled for another more advanced course, called ‘intermediate’. But I quit before the end of the semester. I already knew then, there was no point. The knowledge of the language just helped me to gain respect at the ceremonies. Those were ceremonies where Whites are not permitted access. No tourists are allowed. This is a paradox. There are many people, I’d say 99%, who don’t even know where Poland is. At the Reservation nobody knows where Europe is. They did geography at school, but couldn’t find Poland. But there was a difference, the fact that I’m not American, ‘cause my English still has a foreign accent. I was looked at in a different light. More gently. I never felt any hostility. Until the day when I’d been told that I cannot teach, because I’m a White man from Europe. It came as such a shock, I was astounded. I didn’t want to accept it. My advisor didn’t want to accept it, neither did my teacher. My heart was broken. It was my dream to stay at the Reservation, but I was so hurt that I knew I’d have to leave the Reservation because of that.
I knew that I needed 4 years to qualify for a citizenship application in Montana, but I first had to pass a test. I also knew that after 10 years I would automatically become a citizen. But after that school incident I didn’t want to stay there any longer, so the 10 years wouldn’t work out. 4 have gone past, I still needed 6. But I couldn’t imagine that any longer. Suddenly I stopped seeing myself in that place, I realised that I wasn’t growing there anymore. There is nothing new left to discover, I have seen it all. I’ve been for a canoe ride on a glacial lake, I have walked on hiking trails in winter, and well, there were simply no mysteries for me to explore. I started researching where I could go to pass that test, the oath ceremony took place at the court in Helena, and I told my wife then about my intentions. I really thought that I was going to live in that Reservation for the rest of my life, that they are all good people. I studied for half a year. That’s how much time they gave me to prepare for the exam. I was given a small book, called a “Manual”. The Manual tells you what questions the emigration officer is going to ask you, so I knew that I have that book. And so I tell Merle that I’m not coping, this is too hard. It’s a test on politics, economics, you’ve got to know history, who is in the government. It’s hard, I cannot figure it out. Ok, let’s get on with it. At that time I go to the library and research what to do later, where to go, if I get the citizenship. So I look all over America in that library. For that new place to settle in, to grow roots in a sense of a new nest. I have already mentioned that I got lost in a blizzard, that the moment when I arrived back home, and got in a warm bath, was so beautiful because it was unplanned. It was still before my departure for Alaska. One afternoon in winter. I just wanted to go for a walk into an abyss, a void, oblivion. I didn’t bring a torch or a knife, or matches, food, anything to drink, I just decided to take a walk across... the prairie, because it was still daylight, right? It was still light. Ranchers use barbed wire fences to keep cattle and horses in. I’ve jumped over one fence, then another, then the third and fourth, then I’m far away from any houses, can’t even see the lights of Browning. To my right I can see the Rocky Mountains, at Glacier Park. It’s only
a distance of 11 miles, and on a clear day, you can see the summits. Suddenly the sky grows dark - it begins to snow and it gets windy. 5 minutes later the snow was coming down pretty hard. There is a total white-out, a dense blizzard. I stop and realise that I don’t have the faintest idea where I’m heading, so I simply decided to stop. I’m beginning to get cold. The wind is icy. I curled up into a ball like a cat. I was lucky that my coat had a hood, and I ask myself how long is that blizzard’s gonna last. No problem, I will be able to retrace my steps back home. I’m warm now, I feel good, 15 minutes later the blizzard stops. The evening comes, it gets dark. A magical minute. A moment ago it was light, now the sky is dark, but I don’t see any stars. It’s dark, because it’s winter. It was December I think, or January, I’m not sure. I don’t have a phone to call anyone. I don’t know where I am, all my tracks have been covered with snow. The blizzard covered all the footprints. I lost my bearings. I cannot see anything. No points of reference. I don’t have a map, nothing. Merle doesn’t even know where I went, for how long, nothing, I never told her anything. I just went outside. I carried on walking for approximately 15 minutes following my gut feeling. And suddenly on the way back, on the left I saw the outlines of the mountains of that National Park. No houses, no trees, nothing. There are no such things of the prairie. And then I was found, I was home. In those 15 minutes I’ve been lost, I had no idea where I was going. I just carried on walking following my instinct, like a dog. And then when I got home, my wife asked: “Where have you been? Did you get lost?”. “Well I almost did”. I’m in the bath and I realise that I want to lose myself again. Because that was out of the box. It was spellbinding. It was one of the stimuli that contributed towards my choice of Alaska. So a few years later, when I had to decide in a geographical sense, where I’m going to go next, the answer came: why not Alaska? I began my research to pinpoint the precise location. The region is huge. Its area is five times larger than Poland. Here in the South it’s warm. The North is too far. There are no shops there at all. One has to do subsistence hunting. On the left, there is the Pacific and some small settlements. On the right, that’s not too good, because it’s right by the Canadian border. So I’ve decided on the interior. Fairbanks is a city, with 30 thousand inhabitants, not too huge, but it gets the healthy snow - dry and fluffy. It’s a very charming kind of snow. I’ve never seen it before. You won’t make a snowman - it’ll keep falling apart. Just like sand. This snow is incredible. I found all that impressive. I went there expecting that Alaska will give me the experience of real winter. 5 years.
