Tato Parts I, II, III, IV

 

Tato Part I

Theology in the Trenches

by Kathleen Kjolhaug

 

This is a true story about a man named Tato. I share it with permission from Tato’s son, Orest. Orest is married to my first cousin, and as his story captured my attention. I asked permission to retell it. He responded.

 “Yes, absolutely, I’m fine with that. We need some hope and perspective in these times, and that is exactly what my dad stood for. Everyone has their share of unfair life challenges to overcome. Evil can’t be defeated by legislation or protests, but by simple men and women of courage, faith, and prayer.  This is what will change the world for generations to come.” Orest Lechnowsky

 Here is his story…the story of Tato.

 “I want to tell you about my father,” writes Orest. “Tato means ‘dad’ in Ukrainian, and that’s what we called him, Tato.”

 Tato was the grandson of a serf (person owned to do labor) of Polish landlords. He was poor…dirt poor. No electricity, no cars, no phone, no plumbing, no money did he have. Every piece of clothing worn, every morsel of food eaten, every tool used, and every building crafted was done with the work of his hands and those of his family and friends.

 At the age of five, Tato’s mom, Anna, unexpectedly and unexplainably died.

Once Tato’s father remarried, others would be the little guy’s caretakers. You see, the new wife had children of her own whom she favored greatly. Thus, the care of Tato was handed off to his older sisters. It’s not that a little man can’t be man enough to take what’s been given, but had some love been passed his way by her, it would have greatly warmed his heart.

However, what he was given was an education. Yes, all the way through the ranks of the third grade he rose. As all classes were taught in Polish, he survived even though he only spoke Ukrainian. He worked hard and tried to learn as best he could. Yes, Tato was a survivor alright and this would just be the beginning. Little did the young lad know what was in-store.

At about the age of eight, he was taken out of school to help with the family farm. Caring for livestock was one of many jobs Tato was responsible for. Up to the mountain pastures, the sheep and cows were herded each morning. At the edge of the forest, they grazed until evening. Staving off wolves developed within Tato a keen eye on many fronts and bravery was birthed.

Tato grew and the years flew by as he spent time with many a cousin who lived nearby. They were one in the struggle to survive, yet an adventure it became. Like brothers they stood, and watching out for one another became second nature.

Although love forges bonds, it can also beget pain when one truly cares. Tato was no exception. Bond he did to his cousins as they worked the fields many a day. One evening…it happened. Whether he witnessed it or heard about it…it matters not. Tato’s heart was broken but his spirit would not be…at least not yet…when the news arrived. (To be continued)

                                                                       Tato Part II

For such a time as this we are born…your time, my time, his time…our time. For a purpose and a plan we are created, and Tato was no exception. Orest, who is married to my first cousin, continues telling the story of his father, Tato. It is with permission that I continue.

The time? World War II. Initially, Poland occupied Ukraine, the country in which Tato and his family lived. The German army was advancing. In fact, just over the ridge in the next valley, they were. Mere miles away. It was Tuesday, September 14, 1939, to be exact. Fourteen Poles in a vehicle and about thirty on horseback entered his village.

Philip and Ivan, Tato’s cousins were the first ones shot. What were their crimes? Speaking their language in public was crime enough as was sporting embroidered Ukrainian attire. Supporting a Ukrainian reading room, and advocating for a free and independent Ukraine drew attention to the powers that be. Of these “crimes” they were guilty, and ultimately, the sentence given would be death.

The generations that followed remember. The news reached the family of the victims rapidly. Killed in cold blood they were while working in a field. As the Poles were hastily retreating from the advancing Germans army…crimes were perpetrated against not only Tato’s family but his people as a whole. And that was just the beginning of what was to come.

Setting fires came next at the hands of the officers. Villagers, while shielding small children, fled into the nearby forests, and all who were caught were brutally beaten. Not only were 135 of the 160 houses in the village burned, but the historic log church of the Blessed Virgin Mary which had once faithfully stood watch over many was now gone as well. Cold as ice were the winters in the Carpathian Mountains, and as winter was upon them, a coldness like they never felt before settled deep within.

Evil is a force to be reckoned with as it spills upon all in its path. Methods of medieval torture were used upon many as villagers were forced to watch on. Eyes, tongues, and hands were not spared as blasphemous spouts of anger performed crude acts of hatred upon the Ukrainians. The Poles emptied themselves from the land…only to have it filled once again with more hatred marching in from just over the ridge of the valley.

