Shout Outs

I had been repeatedly warned that using contemporaries in my stories was skating on thin ice.  By doing so, I was leaving myself open to law suits, which in the United States is no trivial matter.  However like most of my impulsive endeavors, I failed to heed this sound advise.  In today's post, I chose to give shout-outs to three individuals whose names and likenesses became character models.  So far, neither they nor their descendants have initiated legal proceedings.  Probably, because they didn't believe I would actually finish my project.

Korin Meshanko

Korin Meshanko was a chemical engineer employed by my old organization.  She was the ultimate scripted female who could hold her own in a male dominated profession or remain unfazed in an Outback pub.  During a trip to Australia in 1988, I passed the arduous flight enthralling her for 36 hours outlining my ideas for a book based on my family story.  For a counterstroke, Korin regaled me with the history of grandmother's life as an immigrant from Lithuania.

Korin enjoying a brew with Mavis and Spuds in Pimba SA

Korin's physical attributes, personality, and stories inspired the framework upon which I constructed the fictional Korin and Marko's shipboard romance while transiting the Atlantic.

* * * 

Korin would stand alone by the rail watching the sea, her blond hair tangled from the wind.  She did not wear her hair braided as the others, nor did she keep it covered.  Instead, she wore the scarf over her shoulders and allowed her hair to flow free. 

* * * 

I never did get any feedback on her impressions of my Korin character.  My guess is she never read her complementary copy of Ikons: Saint Nicholas the Wonder Worker.

Nicholas Troyan

In 1989 I was temporarily assigned to an OSIA (On Site Inspection Agency) team verifying the destruction of Soviet intermediate range, nuclear missiles. My team leader was LTC Nicholas Troyan, United States Army.  During our month long deployment to a Soviet missile facility,  Colonel Troyan and I discovered our mutual Russian heritage.  His grandfather had been an officer in the Tsar's Army and later fought for the White forces before escaping with Wrangel from Odessa.    

CFE Team Ruppert - Kosova, Belarus (Lt-Col Troyan First Row, Left)

Colonel Troyan was cut from the same cloth as Oliver North.  His brash attitude assured elimination procedures were completed by the book.  My character, who shares Troyan's name, attributes and rank, appeared in Banners: For God, Tsar and Country, and was one of my more colorful creations.

 * * *

The years had etched deep lines on his angular face, and his hair, although thinner and cut in the Prussian manner, still had the same sandy hue.  But instead of an eager, young pod-poruchik, Nikki now wore the three, five-pointed stars of a pod-polkovnik, a lieutenant colonel.

* * *

My Russian assignments introduced me to several Russians whose ancestors had remained.  Their tales were also incorporated into my saga.  During one of our chats, my Russian host pulled me aside and whispered, "When you return to America, kneel at your grandfather's grave and thank him for leaving his homeland."  I did.

Sheriff Joe Snedic

In a village like Rockdale, people were know by their occupations.  My father was "Steve the Barber" and my pal Buddy's father was "Bill the Bartender."  We also had "Tom the Grocer" and "Tony the Mayor."  The character I plucked from my childhood in the 50's and flung back thirty years was "Joe the Cop."

Sheriff Snedic inspecting the latest life-saving apparatus

Sheriff Joseph Snedic was Rockdale's law.  To us ten-year-olds, he was larger than life, patrolling the village and sometimes wailing his siren just to give us a start.  In Slogans: Our Children, Our Future, Joe got to play the part of a real detective.

* * *

Sheriff Joe Snedic entered the Rockdale mayor's office tapping the cover of his notebook.  “I got your answer, Tony.  That Pribish fella was right.”  The mayor's request was something quite different from the usual drunk and disorderly cases the sheriff normally pursued.  In fact, Joe was originally reluctant to even try his hand at a real police investigation based on Massey’s tip, but in the last few days he believed his results would have done Sherlock Holmes proud.

* * *

 Never underestimate the investigative prowess of a small town cop.  Thanks Joe.

Kataya

I submitted Slogans: Our Children, Our Future, to the 2016 Writers' Digest Self-Published Book Contest.  As you may guess, I didn't win but I got a really nice review from the judge. The comment I found most interesting concerned my character, Kataya.

* * *

I was disconcerted that Kataya seems to have been much more fictionalized as a character than the other people in the book, since she’s one of the most vivid and “round” characters.  I’d have liked to have known in what way she was fictionalized.  Whatever prompted her to enter the Women’s Death Brigade at such a young age, for example?

* * *

If Slogans was a motion picture, Kataya would have an Oscar for best supporting actress.  In my three novels, Kataya progressed from bratty little sister, to child soldier, a socialist activist and a combat medic, and finally the leader of a doomed village.

When I first met Kataya, she was staring out of our family portrait flanked by my young father and uncle.  Though I never really knew her name, I believe it may have been Tatianna.  Her fictional name came from a form of family equality.  My Kataya's physical features as she matured are based on my oldest sister, Donna, and her personality on my fiery baby sister, Jayne.  The honor of naming her went to my middle sister, Kathy.

Tatianna (Kataya) as she appears in the family portrait

The fictional Kataya lived through many emotional and historic events.  As a young girl she held a marauding band of deserters at bay, fought in the Woman's Death Battalion, defended the Winter Palace, and then served along side Doctor Zhivago.  She displayed an Oscar winning performance during her reunion with Doctor Farnsworth and again as she was assaulted by fellow soldiers.  But to me, her best was in the chapter where she displayed compassion for a little girl.

* * *

The tiny figure on the roadside looked like a porcelain kukla, the kind of doll Kataya had so admired in the window of an expensive Petrograd shop.  But this was no child's toy.  She was real and she was dead.  The little girl lay face up on the snowy route leading from Kyshtym.  Her angelic face was waxen and her gray eyes clouded in a milky haze.  Her blue lips were slightly apart in a grim smile and revealed perfectly formed milk teeth.  A thick red babushka was wrapped around her head and a flowered scarf, knotted off to the side, draped her neck.  The girl's bare hands were knitted across her chest and pressed atop a wooden Orthodox cross.  The remnants of last night's dusting coated her clothing in white, but Kataya could make out the heavy wool skirt that ended just above the ankles.  The lack of snow on the girl’s leg wrappings told Kataya that earlier in the day someone had removed her shoes.

* * *

The Russian girl in the story is real.  I know her only from a wartime photograph I discovered in the 1970's.  The black and white image of her still body haunted me.  There was something about her serene appearance: eyes opened, slightly parted lips and a coat with one button missing.  She could have been the girl in Schindler's List.

Photograph from the Russian front

I wanted this little girl to be remembered, if only in my novel.  It was not just her memory, but that of millions of other children who died and continue to suffer at the hand's of adult follies.

***

Kataya bent down and touched the girl's hands and offered all the solace she could.  After a solemn moment, Kataya stood and resumed walking.  If she wanted to make the next village before nightfall, she would have to hurry.  She took three steps, then hesitated and went back.  Kataya looked at the cross and began to bless herself, then abruptly stopped.  What kind of a god would allow this?  Kataya spun on her heels, adjusted her pack and resumed her journey.

* * *

This is the last photo of Tatianna (Kataya) while she still lived in Hutava.  Though she may not have experienced all the events my fictional Kataya did, the history of Russia during her time is etched deeply into her face.  To me she represents the eternal Russian Babushka.

Tatianna - 1984