Train Rides in Compartments with Priests (Part I)

On the matter of train rides in compartments with priests, I still had very fresh memories. 

With two of my friends, Bacz and Siedlik, not more than a year earlier, on this same train, we made for a conspiratorial jazz affair in Łodz. In this town, by the Advanced School for Film existed Hot-Club Melomani, made up mainly of students from the academy, whose leader, playing on the clarinet, from the academy’s camera department, was the legendary Duduś Matuszkiewicz. 

From time to time my friend, whom I knew from the war era—we and our mothers fled together from the Ukrainian Insurgent Army, the UPA—one Dziedzina, who also studied at the film school, and who often helped with the organization of such jazz performances, would gave me word something was going down, and then as soon as I could I made my way to Łodz. Dziedzina was always able to let me in to any event even though mathematically per square meter there were already dozens of people. 

These secret concerts were held in utterly arbitrary places, in large houses, in some day rooms and even once, apparently, in a boiler room. I don’t have to add that all of this was then illegal and assessed by the authorities extremely negatively. Everything was bound, always, as completely clandestine. Jazz at this time, being a symbol of the American enemy’s way of life and of American imperialism, not to mention of rotten American culture, was sourly prohibited in the country. Each of the participants, irrespective of whether they played or only listened, had to take into account the chance that at any moment the UB could bust in and detain everyone for subversive activity for forty eight hours just for starters. 

Nevertheless, listening to good jazz live, and the Melomani at this time were number one in the country, was worth everything. Bacz and Siedlik, knowing in what aim I was making for Łodz, decided to go with me, hoping that on my account they’d catch on to some way to get let in to the event. In any case both studied in the capital so this trip for them was a sort of short diversion on their journey. Of course I was not opposed to this because they were both very fine and merry fellows and both loved jazz.

Charlie Barnet’s SKYLINER was at the time the identifying signifier of non-conforming, anti-communist, pro-American youth. I’d add only that this was not in the least a mass movement at all, and as a proportion of the whole population someone who was with it on this topic could be one in ten thousand or even one in fifteen thousand. If for example one were to whistle the first few bars of this piece, then sometimes somebody would respond in kind with measures as if continuing the melody. Contacts were made this way and in any situation one could even count on help if the need arose. 

Before SKYLINER, this kind of signifying code had been for some time the beautiful and easy melody of Gershwin’s THE MAN I LOVE, which was deceitfully and ruthlessly, any way you looked at it this was for us a maximum profanation, co-opted by the gays for themselves. 

To the point of boredom, at every time of day or night this melody was whistled near every open public toilet in this large beautiful town, and mainly in the vicinity of the most representative public toilet, situated on the square about midway between Bławat’s cafe and the UB headquarters, and in the neighborhood behind the pavilion-gallery where they constantly exhibited numerous garbage scribblings, politically anchored, sociorealist painters and active members of the party and ZPAP, the Association of Polish Artists and Designers. 

It was a horrible crowd. A few of them were even, probably on account of their party servitude, professors in the Public Institute for Plastic Arts, the academy in which the previous year I tried to study. There they recognized me pretty quickly and because of my strong pro-Western sympathies, as well as for fear of my destructive influence on the rest of the intimidated and crushed students, and by conclusion of the ZMP, the decision of the dean and rector was rather quickly to cross me off the list of students. This happened in the middle of my second semester, the reason given as lack of progress and development in my artistic education.