When the German army arrived, Tato was a mere teenager. Like many of his neighbors and countrymen, he was taken from his family, put on a train, and deported to Germany. There, Tato was held in slave bondage, valued only by the work extracted from him. Many of his fellow Ukrainians “Ostarbeiters” (foreign slave workers) died in captivity by being overworked, malnourished, and diseased. Heavy laden it was to be considered subhuman “Untermenschen.” The slaves were to be used and discarded.

Tato was not only attentive to his surroundings but strong. One day, when the time was right, he mustered the courage to escape his captors. Escape he did, but not for long.

As the Gestapo and their Dobermans feverishly did all they could to find him, they eventually did. Once caught, the beatings began. Broken bones and solitary confinement were two forms of punishment inflicted upon Tato for his rash decision to escape.

Of the many stories he told, this was not one. Perhaps it was the recurring dreams that would be the outlet needed to keep his mind sane. The alley, the rod-iron gate climbed, the piercing of flesh by dogs all biting at his subconscious…always present…like torturous taunts that haunted.  Yes, quick to tell a story he was for the most part. But when asked about his broken nose, the reply was short, “Boxing.” No mention that it took place as he sat in a chair with hands tied behind his back while “boxing” with the Gestapo.

No, Tato rarely shared much about this particular episode, but when it was whispered, it was remembered by those who heard.

The captors in charge cared not about the bodies they used and abused, and there would be more to come. Much more…and Tato would not escape it. (To be continued.)

Tato Part III

 

For such a time as this we are born…your time, my time, his time…our time. For a purpose and a plan we are created and Tato was no exception. Orest, who is married to my first cousin, continues telling the story of his father, Tato. It is with permission that I continue.

He had lived through the occupation of the Poles in his beloved Ukraine as well as through the brutality incurred not only on him but on his family members whom he also deeply loved. Soon, Tato’s life would be pilfered to pieces at the hands of the Gestapo.

As World War II raged on, Tato, now in his early twenties, had survived many a beating by those occupying his homeland. One day a German uniform was tossed his way. With the slap of the clothing laid bare before him, he had no choice but to take what had been handed him. Why would a Ukrainian be given a German uniform? Long story short…somebody had to dig entrenchments for the German army as they were quickly running out of able-bodied men. Tato was chosen for such a time as this, and with no training and no weapon, he was sent to the western front to dig.

How did Tato survive? Barely is how he survived as the worst was yet to come.

While digging ditches, an allied bombing raid took place nearby. Tato was struck. Hit in the head with shrapnel and critically wounded he fell. The final six months of not only the war but his captivity found him in a field hospital. The shrapnel embedded within would remain inoperably close to his brain for the rest of his life.

The next four years would find Tato within a displaced person’s camp while waiting to immigrate to the United States of America. You see, he couldn’t go back home. The Soviets, who were now the occupiers of his homeland, were sentencing former German slaves (of which Tato had been) to seven years in a Siberian Gulag (forced labor camp). Why would someone like Tato be punished as a criminal for basically staying alive? Tato would have been punished by the Soviets, the occupiers of Ukraine, for failing to die. He would be held captive once again merely because he had been a captive of the German army and had been a slave on their behalf.

In spite all this, it did not dampen his efforts to make contact with family who remained back home. An exchange of letters seemed like a miracle in the making…never mind the foreboding black ink blotting out things they would think…could censor. But even this small light in his world would eventually be extinguished. The letters were soon shortened, and the final words sent he understood more than they would ever know.

“Please, we cannot continue to write to you and receive your letters. It is drawing too much attention and making life difficult for us here.” And with that, all communication stopped.

Although his skeletal frame appeared delicate, his spirit remained like a spark in his sunken eyes. Rather than roam with the gangs within the camp, Tato set his sights higher. Taking any job he helped give rise to hope. Repairing shoes while selling his red-cross cigarettes and chocolate helped keep him productive.

In 1949, Tato’s received the news. He would soon enter the United States. With one dollar in his pocket, a third-grade education, undiagnosed and untreated PTSD, no knowledge of the language and no friends, he entered.

What did he bring? He brought courage, hope, faith, and a willingness to work. His first job during his passage over was sorting produce in the galley of the ship. He boldly asked for a job and as they delighted in his boldness, he was given it. Typical Tato style this was, and it served him well as he served others.

Upon arriving, he faced many challenges. “Dirty, dumb DP” (displaced person) was right up there on the list of accusatory boxes he was placed in. In spite of this, he moved forward by juggling as many as four jobs at a time…doing whatever it took to pay the bills. Ranch work, packing plants, steel mills, and construction were just a few jobs he had. Delivering newspapers, bussing tables, shoveling snow, and working as a janitor were listed on his resume of hard work and determination.

