Features
Return to Ukraine: searching out the Rosner family past
Introduction: Not too long ago we were contacted by former CBC Manitoba managing editor Cecil Rosner, who asked us whether we’d be interested in publishing a story about a trip he took in 2012 to visit the area in Ukraine where both his parents were born. Although it’s been 10 years since Cecil visited Ukraine, given the current situation in that country we thought it timely to get a sense of what life was like in Ukraine prior to the Russian invasion.
By CECIL ROSNER ““Oi — look at the way the schlemiel drives.”
We are bouncing along the potholed roads of Western Ukraine, heading from Lviv to my mother’s hometown of Buczacz. Our driver and guide isn’t Jewish, but that doesn’t stop him from endlessly whistling Fiddler on the Roof tunes and inserting Yiddishisms into every second phrase.
“These guys are all ganefs (thieves),” he says of the policemen we pass, as he forms his thumb and forefinger into a pistol and slowly pulls the trigger. Alex doesn’t like the speed traps the highway patrols set up, and he appreciates oncoming drivers signalling him to beware of cops just beyond the next hill. It’s an important issue for our driver, who crisscrosses Ukraine’s roads all year-long, ferrying tourists to distant towns and villages in search of their Jewish ancestors.
For Alex, who holds a history degree and is an expert at tracing genealogical roots, it’s an occupation he never dreamed he would have. But in the chaos of the Soviet Union’s collapse, when jobs were evaporating and everyone was trying to reimagine their lives, it seemed like a useful niche to pursue – especially as foreigners were finally trying to discover exactly what had happened to their relatives during the Second World War.
That’s why I’m here too, along with my wife and a cousin. Both of my parents were born in the region, and both were here when the Nazis occupied the area in 1941. In different improbable and miraculous ways, they both survived the war and emigrated to Canada. But every single other family member was shot, gassed, beaten or starved to death by the Nazis and their collaborators. We came here to see what traces of their lives remained.
It seemed logical to make our first stop the local museum, right across from the old city hall. Buczacz is little more than a village, with about 13,000 people. In the early part of the 19th century, Jews made up two-thirds of the population. While that number ebbed and flowed over the years, Jews were still in the majority when the Nazi occupation began. But that would have been difficult to discern in the museum.
In all the display cases, and in the colourful photo album that the town produces, there is no specific mention of a Jewish population. There is scarcely any reference to the Second World War, except for a notation that the town “was released from German invaders and captured by the Soviet Union.” Wouldn’t a town’s museum want to address what became of the majority of the population? What happened to thousands of farmers, shop owners, tailors, tinsmiths, doctors, lawyers and politicians? Doesn’t the mass roundup and extermination of most people in town even rate a mention?
The only hint of any Jewish presence came in the form of artifacts from the life of Shmuel Agnon, a Jewish writer born in Buczacz who won the Nobel Prize for literature. But the entire fate of the people Agnon wrote about had been erased.
Alex had little luck getting the museum’s employee to throw any light on what the town was like in the immediate pre-war period. She genuinely seemed not to know. But there were a few things I already knew.
My mother, Mina, had been born here in 1913, and her family owned a wholesale distribution company. They carbonated water and stored it in big, forty-litre copper cylinders, shipping them along with ice to shops throughout the area. When she was 25, she married my father, Michael Rosner, who came from nearby Kolomaya. In 1939, they opened a small retail store on the main town square, probably within metres of the present-day museum.
When the war broke out in September 1939, there was a reprieve. The region came under the control of the Soviets, and Jews were under no immediate threat. All that changed when Hitler marched eastward in 1941. My father was conscripted by the retreating Soviets, and my mother was trapped behind Nazi lines for the remainder of the war.
For the next three years, every member of my mother’s family – her parents, five brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles and cousins – were dragged from their hiding places, bludgeoned or shot, or sent off to be executed. They were all dumped into unmarked graves. My parents’ first-born child – my brother – also fell victim, dying at the age of three in 1942.
My mother’s survival defied any normal odds. She fled from one hiding place to another, escaping just in time to avoid capture. She spent 11 months in the attic of a Polish family along with five other Jews. She took an assumed name and boldly convinced the Nazis she was Christian. Finally, after Buczacz was liberated, she re-united with my father and they came to Canada to start anew in 1948.
I had been to Buczacz once before, with my mother, in 1990. We came with a documentary crew to record her first visit back home since the war. It was an emotional trip and a difficult one for both of us. But we learned very little of the actual events that had transpired in the town, or the exact locations where they happened. That’s why, nearly 15 years after my mother’s death, I was returning for a second time.
