Memoir Historical Investigation for Stalin By: Ania Buksowicz
Primary Source: The photograph on page 53 with the caption “Women Thresh Grain”, is what I chose for my primary source. It describes women working at a farm, raking hay and putting it in a wagon. I chose this photograph because it shows the hard conditions that millions of Soviet’s were under. The photograph connects to the book by simply being used in the book and by showing how terrible life looked during the time of Stalin’s ruling.
Secondary Source: The secondary source I am using is information I found on a website called pbs.org. The text describes Joseph Stalin, how he gained and kept his power in the Soviet Union, gives a little background information about his family and hometown, his young life, his relations with Lenin, his part in WWII, and his death. I am proud of the article I found as it is short, quick and summarizes the life of Joseph Stalin without repeating information and making me stop reading. I chose this source because it tells the reader all about Stalin, his evil ruling and his power. It obviously connects to my book, since it is called Stalin and is all about him. I also chose this because it was shorter than all the other articles/websites that I found about him, but provides enough information for me to understand more about this criminal.
Summary and Review: The book Stalin written by Sean McCollum is a short memoir describing the life of Stalin. Stalin gives information about Joseph Stalin from when he was born, to when he died. With only 121 pages, the memoir gives a lot of important information about his ruling, his death, his family and his friends. What I really like about the book, is that at the end of it there’s a timeline of his life, a glossary of the challenging vocabulary that fills the book, different websites and books that can tell you more about Joseph Stalin and an index. Because Joseph Stalin is a big part of history and caused a lot of damage to the world, we should know about him and make sure there are no people like him living anymore. “Stalin turned the Soviet Union into a world power- at an almost unimaginable cost. He uprooted millions of peasants and starved millions more to death. He executed his enemies, real or imagined, and filled a notorious system of prisoner camps with Soviet citizens. He was more ruthless than any Russian emperor.” (back of the book) “Every crime was possible to Stalin, for there was not one he had not committed. Whatever standards we use to take his measure, in any event- let us hope all time to come- to him will fall the glory of being the greatest criminal in history. –Yugoslav dissident Milovan Djilas, 1963” (front of the book, before title page). Stalin is not that known, more people know about Hitler rather than Stalin. Stalin was very similar to Hitler though, and killed a close amount of people as Hitler (Hitler- more than five million, Stalin- about two million). Both of these cruel men sent thousands of people to work camps, later sending them to die. When I ask my friend if they knew who Stalin was, they said, “No…who is he?”. On the other hand, when I asked them who is Hitler, they said, “Of course, who doesn’t?!”. Since there is more information about Hitler than Stalin, obviously Hitler is more know, but I want to change this and make Stalin as popular as Adolf Hitler. “…Soviet labor camps housed about 30,000 prisoners. Over the next 25 years, Stalin would send millions of people to the gulags… At least one million would die in the gulags.” (61)
Ania Buksowicz Ms. McGuire SS8 D November 21, 2012 Where’s Daddy? I woke up to my daughter yelling, “Come back! Don’t leave us here, alone! No!” After my husband, Bolesław, was taken by the NKVD to one of the work camps, Maria has been hollering like this every couple of nights, telling herself to stop him from leaving. Since I knew I wasn’t going to sleep any longer, I jumped out of bed and headed to the kitchen. My two daughters and I live alone in a small apartment near Warsaw: One bathroom, bedroom and a tiny kitchen. With me not being able to work, and the salary Hania gets for her gardening, this is all we can afford. I took some leftovers for breakfast, and laid it out on the aged, wooden table. I quietly sat on one of the chairs, and waited until a few minutes later, Maria and Hania would walk into the kitchen. We ate our sandwiches in silence until Hania questioned, “Did you receive any news from Tata?” “No. Not yet, anyways,” I gloomily replied. Maria put her head back on the chair and breathed deeply. I understood her bitterness and morose, but there was nothing else I could tell her to make her feel better.