Worthy of note would be one of his first jobs secured in country. Soon after his arrival, he booked a train to Cozad, Nebraska. The work secured was familiar and he was eager to once again be working with animals.

Upon arriving at the job site, he discovered he was to care for over a million sheep within a two-state area. Nebraska and Wyoming is where the massive herds were kept, and upon arrival late in the year, he made his way to his newfound home on the range. A covered wagon, a rifle, one dog, and chest-high snow, not to mention sheep as far as the eye could see would be his new companions.

Needless to say, come spring, he traveled to Omaha in search of a different job.

What did Tato do when he wasn’t working? He helped. He helped by giving away hard-earned money to people and causes needing it more than he. He helped found, renovate and expand a Ukrainian Catholic church which still stands seven decades later. Hand carving the wooden altar where the consecration of the Holy Eucharist has daily taken place since then, are a few of the gifts he would give to his newfound country.

Eventually, Tato purchased a small plot of land where he would begin building a home…but there is more… (To be continued.)

Tato Part IV and Final

 

 

For such a time as this we are born…your time, my time, his time…our time. For a purpose and a plan we are created, and Tato was no exception. Orest, who is married to my first cousin, continues telling the story of his father, Tato. It is with permission that I complete the story.

There is always more to tell and Tato’s story is no different. Tato had plenty to be bitter about. If he chose, he could easily have deflected blame onto others such as the Poles, the Germans, or the Soviets. He could have blamed those who had discriminated against him in the United States, but he did not. Even though he had incurred more cruelty, hatred, bigotry, and degradation, he would not blame a group of people for the treatment done by individuals. That was deeply embedded wisdom he’d gained over the gruesome treatment at the hands of many…but not all.

How did he respond to the world at large and to the individuals he met along the way? He responded in kind by being kind. With dignity, he saw the face of Christ in all.

He worked with Poles and had lifelong Polish friends. He married a German girl. As well, he was thankful for the kindness shown him by one of his German captors during the war. So thankful was he that he traveled back to Germany to thank the man’s widow four decades later.

Through it all he could have tried to calm his nerves with tobacco. He could have dealt with his pain and escaped from his sorrow through alcohol, drugs, or worse. He could have blamed God…others did. He did not. Instead, he reached out to those who had chosen more trauma to deal with the pain of trauma, and on any given Sunday, you would find Tato at the home of a fellow countryman. Perhaps they had no family in the United States after immigrating, perhaps they had sunken into depression, perhaps they had lost their faith or were self-medicating. If so, he would sit all afternoon chatting away simply because he cared.

His hard-won philosophy in life served him well, and he raised his own brood of four accordingly. If you wanted something, the only way to get it was by the sweat of your brow.

You see, Tato understood poverty. He understood that if one was served thin oatmeal each day, then you thanked God for thin oatmeal. He understood what it was like to have feet on solid ground because with no floor to stand on, the dirt was still home, and he was thankful for it.

The “privileged” in Tato’s eyes were those who were born here, ones given a solid free education, and those who were blessed enough to have extended family nearby…not to mention those who were lucky enough to speak the language. To him, these “privileged” had no one to blame for their circumstances, and it was incomprehensible to Tato that anyone would.

As a father, he emphasized the importance of education and hard work. No excuses were accepted. He loved his kids more than life itself and lived faith in action. No task was beneath him as he readily partook of diaper duty, cooking, laundry, mending clothes, and cleaning house. His singular dedication in trying to guarantee that the lives of his children would be better than his own was pursued with unwavering and sometimes overzealous passion. But in all…Tato was Tato and he could be no one else but who he was.

He inspired. Tough as nails yet tenderly compassionate he was. Often quick-tempered but gentle with innocent humor was his trademark.

Life had been unfair, but never did he stop praying or believing that God would hear those prayers. “What are you, a Communist now?” could be heard if one would sit at the table of grace and forget to bow one’s head in prayer.

You see, much had been put upon Tato…cruelty, betrayal, disrespect, and prejudice, but he never let betrayals derail his attitude towards mankind. Tato knelt each night in prayer; and because he did, the only thing he found unacceptable in life was when others would not take time to acknowledge the God whom he not only loved but personally knew.

Tato died a successful man. He loved his Ukrainian homeland with a deep and abiding passion, but he considered America the greatest country on earth. If he could make it, then anyone could…if they chose to. He would become the patriarch of fifteen grandchildren, and at the age of eighty-five, he passed. Bravely he faced his death with his wife and children by his side.

Tato was a great and imperfect man. He was loved not only by Orest, his son, but by all his extended family…and now by the world at large.

Thank you, Tato. Thank you.  Amen.