I convinced Alex that our best strategy on this trip would be to find older people and ask them what they knew about the 30s and 40s. Alex seemed skeptical. For one thing, the war had begun more than 70 years ago, so it was unlikely there would be any useful first-hand witnesses at hand. And there was also the collective amnesia that pertained to inconvenient truths.
After all, a segment of the population had actively collaborated with Hitler. They were instrumental in helping identify and round up the Jews, the Communists, and all the other elements the Nazis wanted to destroy. Some might still be living in Buczacz and surrounding areas. Their children and grandchildren almost certainly are here.
The museum’s employee finally gives us a sliver of hope. There is someone in town we should visit – someone who knows the history and might be able to help us. His name is Mykola.
We drive for a few minutes and stop at Mykola’s house. I am expecting to find an elderly man who may have been a teenager during the war. Instead, we come upon a 40-something man in sweatpants and a Maple Leafs T-shirt. He is clutching a handful of papers and photographs. One of them shows a photo of Buczacz’s surviving Jews standing beside a memorial gravestone in 1944. Out of the original population of 10,000, no more than 100 survived. One of the people in the photo is my mother.
Mykola has taken an interest in wartime history, and now helps visiting tourists locate family remnants. He has a variety of interesting documents, including a map of pre-war street names, and a mid-19th century register of townsfolk. It turns out that he knows about some of the Jewish families that lived in Buczacz during the war – a handful of them have returned over the years, and he has helped them find their old homes and landmarks.
We ask Mykola if he could help solve a puzzle my mother and I couldn’t figure out on our previous trip. Her family had lived on a street called Zeblickevicie, which had changed names several times after the war. From her description, though, we knew it was beside a stream that ran into the Strypa River, a subsidiary of the Dniester.
We pile into the car along with Mykola and he directs us to the location. The stream had been covered over, except at the point where it emptied into the Strypa. Though the original home was no longer there, he shows us the exact location where my mother’s family had lived. I saw the idyllic surroundings, the lush vegetation around the quiet river, and for the first time I had an inkling of the peaceful life my mother experienced before the war changed everything.
While we were all walking along the old Zeblickevicie street, Mykola bumps into a friend and exchanges a few words with him. As we walk on, the friend stops my wife, Harriet, and our cousin Nina and says: “Mina Rosner – I am a Witness.” That is the name of my mother’s book. Alex is impatient. He had rich experience of locals trying to pester visitors, and he was eager to move us all along. But Harriet and Nina persist. It turns out the man on our chance encounter knows all about my mother’s story, and offers to take us on a tour of where she lived, where she went to school, where she hid during the war, and where her family members were killed.
Over the next 24 hours, Alex grudgingly admits he was wrong. Our serendipitous encounter has linked us up with Jura, a 60-year-old retired computer technician, astrologist and local historian. He knows my mother’s exact birthdate, and, it appears, everyone else’s in town. He has a photocopied version of my mother’s book, and he has pieced together her recollections with precise locations of many of the events she describes. If photographic memories actually exist, we figure he has one. He is a visiting tourist’s dream come true, and Alex has to take a back seat while Jura takes us on a remarkable tour of my mother’s life.
The first stop is just around the corner, on a street that used to be called Chechego Maya. I remember it from my mother’s stories, but we could never pinpoint it on our previous trip. Jura shows us the building where my mother’s sister and her husband ran a hardware shop. He knows the address because it’s listed in trade publications of the era. Though my mother’s original house and her parents’ store no longer existed, I finally had an authentic touchstone of some of her family’s life at the time.
Jura takes us to the pre-war building on Kolejowa Street that served as the cheder, the religious school, where Jewish kids studied. We visit the girls’ school and middle school where my mother was a student, and walk into Buczacz’s Sokol theatre, where she watched dramatic performances and movies as a teenager. A group of children is rehearsing a musical concert on stage, and I can imagine my mother sitting in the auditorium with her brothers and sisters and friends.
Just down the road, near an orchard, Jura shows us the garden of a long-ago demolished home where my mother hid during one of the Nazi aktions, or periodic killing sprees. A bunker had been constructed in the cellar, and this helped shield her and other Jews from capture. The Nazis conducted four major aktions during their occupation of Buczacz before declaring the town Judenrein, or completely free of Jews. But the declaration turned out to be false. My mother, along with dozens of others, managed to survive with the aid of courageous gentile families who risked their safety to shelter them.
