PERSPECTIVES: Beautiful souls (10/19/03)

PERSPECTIVES

by Andrew Fedynsky

Beautiful souls

The last time I saw Orysia Hryciw Kowcz was at the annual steak roast early in October at the Ukrainian scout camp Pysanyi Kamin (Painted Rock), near Cleveland. She was collecting signatures on a greeting card to an ailing scout leader, Ihor Rudenskyj, who had devoted the better part of his life to the pursuit of Ukraine's independence and educating Ukrainian youth. Orysia already had scores of signatures, but she made a point of walking more than a mile to collect two more before she left. That evening, she drove to Parma to hand-deliver the card so Mr. Rudenskyj's family could show it to him. As it turned out, he died the next morning.

Had she mailed it, he wouldn't have seen it. But that was Orysia. She paid attention to little details; she always thought of others before she thought of herself. She saw the big picture, but understood that it consists of a never-ending stream of small gestures delivered in a timely manner. She knew that progress is incremental, that it depends on the willingness to do the little things that make the big picture come into focus over whatever length of time it took. Having set and achieved many goals for herself, her family and community, she experienced the gratification that flowed from effort, the satisfaction that came with success, with the insight that you could have fun working to get from here to there. And as soon as you arrive, you set new goals.

Hours after he died, Orysia e-mailed everyone who had signed the card to let them know how grateful Mr. Rudenskyj had been in his final hours for all the friends and students who remembered him while enjoying a lovely fall afternoon at the campground where he had spent so much time instilling knowledge, values and attitudes.

The next day, while on a business trip to Detroit, Orysia was in an auto accident. Forty-eight hours after having collected a hundred or so signatures for Mr. Rudenskyj, she died in an area hospital. Orysia was 38; Mr. Rudenskyj was 90. Two generations of Ukrainian-Americans, united by a love for their culture and land of their origin along with a dedication to the community.

Mr. Rudenskyj grew up in a totally different time and place, during an age of widespread diseases: whooping cough, influenza, polio, tuberculosis, typhoid fever, cholera. It wasn't that unusual for people to bury children and young adults. Then when the war came with its fire and bombs, arrests and deportations, hunger, infections and a bullet to the back of the skull, many, many more were buried before their time. Indeed, a full third of the members of my father's class of 1933 at the Academic Gymnasium in Stanyslaviv died before they reached the age of 30.

Those like Ihor Rudenskyj, Orysia Hryciw's parents, my own - who survived the crucible of invasions and war, refugee camps and emigration - worked hard to instill in their children an appreciation for simple blessings: the food on the table, a warm bed, the opportunity to go to school and to church on Sunday. They also taught a sense of obligation to the family, to the community, to those who came before you and had struggled for human rights, for liberty, for universal values. To them, it wasn't corny and they found a way to make it meaningful to younger generations.

Mr. Rudenskyj had been my scout counselor for many years. Tapping into his war experiences in the old country, as well as those as a highway construction worker here in Ohio, he demonstrated the value of discipline, physical fitness, adherence to a noble cause, getting an education. He was just reinforcing the lessons we had learned at home, at Saturday school, at church.

As for Orysia, she grew up in Philadelphia where a different group of counselors, mentors, teachers and parents instilled the same lessons I learned in Cleveland. And it paid off: Orysia graduated from Drexel University, got a masters of business administration from Case Western Reserve University and became senior vice-president of corporate foreign exchange at KeyBank. And then it all abruptly ended.

The generations that grew up after World War II have little experience burying young people. That was something our parents and grandparents did. Now, with so many diseases having been conquered, with two oceans protecting us from war and mass/executions, something we read about in history books, the death of a young person is shocking, inexplicable and achingly mysterious. We were prepared for Mr. Rudenskyj's passing. Orysia's caught us by surprise.

Now, in a thousand big and little ways, our community is diminished by her loss. In the 1980s and early '90s, Orysia danced with the Kashtan Ukrainian Dance group. A member of the Pershi Stezhi Plast Sorority, she was leader of the Greater Cleveland Plast Branch, a member of the advisory board of the Ukrainian Saturday School "Ridna Shkola," a board member at the Ukrainian Museum-Archives and the creator and webmaster of the Cleveukes.com website.

With her characteristic energy, cheerfulness and generosity, Orysia and her husband, Taras, helped many immigrants to become acclimated to the Cleveland area and opened their home to a broad range of artists and performers from Ukraine who regularly visited Cleveland.

And now she's gone - hundreds and hundreds of her relatives, friends and admirers from several different cities attended her funeral, testifying to the high esteem in which she was held.

Writing a column like this, you search for clever ways to turn a phrase. I was going to characterize Orysia as the glue that helped to keep the community together; as the bridge that linked sectors of the old immigration with the new; as the engine that pulled the rest of us along; as a linchpin in the chain of Ukrainian activists that goes back for generations. Now she's a beacon whose example guides us toward the principles and values that animated her life and enriched all of us who knew her, whose memory will inspire us to strive for what is best. All of these describe Orysia, and all are inadequate to capture who she was.

People like Orysia are unusual, but they're not unique. I'll bet you know someone a lot like her in your community. If you do, see if you can let her, or him, know how much she, or he, is appreciated. After all, Orysia took the time to do just that when she went around collecting signatures for Mr. Rudenskyj, just hours before she was taken from us. She didn't have to do that, but that was Orysia. We're going to miss her desperately.

Andrew Fedynsky's e-mail address is: fedynsky@stratos.net.

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