Flowers For Kasia

About the Book

     Flowers For Kasia  was inspired by a Detroit man I met in the course of my work. That was in 1988.  Poland was still under communistic rule of government,  the iron curtain still in place, and  Stefan, a fictional name I used in the story, was in his 49th year of exile from his homeland.  Behind the scenes, though,  sparks of freedom had been ignited.  Oh, had they ever been ignited!

     The story opens in 1992.   Poland had only recently won her freedom - freedom that had been  ripped away from her  -  and hence from Stefan   -  fifty-three years earlier.  Much of the world was focused on Poland in 1992.  That was the year  President Bush visited Poland on his way to the Group of Seven Economic Summit in Germany.  It was also the year the body of  the  famous  pianist-composer and former  Polish Prime Minister was returned to his beloved Poland.  Ignacy Jan Paderewski was living in exile in the United States when died in 1941.  He was buried in Arlington Cemetery.  Before his death, he had requested his body  not be returned home until  Poland became a free nation.  The moving of  Paderewski’s body from hallowed ground  in a free country to a place held sacred by another country, now free, was symbolic for lovers of freedom everywhere.

     In telling  this story, I used the name, Stefan, to represent thousands of Polish soldiers. These were men who fought with the allies during World War II, but, in many instances, could not personally benefit from the sacrifices they had made.  They could not go home again.

     This is not a war story.   Rather, it is a story about the continuation of one man’s journey when, at last, he could attempt to pick up his life from where, decades earlier, horrific and long lasting circumstances had torn him away from his home and from his loved ones.

     I thought I knew a little about separation from one’s country and loved ones.  But, for half a century?  I could not imagine the magnitude of it!  When I tried, there was a sudden unlocking of memories from the recesses of my mind.  I saw scenes of my parents and a teary-eyed sister waiting for the return of our own family’s loved ones after three, four, and five year absences.   I winced at the thought of the duration of  Stefan’s separation.

     I wasn’t very far into my conversation with Stefan that summer evening of 1988 when it became apparent  I knew very little about Poland’s recent history.  Worse, to my embarrassment, I discovered I knew nothing about Poland’s interesting connection with the history of my own country.  I didn’t even know the significance of the magnificent statue of General Thaddeus Kosciuszko on horseback along a downtown Detroit avenue.  In regard to Poland, I knew of the Warsaw ill-fated uprisings. I had known about the heroics of Poland’s underground army, and that Polish aviators had been credited, in part, for  Britain’s success in the air Battle of Britain.  Beyond that, my history books had taught me the Poland of 1939, with its outdated horse cavalry and inferior bi-winged air force, had been overrun in a matter of a few weeks by the Germans and the Russians.  One historian wrote, “With the Germans attacking from the west and the Russians from the east, Poland was crushed like an egg.”

     Well, not quite!  The Polish government escaped and became a Government-in-exile in London.  And, there were thousands of  Stefan-type Polish soldiers who made good on their escape from death, captivity, or enslavement.   To its credit  -  credit forever tarnished by the murder of  over fourteen thousand Polish officers  -   Russia r

About the Author

Carl McDivitt grew up in northeastern Ohio, near Cleveland. He established his values, not only from family, church, a rich ethnic blend of neighbors including Russian, Polish and Amish, but also from the zealous support of the government during the war years of the Forty’s. As a boy, Mr. McDivitt listened while concerned parents exchanged tales of their son’s adventures from Truk to Tobruk. But, for him, the war was a great, patriotic adventure, the thrill of it sensationalized by military aircraft training over the family farm. There was a down side. It was in the form of letters. He often watched while his married sister, her tears often splotching the written page, tried to mollify time and distance, pain and loneliness by use of a tiny page called V-Mail. Mr. McDivitt is retired from an insurance career. He and his wife, Lillie, reside in Rochester Hills, Michigan.