In the middle of our travels, Jura pulls out a sheet of typewritten names – people who had served as policemen, gendarmes and SS officers during the war. I recognize some of the names. Some of the Nazi war criminals and their collaborators have been brought to justice, but the vast majority remain undetected and untried for their crimes.
We go to the Jewish cemetery, where many of the town’s Jews – including my mother’s parents – were taken to be executed. The place is untended and overgrown, a jumble of brush and junk, with headstones in various states of disrepair. We find my great-grandmother’s grave. It’s significant, because two plots over my mother buried her first-born child, Isaac, in an unmarked plot. I clear away the branches and debris from the group of headstones in the area to get a better view. I bend down and touch the ground where the brother I never met is buried. Exactly 70 years later, someone has come back to this place to remember.
Jura takes me down a path through brambles to a spot where survivors had erected a memorial to the war’s victims. The place is overgrown with trees and bushes now, but he says there was nothing here before the war. The marker no longer survives, and even if it did, it’s unlikely anyone would be able to find it without an expert guide.
Our next stop is Fedor Hill, another killing ground where thousands perished. It’s difficult to see traces of anything here, but Jura once again guides us to a marker commemorating the killing of 450 people during the early days of slaughter in 1941. It had been erected by a survivor’s family well after the war.
A far more prominent memorial on Fedor Hill is dedicated to the UPA, the Ukrainian Insurgent Army, the military wing of a movement that initially collaborated with the Nazis in hopes of winning an independent homeland. In fact, throughout our travels in Western Ukraine, there were numerous new memorials to Ukrainian nationalist fighters in places where it might have been logical to place markers noting the victims of the Nazi era. We saw this on the side of a synagogue in Ivano-Frankivsk, near the Jewish ghetto entrance in Lvov, and many other places. In my father’s hometown of Kolomyia, it was a similar story — no mention of Jews or Nazi victims in the local museum, no remnants of the huge Jewish population, and a patriotic memorial to Ukrainian nationalist figures on the site of a former synagogue. In the re-written history of today, the UPA and its related Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists are presented as groups that fought both Soviets and Nazis; no mention is made of the collaboration in 1941 that led to so much destruction during the war.
Throughout our trip to Ukraine, we were reminded of the upcoming election campaign and the ever-present imagery of Ukrainian nationalism, especially in the Western part of the country. In a land that was exercising its brand of democratic activity, we had to wonder how thoroughly the country had come to grips with its recent history. Many countries are wrestling with related questions, trying to reconcile horrendous events of the past with a way forward. But as in any process or truth and reconciliation, there needs to be an initial recognition of what took place. Erasing and denying the past is rarely the path to building a healthy future.
At the end of our tour in Buczacz, Jura wanted to know the exact date of my mother’s death. He also was interested in our birthdates and any other information he could glean from us. In a country that chooses to forget so much, he was something of an anomaly.
Features
“A Brilliant Life” – biography of one Holocaust survivor who, like so many other survivors, married someone just to try to establish some sense of normalcy
Book Review by JULIE KIRSH, “former Sun Media News Research Director
In 1946 my parents met, fell in love and married. In 1947 they had their first child. This was not unusual. However, they were 20 years apart in age.
After World War II, Holocaust survivors who had lost everything – family, home and community, sought to rebuild their lives by marrying, having children and restoring their shattered lives.
They wanted to experience normality which meant having a spouse, children and recreating a family that had been lost in the flames of the Holocaust.
The survivors were few in number so age difference, religious background or compatibility were not as crucially scrutinized as before the war.
The author of “My Brilliant Life’s” grandmother, Genya, whose family was from Poland, married young and was told by her religious father-in-law that she had to wear a sheitel or wig. Genya balked, but since all other Jewish observances were met, the marriage was sanctioned
Genya and her husband Dolfie had five children. The youngest child was Mira, mother of the author, Rachelle Unreich, who has written poignantly of her family’s history in “A Brilliant Life.”
In 2017, in Melbourne, Australia, 88-year-old Mira Unreich was diagnosed with cancer. Her journalist daughter, Rachelle, knew that time was limited and so she interviewed her mother extensively, to learn about her life before, during and after the Holocaust.
As her mother recounts, the transports started in Slovakia in March 1942, when Mira was one month shy of fifteen.
Dolfie, Mira’s father, was clever and prescient. He obtained false Christian papers for Mira and sent her to rent a room and work for a fabric store owner. He also told his family repeatedly that if they were in danger, each person should look after themself. Many times he said, you must “just save yourselves”.
