Goodbye Dad . . .

James Gaspersich, age 69, passed away at home in Hibbing on May 13, surrounded by family. He is finally at peace after a 7 1/2 year battle with chondrosarcoma that never extinguished his dynamic spirit and zest for life.

He was born February 27, 1941, in Virginia, MN to Frank and Angela Gaspersich and graduated from Mt. Iron High School in 1959. After a short-lived career as a plumber, he attended St. Mary's School of Nursing in Milwaukee and graduated as a registered nurse in 1965. Commissioned as a 2nd Lieutenant in the U.S. Army, he served in the Army nurse corp at Letterman General Hospital in San Francisco. After his discharge from the service, he returned to the Iron Range in 1968 and continued his education at Hibbing School of Anesthesia, becoming a certified nurse anesthetist.

From there, he commenced a career in anesthesia, beginning at Hibbing General Hospital, becoming chief of the department at Mesabi Regional Medical Center, and retiring from Fairview Range Regional Health Services in 2002 due to his illness. Along the way, he found his true calling, easing the pain of others. He cherished the friendships he made with his colleagues, and was truly blessed to work in such a compassionate environment.

While employed at Hibbing General Hospital, he met his true love, Janet Nelson, on May 25, 1968. They were united in marriage two years later, on June 6th, devoting a lifetime to raising their three sons and pursuing a passion for gardening and holiday yard decorations. He was also an active part of St. Leo's parish, serving for many years on the board of trustees, and was a member of the Knights of Columbus. Throughout his retirement, he cultivated his love of woodworking, constructing countless treasures for friends and family, but still found time to enjoy the peaceful solitude of yard work or plowing the driveways of Highway 37.

James is preceded in death by his parents, Frank and Angela Gaspersich. He is survived by his wife Janet; three sisters, Angela Bauer of Milwaukee, WI, Vivian (Herb) Schur of Rochester, MN, and Dolores (Ted) Huska of Hibbing; son Paul, daughter-in-law Jennifer and their two children Griffin and Lauren, of Blaine, MN; son Mark of Warsaw, Poland; and son David of Isanti, MN; and mother-in-law Edith Nelson, of Pengilly; and numerous nieces, nephews, and cousins.

National Tragedy . . .

The whole country is in a state of complete shock as we mourn the loss of 96 government officials, including the President and first lady of Poland. Several times this past weekend, I walked down to the Presidential Palace which is about a 1/2 mile from my apartment to both pay my respects and marvel at the outpouring of emotion from what seemed like hundreds of thousands as they made the trek down to the official residence of Lech Kaczynski. This is a short video of the memorial only a few short hours after the country was given word of the catastrophe.



This shrine has now mushroomed in size since that afternoon, as most who pay their respects place a votive candle or a flower near the entrance to the grounds. You can feel the heat emanating from all the flickering torches within a hundred feet of the shrine. A view from above is the only way to get true sense of how many Poles have made the pilgrimage to mourn their leader. This video was taken yesterday at noon as the country observe two minutes of silence as sirens and bells rang through the streets.



Yesterday the President's body was driven from the airport to the palace where it will lie in state all week until the funeral on Saturday. Everything in the city came to a standstill as thousands lined the streets watching the motorcade pass by and throwing flowers at the foot of the hearse. City buses ringed the center as their normal routes were clogged with mourners and their vehicles. Hundreds on motorcycles and bicycles followed the procession after it went by.

There has been endless speculation about the cause of the accident and both black boxes have reportedly been recovered in good condition. Some point to an incident in 2008 when Kaczynski threatened a pilot after refusing to land in Tbilisi, Georgia and the political pressure to be at the ceremony commemorating the Katyn massacre. Whatever the cause, be it mechanical failure, pilot error, or a president under pressure, any efforts to establish blame won't bring back 96 people to their families.

World Cross Country Championships in Poland

I witnessed some truly breath-taking performances last weekend at the World Cross Country Championships in Bydgoszcz (BID-gohshch), Poland. This middle sized city in the northwest quadrant, located at the confluence of the Vistula and Brda Rivers, somehow landed the bid to host runners from over 50 nations in a competition to see who was the best off-road, middle-distance runner. In actuality, it ended up to be a competition to see which teams could produce the second best harriers worldwide since Kenya swept all four individual race titles, and won all four team championships at the junior and senior levels. These guys were FAST! And the U.S. women's team finished with the bronze medal in the women's senior division, but were definitely gold medalists in the aesthetically pleasing division.

Is that you John Wayne?

Again, one of those extraordinary opportunities came knocking at my door a few months ago. And by extraordinary, I mean this to be a virtually impossible occurrence for me if I was back stateside. But here in Polska, it is the land of opportunity if you happen to have the right accent. An almost surreal experience it was, but for unmentionable reasons, I decided to let this simmer for a time before publishing in the Chronicle.

Prior to getting the call up to the big show on the silver screen, my acting resume consisted of only this. My one blazing moment of profanity, err, I mean, glory. This had been a spinoff of a magazine shoot for the Warsaw Frogs rugby team, and was one of those "right place, right time" lucky breaks.

