Page 138 - South Mississippi Living - July, 2015

LIVING HISTORY heaven to me
ABOVE: On her
50th birthday,
Katherine Blessey
visited the
German town
where she was
born in a camp
for displaced
persons after
World War II.
RIGHT: Mr. & Mrs.
Curtis Scott, the
sponsors who took in the Tarczanin family and taught them the American way.
provided. I was born in the first camp and two years later my youngest sister was born in another camp. We lived under
the constant threat of being kidnapped by Russian agents and returned to forced labor camps in the Ukraine behind the Iron Curtain.
When America realized the deplorable and dangerous conditions of the camps — largely through the efforts of Eleanor Roosevelt — a program of sponsored immigration was established. That’s when my parents really began to believe in their dream of living together as a family in America where their daughters could grow up in safety, peace and freedom.
With the help of an English speaking Ukrainian friend in the camps, the red tape and paperwork were finally completed; we were on our way to America. On May 14, 1949, my family arrived on the first carrier to land in New Orleans carrying refugees from the war.
We first experienced the wonders and blessings of America on the drive from New Orleans to our new home in the Big Level community east of Wiggins, thanks to our sponsor, Curtis Scott.
From the minute we arrived at our house on the tung oil farm that father would manage, there were visitors with presents, food, advice, and help of all kinds. Mother sobbed when someone brought her a loaf of white bread.
We girls began learning to ‘talk American’ and our parents learned from us. It was a while before my parents stopped worrying that the Russians would find us and take us back to Ukraine, and before we could wander and explore the farm
without fear.
As we became more prosperous, acquired land, became
American citizens, took advantage of the wonderful opportunities around us, and received good educations, our parents reminded us constantly of the kind, generous, giving people who had made it all possible. They instilled in us the obligation of giving something back, plus hard work and gratitude.
I can still hear my mother’s broken English and Slavic accent as she proclaimed, “God Bless America! It’s such a heaven here. No matter what little you have, you know it’s yours and it can’t be taken away from you!”
Of course, there are times when such sentiments seem simplistic to me. I can become cynical when I see the greed, corruption and destructiveness of politics, both local and national, and the seemingly inability of
government to solve even the most basic human problems. But I know that cynicism and the resulting helpless indifference can erode democratic ideals as surely as violent revolution. I cannot give in to cynicism and helplessness when I think of all my family braved and sacrificed so I could grow up free.
138 SOUTH MISSISSIPPI Living • July 2015
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