Barbara Majchrowicz: And what year was that?
1996.
BM: What was your wife’s reaction?
She wasn’t very happy. I took that Oath at the court and I’d already told her earlier, that if I succeeded, I was going to leave. I said: “I have my reasons for leaving. I am sorry for having to do this, but I don’t see myself living at the Reservation any longer.”
I’m in Helena, I’ve passed the Test. The examiner was a native German, which was quite interesting. We started talking about Europe. I’m at the court, there are people from all over the globe, Kenya and many other places and we are all taking a citizenship test. Afterwards you become a US citizen. You take the Citizenship Oath at the court, people take photos, then part and travel all over the world. From then onwards, I’m an American Citizen. Pledge of Allegiance. I descend down a flight of stairs and feel like I’ve grown wings, I believe I could fly. This feeling is incredible. My previous trips to Germany, or France, or anywhere else - they were only warm-ups, but passing this test... the fact that I could speak a Native American tongue, paled in comparison. All this has been relegated to the sidelines. Suddenly I could go wherever I wanted to. No Polish army can get me now. The past life disappears, it’s time for a new chapter in my life. Alaska 5 years. There was still no plan as such, what mattered was the next 5 years. It just so happened, that in that first year, 1996, I’ve met my future second wife. And? We’ve been together for two decades.
Since my departure in 1991 I’ve never encountered any groups of Polish people. After living for four years in the Reservation, I was apprehensive about how they will receive me. Most likely in a negative light. On the other hand, I was generally curious about what the local Poles would be like. As it turned out... It was summer, right? What do you call it - a barbecue. People socializing out of doors, in the garden, there is a grill on the go, music and people chatting, very relaxed atmosphere. It happens generally on Saturdays. So there was a barbecue organized for all the members of the local Polish community. I... I got a lift with someone, I didn’t have a driving licence then or a car. And so I found myself in the midst of all those Polish people - we are outdoors, the sun is shining and people are asking:”Why are you so quiet, you’re not chatting. And I say: “You know what? I'm listening to your language like one listens to music”. I haven’t heard that language for 5 years.
I notice many negative aspects. Like more cars, that is more traffic. A great many people smoke cigarettes. An awful lot of. Nobody smokes in the States, nobody at my work, or at the bus stops, or anywhere else. Smoking seems to be going out of fashion. It’s not just that it is harmful to one’s health. People use bad language in public. It does not happen in the US. I went to the market hall today. A man is swearing at a woman, she has her back towards me. I wanted to... you know? I wanted to cry. Then the woman turns and walks away. Only now I can see her face, she’s very beautiful. You know something? This woman should have been a TV presenter, or feature on the covers of magazines. This is ...a crying shame. Humiliating another human being. In the States you’d go to jail for something like this. It’s abuse. When I was with Ania, we didn’t even use Polish words of this kind, because of the children. Swearing and cursing, right? I think... that I’m not used to it anymore. Maybe it was my hermit existence in the wilderness, but at our school you are not even allowed to use that sort of language, because of the presence of children. I only sometimes will use it, when I’m alone and I accidentally cut my hand. Then it’s a reflex, but to use it on purpose, in order to...No, no, no. I don’t talk like this to my mother, or to anybody else, or... People know me, they know. I don’t use that kind of language. One would have to be really quite drunk and the person would have to be someone one knows very well. Maybe in that case, but in everyday life in America nobody talks like this. And by the way, while we are talking of this sort of language, there is something strange. Whenever you begin to learn a new language, these will often be the first words [laughter] It was the same with English. I’d say. I have a female friend at the school. Teach me some Polish. And has anyone taught you any words in Polish already? And she tells me a four-letter one. So I say - No. Las [forest]. Three letters. Dom [house]. Pies [dog]. These are the words I want you to learn.