Last November, a casting agent stopped by one of our practice sessions looking for American voices for a film. Apparently there is a shortage of them here in Warsaw, or agencies just don't know where to look. In any case, this makes my terrible acting abilities in high demand as long as I can remember my lines and not take two many photos for the Chronicle while on the set. Fortunately, this role only required me to give a campy rendition of an American soldier leading his troops on a search for an escaped terrorist. My lines: "You are surrounded. There is no escape. Drop your weapon and come out with your hands up!" Later, this struck me as odd, being that the dangerous man we were on the hunt for, Muhammad, probably only spoke Arabic. But I guess you have to suspend disbelief at some point for any movie. There was also a command into a walkie-talkie "Roger that. 13.2 west." which I couldn't quite say without sounding too much like John Wayne. At least this is what the director's assistant said. What the hell does he know about John Wayne anyway? The guy grew up here. Besides, as I explained, all American soldiers think they are John Wayne anyway. I'm guessing they'll do a voiceover on that one.

Me as a commanding officer in the Marines. Now that was a stretch. But once again, throw all that logic stuff out the window when watching action movies. If Arnold can play a kindergarten teacher (Kindergarten Cop), Sly Stallone a cabbie turned country singer (He was overlooked by the Academy for Rhinestone opposite Dolly Parton), and Bruce Willis, a sperm (Look Who's Talking!), then surely I can have a turn at being a soldier.

You saw the Bourne movies right? A friend of mine, upon seeing me in these pictures, quipped: "Is this the fourth installmet in the Jason Bourne series, entitiled Bourne Retarded?" Pretty clever. I must say that I felt pretty awkward in this getup but as long as the check clears, I'm just going with it.

This filmshoot was apparently the real deal, a movie that should actually see the big screen outside Poland. It also was directed by Roman Polanski's contemporary, Jerzy Skolimowski, who was a pretty nice guy. I tried to bond with him over coffee in the make-up trailer, but he really wasn't one for small talk. Really the only thing we have in common is that we both like Poland. So we got that goin'. I'm sure he'll invite me to be his guest at Cannes.

I never got to meet the star of the show, Vincent Gallo, but apparently he really throws himself into a role and there is no limit to how far he will go to push a scene past the limits of good taste. I won't elaborate any further but this film should be pretty shocking. I'm doubting it will hit the big screen at a megaplex near you but there is some footage from when they shot the first part of the movie in Israel.

My scene consisted of me commanding a platoon of 22 Marines, including two snipers and eight German Shepherds. It was the only light moment of the whole film and if I don't end up on the cutting room floor, I will get ahold of the DVD and hope to post some footage, if for only the opportunity for my buddy Joe to heap more merciless criticism on top of my pseudo-thespian abilities. Weird times, as usual over here in Polska.

In the news . . .

Lately things have been a bit slow around here for news in Polska. We had a few people have their cars destroyed by falling icicles, right around the corner from where we live. These old buildings aren't so efficient in their insulation so you get a situation that looks like this.

People worldwide are falling in love with a wayward pooch that stowed away on an ice flow in the middle of the Baltic:

One of Poland's greatest heroes, more famous for being the world's most accomplished lifter of heavy objects (a.k.a. World's Strongest Man on ESPN) has gotten bored with the fact that giant steel balls and kegs of sand do not put up much of a fight. So Mariusz Pudzianowski, a.k.a. "Pudzian" to those familiar with his work, has entered the world of Mixed Martial Arts, or "Ultimate Fighting". Here's footage of his first fight, that was mercifully stopped before he could crack this poor guy's skull. As they as say before every episode of Desperate Housewives, viewer discretion is advised. That means you Mom!


Although we have had a harsh winter with copious amounts of fluffy white stuff, we don't tend to mix our snowsports with a healthy portion of vodka. Our opressed neighbors to the east of us, however, tend to become a bit depressed during the dark days of winter and take some drastic measures to entertain themselves. I remember doing something similar as a youngster but I was never so drunk and definitely not as high (pun intended).

Ice Capades . . .

Remember the Ice Capades? I vaguely remember attending a show at the Duluth Arena when I was a youngster. This was back when I was still harboring dreams of one day becoming a real hockey player like my heroes on the 1982 Hibbing High School hockey team. The stark realization that I was far behind my peers in the ability to streak down the ice at high speeds came to fruition during the Winter Frolic skating races during my sixth grade year. (January of 1986?)

The only reason I made the finals against the much more coordinated kids from the public schools was a pile-up in the final turn of the qualifying race that I somehow avoided being swept into. The clear-cut favorite, a gifted skater that went by the moniker "Duke", crashed and burned on that fateful day, allowing me to skate to victory, not unlike the miracle gold medal finish of Australian speedskater Steven Bradbury in the 2002 Olympics.

The other kids at St. Leo's school knew that I would be inevitably and soundly defeated the next week during the finals. The Duke had been the best hope for our tiny Catholic school to achieve vicarious glory. Their fears were confirmed. I wasn't even close, finishing a distant sixth place, but being awarded the miniscule courtesy medal that soon found its way to the bottom of my dresser drawer. Not long after suffering this crushing embarrassment, I decided to hang up my skates in favor of spending the next 6 years competing in a Speedo.

Fast forward 23 years to the recognition that only the love of a good woman could get me to put on another set of blades. What little skill I had back in the day has severely deteriorated into what one might envision if Fred Flinstone were crossed with one of the Hanson brothers. Fortunately I had the Polish Peggy Fleming to distract anyone's attention to my robotic movements.

How I took all the available sheets of ice for granted growing up. I can remember having no fewer than 6 city rinks to carve up either indoors or outdoors. This isn't quite the case here in Warsaw. Check out how unbelievably crowded open skating can be! You need to have your head on a swivel out there, lest you be taken out by another novice flailing about.

Happy Birthday Mom!