Archive for June 21st, 2015


My father, I thought at first 1944, when he was age 23 (but it may be him at age 17 in 1938). My grandmother named him Vladimir Stanislaus, but the nurses wrote down William John. He spoke only Polish until age 6 when he started to NYC public schools. He was a great reader and some of my happiest memories are of him reading aloud to me — the night he read RLS ‘s “The Sire de Maltroit’s Door” and “A Lodging for the Night” remains with me.

There was a time in our middle years (he in his 50s to 60s, me in my 30s to 40s) when he and I would phone one another once a week and talk for an hour. I remember how monthly faithfully for years he’d send WBAI in NYC $200! he must have heard Amy Goodman when she did Pacifica Radio. He would have eagerly followed Bernie Sanders’ campaign.

He read British novels (and re-introduced me to Trollope by giving me a copy of The Vicar of Bullhampton in 1988), but though he read Sayer’s novels (sand liked Nine Tailors and Five Red Herrings), he disliked the snobbery and to him effete quality of her conception of Lord Peter, so might not have been keen on my pseudonym of

Miss Sylvia Drake (from Gaudy Night).

Read Full Post »