Barbara Majchrowicz: Any other Polish impressions? Maybe some positive ones?
Lots. Lots. On the bus they tell you which stop is coming next. At the bus stop there is information about the time interval between bus arrivals. This wasn’t around back then. It’s a good thing. Another thing I remember. One can pay the taxi driver with your credit card. It used to be cash only. I don’t ever have cash on me.
And how about the people, have they changed?
Perhaps it’s a touchy topic, but women wear beautiful shoes. They never used to back then. They may be Italian.[laughter] The women dress differently than they used to in the 90’s. To me there is nothing negative about that, because I see women as flowers. I used to work in horticulture for 11 years. I mention it, because nobody dresses like this on Alaska. Nobody. 30 thousand inhabitants - it’s a village.
Wigilia [Christmas Eve] doesn’t exist in America. December 25th is celebrated, but not Christmas Eve. We always have to take a day off work, as it could be Thursday, who knows, in the middle of the week. The rest we get off. They are public holidays, yeah? But not Christmas Eve. My mother sends us the Christmas wafer in the post. We haven’t got a formal Polish community centre in Fairbanks, because there aren’t enough of us, to start something and keep it going, but we do get together on Christmas Eve. The preparation of Polish traditional dishes is always arranged beforehand, it’s a potluck party. One person wouldn’t be able to manage on her own. Everyone brings something Polish and there is always too much of it [laughter]. We sing Polish Carols and hand out presents. Not for everyone, because everyone has their own Wigilia at home as well. Everyone has theirs and we celebrate it at night, as we used to do in Poland. What I don’t like about the American tradition is that they open their presents in the morning of the 25th. At dawn, wearing their pyjamas. That is so different [from our tradition]. We have a special fancy dinner, one wears a suit and tie, an elegant dress. Photos are taken [laughter]. Wrapping paper everywhere, oranges, yeah? New Year’s Eve too - it differs from the American one. New Year’s Eve ends at 2am in America. Our own New Year’s Eve carries on until the morning. I’ve also noticed (and this is a big plus for Poland), that the Americans dress for New Year’s like they would dress to go to a potato harvest. Jeans, a flannel shirt -don’t really reflect the special New Year’s Eve spirit. And the food is not that great. 2am - we go home. Damn... where is that? We have a day off and Monday is off, so we can take our time to sober up.
Even though I wasn’t born in the USA, and don’t have any relatives in New York, the attacks on the Twin Towers caused a tidal wave of grief that also reached Alaska. I had cried for a week. I didn’t know these people. I couldn’t come to terms with it. Even my own father’s death didn’t affect me as much. I didn’t go to my father’s funeral, because it was too late for me to come. Not that I could even afford to go. Twin Towers, a tragedy, its consequences can still be felt today. Recently there was an anniversary, and people were saying that many residents got cancer from all that dust, from the chemicals that polluted the air for weeks. It was September. The cloud of dust and toxic smoke hovered non-stop over the city. What a tragedy. It was a weekend, we were not working. I sat in bed with Ania. One of the kids says, it’s on TV, you have to... We had two TV sets, one was in our bedroom, so we watched. The second tower was still standing. The first had collapsed already and it was on the News, and then we watched live, the second plane crashing into that second tower. Because nobody had expected that the next one is going to be identical. This was when I realized that my mind is not as closely connected to Poland anymore.