By the end of August 1944, the noose around the family had tightened. Slovakia was not a safe haven for Jews and the end was imminent for the remaining Jewish families in Dolfie’s town. One day, SS officers burst into their home and shot Dolfie in front of his wife Genya, son Yanchi, and daughter Mira. This tragedy shadowed the lives of the family up to the present.
In Melbourne, Mira met and married Pavel, who was thirteen years her senior. Again, the match was not as much a love match, but for Mira it was a chance to have security and comfort after all that she had gone through in the Holocaust.
When Mira married in 1946, she was only 19 years old. Like my own 22-year-old mother – who married a man 20 years older than herself, Mira was fun-loving and strove to make up for lost time.
Less than two years after liberation, Mira gave birth to a son and then two daughters. The family moved to Paris, where Mira enjoyed everything the City of Lights had to offer. Pavel, on the other hand, was serious, less social, and more of an observer than a participant in life.
In 1959, Australia seemed remote and safe, a vast land of opportunity with a citizen army that was founded as an entity to defend all her people regardless of race or religion. At the time, Australia hosted the largest community of Holocaust survivors in the world outside of Israel. By 1960, Holocaust survivors and their families made up 60% of Melbourne’s Jewish community.
Eventually, Pavel left Mira and the family and died in Belgium, never remarrying. Mira met Manny, eleven years her senior, whose family had also experienced tragedy in the Holocaust. They were drawn to each other. In 1966, Rachelle, the author of A Brilliant Life, was born.
The title of the book reflects the kind of person Mira was. She was affectionate, considerate, and a capable mother who accommodated her children’s needs.
Mira, like most Holocaust survivors, had a number tattooed on her arm. As children of survivors, we see the tattoo as a blight and painful reminder. However the author had another insight. For her, the tattoo designated someone who could work and more importantly – had been chosen to live.
As a child of survivors, I have asked myself the question that the author asks Mira in Chapter 37: Why had she survived when so many others had not? The author believes that her mother had a purity, a spiritual honesty, that drew others to her, and that ultimately helped her to survive.
Mira was honoured by her children in death as she was in life. The words on her tombstone were stark and plain spoken: “She witnessed her father murdered by the Nazis/Her mother, brother and sister were killed in the Holocaust/She survived four concentration camps/yet she still loved her life with an unwavering positive attitude.”
My father survived Auschwitz and Buchenwald. Like Mira, he was a positive, happy man, who loved his family and adopted country. Mira, like my father, had seen the worst of humanity, yet they both chose to concentrate on the best of it.
Why is this Holocaust memoir different from others? Trauma runs deep and very often defines the post Holocaust lives of many survivors. For Mira, her trauma was superseded by her innate resilience, her strength of character and her capacity to overcome tragedy. Her hopeful nature gave sustenance and meaning to her family.
This is a story that resonated for me personally, underscored by the universal themes of love and hope common to all.
“A Brilliant Life”
by Rachelle Unreich.
Published by Black & White Publishing, 2023
Features
Tiblisi, Georgia – a new hotbed for dental tourism, especially for Israelis
Introduction: A few weeks ago we received an interesting email from someone who asked whether we would consider publishing a story about dental tourism in Georgia (not the Georgia in the U.S. – the Georgia that is a former Soviet republic). In that email we were told that Georgia has become an especially popular destination for Israelis looking for quality dental care at affordable prices. So we responded: Go ahead and send us something.
The author of what you’re about to read, whose name is Constantin Dicusar, admits that English is not his first language, so he asks that you forgive any awkward phrasing. But I’m sure that, if you read at least part of this story you’ll be intrigued by what he has to say about a part of the world that I doubt many of our readers know much about.
By CONSTANTIN DICUSAR Tbilisi, Georgia, is the latest destination for Jews from all over the world seeking dental tourism. Dr. Iza Dzidzikashvili, co-founder of a dental clinic in Tiblisi, says: “Jews come from all over the world and choose Georgia because of the low level of anti-Semitism, the low prices and the high quality, as well as the good relations between Israel and Georgia.”
Georgia is a country in the South Caucasus that is relatively little known in the West and in Canada. In 1991, it declared its independence from the USSR, becoming one of the first Soviet union republics to break away from the former imperial power, which was to collapse a year later.
Although it has only very recently chosen to pursue the path of European integration, Georgian society had already distinguished itself long before independence as a nation with deep-rooted Christian-European cultural and civilisational values. Georgian hospitality bears many similarities to that of Moldova, and Georgian wines, renowned throughout the world, have made Georgia the cradle of global winemaking.