“How long is this terror going to go on for? And why did this have to happen to us? Why us? Couldn’t it happen to someone else?” groaned Maria with a whiny voice. I scolded her. She shouldn’t want this to happen to anyone else. Then I continued with a softer voice, “Honey, they took almost everyone in our block. It would have to be some miracle if they wouldn’t have taken Tata too.” It’s been almost three months since Bolek has been gone. I couldn’t imagine how hard it was for them to grow up without a dad, spending such a hard, depressing part of history with only one parent. Their need for a dad was incredible; someone who they could count on, pay for their school, new clothing, and books. I had to be the dad and the mom now. After cleaning the dishes, and putting the leftovers in the fridge, we heard a knock on the door. I got so thrilled that in a blink of an eye, I leaped off the chair and ran to the door; my heart skipping beats. “Dzień dobry, is this Zofia Kowalska?” queried a cold-looking man dressed in old, abandoned clothes. He acted as if he didn’t know me, but I recognized his face quickly enough to know he was the secret mailman. “Yes, indeed. What’s the matter?” I replied sternly, pretending to not know him. I needed to do so, in case someone from the NKVD was listening. He was illegally smuggling letters from family members at the camps, which was forbidden by the NKVD. He handed me an envelope signed with my husband’s handwriting. “This is from him,” he addressed with a slightly nervous voice. I sensed his fear, since his job was extremely dangerous.
I replied, “Thank you.” He walked down the staircase not looking back, heading towards the door of the block. When the door closed, I hopped back inside, eager to open the letter. Sitting on the couch, I snatched the envelope open. I noticed a something fishy. The letter smelled weird, not like all the others which smelled of Bolek’s cologne. Additionally, it was covered in mud and dirt, making it look like it was written under very rough conditions. I wondered, and was frightened of the content of this letter. Maria and Hania rested next to me and listened as I read the letter, “Dzień dobry! Today’s letter will not contain any joyful information as the others, as today…the Polish are supposed to be sent out to a forest near Katyń and Gnezdovo, about 19 kilometers from Smoleńsk. None of the prisoners at camp know what is going to happen there, but we assume to be killed…This is why this letter is so special, as it may be my last,” I read in a daunted voice. I continued, “I wanted to tell you all that I love you with all my heart, and wish that I could be in Warsaw with you. To Hania and Maria: I love you both so much. Promise me you will take proper care of your mother. I hope you both grow up into smart, wise, intelligent and beautiful girls. To Zosia: take fantastic care of your maturing daughters, as well as yourself. Make sure you always keep your pride, walk with confidence and stay as wonderful as I remember you. I hope that this is not going to be our goodbye. Take care. I love you.” I put down the note, swept my arms over both of my daughters and hugged them. My elbows were instantly wet from all the tears. This is not how our family life was supposed to be. How I planned it. All our memories, all our kisses, all our family
shrivelled into dust. I rested my head on Maria’s shoulder, having a hard time catching my breath. “Mamo…is this really a goodbye? Is this really how it’s going to end?” cried Hania. “I hope not. Maybe Tata will be able to escape. He is a very clever man,” I lied. Even though Bolek is very cunning, he wouldn’t be able to escape from this. No Pole would. We sat there by ourselves, staring at the wall, not daring to say a word, when suddenly, Maria stood up to open the door, to which she apparently heard a knock on. Before she could say hello, two men dressed in camouflage uniforms and hats brushed into our apartment. I quickly but surely glanced at Hania through the corner of my eye, trying to calm her down, remembering that the last time two of the NKVD men popped in our apartment like this, she totally freaked out and started panicking. The taller and manlier one of the men dropped a small black box on the floor. Maria looked like she was profoundly confused, but I knew exactly what was going on. Unfortunately, I knew exactly what was going on. What was inside the box was my husbands’, Bolesław’s ashes. My husband was dead. After they loudly shut the door, leaving the box just lying on the floor, looking more depressing and numskulled than I ever thought I could, Hania cried, “Where’s Daddy?”
Works Cited: McCollum, Sean. Joseph Stalin. New York: Franklin Watts, 2010. Print.
Women Thresh Grain. N.d. Photograph. Book: Stalin by Sean McCollum. Stalin, by Sean McCollum. N.p.: Franklin Watts, 2010. 55. Print.
"Joseph Stalin." PBS. PBS, 1999. Web. 14 Oct. 2012. <http://www.pbs.org/redfiles/bios/all_bio_joseph_stalin.htm>.
"Sean McCollum - Joseph Stalin." - Product Reviews and Prices. Google Images, n.d. Web. 09 Nov. 2012. <http://www.shopping.com/Book_Joseph_Stalin_Sean_McCollum/info>.
