"We're trying to preserve the history of plain people who came and contributed to the success of this country."
Stas Radosz
The town of Chicopee, Massachusetts first reported Polish settlers in 1880. It was the beginning of an influx of immigrants to the Connecticut River Valley to work as farmers and factory workers.
Stanislaw, or Stas, Radosz is working to keep that history alive at the Polish Center for Discovery and Learning.
Radosz is a storyteller and a historian. He's also a collector of things.
"It all started many decades ago," Radosz said. "A woman called me up and said, I have a trunk that belonged to my mother, and there's some wooden shoes in there." He remembered his mother talking about the wooden shoes worn in her Polish village. He'd never seen them in person.
The woman asked Radosz if there was a place to donate the shoes so they could be preserved. At the time, there wasn't. Now the shoes are long gone, unfortunately, because there is a perfect place for them -- along with old wedding dresses, historical documents, folk art, ephemera, and pierogi boards.
Formerly housed in a library at Elms College, the Polish Center for Discovery and Learning took over the 150-year-old former Holy Name of Jesus Rectory in 2004. The old mansion had fallen into disrepair, and Radosz proposed to take it over to expand his museum celebrating Polish culture and heritage in the region.
It would take $1.5 million -- mostly donated material and labor -- to upgrade the 18-room mansion. Radosz added a foyer and an elevator, repaired ceilings and walls, and transformed it into the museum it is today.
The museum focuses on objects from before 1950. "We're trying to preserve the history of plain people who came and contributed to the success of this country," Radosz said. "Unfortunately, a lot of the things that they brought with them -- their story -- is often forgotten. And the things that they brought with them are being lost because they don't think that it's worth keeping."
Small details stand out, like a welded chandelier made especially for the museum, and the wallpaper, a silk-screened William Morris reproduction from the early 20th century. Both are donated items.
Radosz has collected thousands of pieces of history, and he's got a story for each and every one. Over the fireplace, on the first floor, there is a plaster cast of Pope John Paul II's right hand, encased in a stunning carved wood altar. It's one of only two in the world, he said.
One can get a sense of the historical span of the museum's collection by looking at the hand of the modern pope, and what's right next to it: a reproduction of Polish cavalry armor from the 17th century. The "winged hussar" stands proudly next to a grand piano, wearing a metal chest plate, helmet, and two rows of blue wings arching from the back over the top of the head.
"The feathers were something that you saw in all of Eastern Europe and the Balkans," Radosz said. "The winged hussar has become sort of a symbol of the spirit of Poland."
A visit to the Polish Center of Disovery and Learning is truly a history lesson.
Radosz is a Slavic bibliographer. He's taught classes at the University of Massachusetts and at Elms College. The museum personifies a class he taught called "Introduction to the Polish People." All of the walls and corners are filled with reminders of the country's very complicated past.
In an large dining room, Radosz laid out an old Romanian newspaper from 1939. "A lot of people in America don't know, or have forgotten, that the Germans and the Russians we allies," he said.
The Germans attacked Poland in September of that year, then the Russians attacked. The Polish Air Force evacuated to England, and the Polish military was taken to detention camps, some ending up in Romania. The headline on the newspaper reads "Our Victory Is Certain."
Radosz opened a glass case and pointed to one of many old books, The History of Polish Kings, published in 1860 and encrusted in Moroccan leather.
Upstairs, the rooms were divided in themes that define the story of Poland in the 19th and 20th Centuries. The "Coming to America" room had old trunks and clothes from immigrants who came through Ellis Island.
"The first Poles came to America in 1608," Radosz said. His collection contains objects from the Great Immigration in 1880 and after. "The largest number of Poles came between 1904 and 1912," he said.
Display cases in the room were full of documents, boat tickets, and passports. Radosz explained one story of how the Nazis approached a family and made the father choose one of his children to work in the labor camps. The 13-year-old who was chosen had to wear a "P" on his clothing and carry a special passport, both of which Radosz has.
"He ended up surviving the war, coming to Chicopee. He's buried in St. Stan's Cemetery. He never married, but he's buried with his best friend, his dog," Radosz said.
Across the hall, there was a room full of old family photos, and wooden instruments for making cheese and sauerkraut. Behind two wooden birds was babka'spierogi board.
Through the folk art room was "Contemporary Poland." There was memorabilia from the Solidarity Movement, and handkerchiefs that the Polish Air Force would send home to their sweethearts. There were accounts from Poles who were exiled to forced labor camps in Siberia, during World War II. And, in the corner, there was a tribute to Wojtek, the Polish Soldier Bear.
Radosz pointed to a small cartoon on the wall that explained the story: after Polish prisoners were released from Siberia, they crossed the Caspian Sea to join the British Army in the Middle East. During that journey, they came upon a young boy selling things in a small bag, among them a baby bear whose mother was killed by hunters. The soldiers bought the bear.
"It was the mascot. He pretty much lived with them. He was allowed to ride with them in the truck. He was just treated like a real human being," Radosz said.
The bear would drink beer with the soldiers, and would eat with them, and smoke cigarettes.
Wojtek took part in the battle of Monte Casino. Eventually, he ended up at the Edinburgh Zoo, and stood as a symbol of the west until his death. They recently built a monument to him in Krakow.
There were more rooms in the mansion. Most of the exhibits on the third floor were still in progress.
There was even a replica of an old Polish farm house, also in progress. In a room celebrating the ingenuity of the Polish immigrant, there was part of an old Polish poem on a chalkboard.
"At night, before you went to sleep, you would go through your catechism," Radosz said. "And then there was another kind of catechism, a national catechism."
The poem was written during the Pole's occupation and partition. Radosz recited it in Polish, and then in English:
Who are you? I'm a little Pole. What's your symbol? A white eagle. Where do you live? Among my own. And what land? The Polish land. How was it acquired? With blood and wounds. What do you owe it? I owe it my life.
Although Stas Radosz loves sharing stories about history, he's less interested in talking about himself. He often alluded to his parents, who were, he said, "outrageously patriotic." He said they left him "somewhere between two countries."
There's a lot of history at the Polish Center of Discovery and Learning, connecting Radosz to his past, and preserving these stories for the future.