Ania Buksowicz
Ms. McGuire SS8 D November 21, 2012 Where’s Daddy? I woke up to my daughter yelling, “Come back! Don’t leave us here, alone! No!” After my husband, Bolesław, was taken by the NKVD to one of the work camps, Maria has been hollering like this every couple of nights, telling herself to stop him from leaving. Since I knew I wasn’t going to sleep any longer, I jumped out of bed and headed to the kitchen. My two daughters and I live alone in a small apartment near Warsaw: One bathroom, bedroom and a tiny kitchen. With me not being able to work, and the salary Hania gets for her gardening, this is all we can afford. I took some leftovers for breakfast, and laid it out on the aged, wooden table. I quietly sat on one of the chairs, and waited until a few minutes later, Maria and Hania would walk into the kitchen. We ate our sandwiches in silence until Hania questioned, “Did you receive any news from Tata?” “No. Not yet, anyways,” I gloomily replied. Maria put her head back on the chair and breathed deeply. I understood her bitterness and morose, but there was nothing else I could tell her to make her feel better. “How long is this terror going to go on for? And why did this have to happen to us? Why us? Couldn’t it happen to someone else?” groaned Maria with a whiny voice.
I scolded her. She shouldn’t want this to happen to anyone else. Then I continued with a softer voice, “Honey, they took almost everyone in our block. It would have to be some miracle if they wouldn’t have taken Tata too.” It’s been almost three months since Bolek has been gone. I couldn’t imagine how hard it was for them to grow up without a dad, spending such a hard, depressing part of history with only one parent. Their need for a dad was incredible; someone who they could count on, pay for their school, new clothing, and books. I had to be the dad and the mom now. After cleaning the dishes, and putting the leftovers in the fridge, we heard a knock on the door. I got so thrilled that in a blink of an eye, I leaped off the chair and ran to the door; my heart skipping beats. “Dzień dobry, is this Zofia Kowalska?” queried a cold-looking man dressed in old, abandoned clothes. He acted as if he didn’t know me, but I recognized his face quickly enough to know he was the secret mailman. “Yes, indeed. What’s the matter?” I replied sternly, pretending to not know him. I needed to do so, in case someone from the NKVD was listening. He was illegally smuggling letters from family members at the camps, which was forbidden by the NKVD. He handed me an envelope signed with my husband’s handwriting. “This is from him,” he addressed with a slightly nervous voice. I sensed his fear, since his job was extremely dangerous. I replied, “Thank you.” He walked down the staircase not looking back, heading towards the door of the block. When the door closed, I hopped back inside, eager to open the letter.
Sitting on the couch, I snatched the envelope open. I noticed a something fishy. The letter smelled weird, not like all the others which smelled of Bolek’s cologne. Additionally, it was covered in mud and dirt, making it look like it was written under very rough conditions. I wondered, and was frightened of the content of this letter. Maria and Hania rested next to me and listened as I read the letter, “Dzień dobry! Today’s letter will not contain any joyful information as the others, as today…the Polish are supposed to be sent out to a forest near Katyń and Gnezdovo, about 19 kilometers from Smoleńsk. None of the prisoners at camp know what is going to happen there, but we assume to be killed…This is why this letter is so special, as it may be my last,” I read in a daunted voice. I continued, “I wanted to tell you all that I love you with all my heart, and wish that I could be in Warsaw with you. To Hania and Maria: I love you both so much. Promise me you will take proper care of your mother. I hope you both grow up into smart, wise, intelligent and beautiful girls. To Zosia: take fantastic care of your maturing daughters, as well as yourself. Make sure you always keep your pride, walk with confidence and stay as wonderful as I remember you. I hope that this is not going to be our goodbye. Take care. I love you.” I put down the note, swept my arms over both of my daughters and hugged them. My elbows were instantly wet from all the tears. This is not how our family life was supposed to be. How I planned it. All our memories, all our kisses, all our family shrivelled into dust. I rested my head on Maria’s shoulder, having a hard time catching my breath.
“Mamo…is this really a goodbye? Is this really how it’s going to end?” cried Hania. “I hope not. Maybe Tata will be able to escape. He is a very clever man,” I lied. Even though Bolek is very cunning, he wouldn’t be able to escape from this. No Pole would. We sat there by ourselves, staring at the wall, not daring to say a word, when suddenly, Maria stood up to open the door, to which she apparently heard a knock on. Before she could say hello, two men dressed in camouflage uniforms and hats brushed into our apartment. I quickly but surely glanced at Hania through the corner of my eye, trying to calm her down, remembering that the last time two of the NKVD men popped in our apartment like this, she totally freaked out and started panicking. The taller and manlier one of the men dropped a small black box on the floor. Maria looked like she was profoundly confused, but I knew exactly what was going on. Unfortunately, I knew exactly what was going on. What was inside the box was my husbands’, Bolesław’s ashes. My husband was dead. After they loudly shut the door, leaving the box just lying on the floor, looking more depressing and numskulled than I ever thought I could, Hania cried, “Where’s Daddy?”