Georgian wines are believed to have an 8,000-year-old tradition based on the unique method of fermentation in clay vessels called qvevri, which are included in UNESCO’s Intangible Cultural Heritage list. Among other interesting facts, Georgia was one of the first nations in the world to adopt Christianity as its state religion, in the 4th century.
More recently, Georgia has also managed to build a strong reputation in another sector: international dental tourism. Tens of thousands of tourists from all over the world visit Georgia every year – particularly the capital, Tbilisi – to combine sightseeing with dental treatment.
According to Georgia Today, the majority of foreign tourist-patients come from neighbouring countries or the wider region (Russia, Azerbaijan, Armenia, as well as from the Middle East – Israel, Qatar, Kuwait and Saudi Arabia). In recent years, Georgia has also become a magnet for many people from Europe and the US. Jews – both Israeli citizens and Jews from the Diaspora and around the world – represent a distinct group of patients who have chosen Georgia for dental services.
Read more about this in the exclusive interview conducted with Dr Iza Dzidzikashvili, a dentist, practising surgeon and co-founder of Bucho Denti in Tbilisi, Georgia:
Constantin Dicusar (for jewishpostandnews.ca): When was Bucho Denti founded, and who is behind the project? Tell us more about how your story began.
Dr. Dzidzikashvili: First of all, welcome, and thank you very much for your interest in our clinic. Bucho Denti was founded in 2000 by sisters Iza and Tea Dzidzikashvili and Vasif Aliyev. Today, all three are among the leading dental specialists in Tbilisi. Since we were already three experienced specialists, we decided to create an environment where patients could feel comfortable, safe, and confident, while receiving the highest standard of dental care. This philosophy became the foundation of Bucho Denti and continues to guide our development today.
Constantin Dicusar: What do you know about international dental tourism in the Caucasus region, and specifically in Georgia and Tbilisi?Dr. Iza Dzidzikashvili, dentist, surgeon practicing and co-founder of Bucho Denti: International dental tourism has been growing significantly in the Caucasus region, and particularly in Georgia. One of the main reasons is Georgia’s combination of hospitality, safety, high-quality dental care, and affordability. Dental standards in Georgia are comparable to European standards, while treatment costs are more accessible than in many other countries. This combination of quality, safety, affordability, and comfort has created growing interest among international patients.
Constantin Dicusar (The Jewish Post & News reporter): How has international dental tourism changed your operational, staffing, sales, and marketing strategie
Dr. Dzidzikashvili: The growth of international dental tourism significantly changed our vision and the way we operate. One of our main goals became to reduce the overall treatment time as much as possible — without compromising quality. We developed our infrastructure and workflows to allow patients to complete their treatment efficiently while maintaining a high standard of care. We also introduced complete treatment packages that can include hotel accommodation, airport transfers, and other services international patients may need. Our goal is to make patients feel safe, comfortable, and supported throughout their entire stay. We also incorporated tourism into the experience, giving patients the opportunity to explore Georgia and travel during their treatment period.
Constantin Dicusar: Did you envision engaging in international dental tourism right from the time the clinic was established, or did that come about later?
Dr. Dzidzikashvili: To be honest, we had always considered the idea of working with international patients. However, this direction developed much more actively as demand for international dental treatment increased. We adapted and developed our services according to the needs of international patients.
Constantin Dicusar: Tell us more about your staff. In which languages do you communicate with your international patients, and does the multilingual staff include dental assistants as well as the doctors themselves?
Dr. Dzidzikashvili: Our doctors have decades of professional experience, with some of our specialists having more than 30 years of experience. Our team communicates with international patients in English. To make the experience even more comfortable, we also provide communication support in Hebrew and Arabic, including professional interpreters. For us, it is very important that patients understand every stage of their treatment clearly and feel comfortable throughout the process.
Constantin Dicusar: Let’s also talk about international patients: which countries do most of them come from, and which dental services do they seek out most often? We know from reports originating in Israel and Georgia that Tbilisi has become an increasingly popular dental destination, frequently chosen by Jewish patients as well. Have you observed this trend at your clinic? If so, which countries do most of these Jewish patients come from?
Dr. Dzidzikashvilii: Yes, we have definitely noticed this trend, and the number of Jewish patients has been increasing every year. We would like to point out that the majority of our Jewish patients are citizens of Israel; they come from Israel. One important factor is the relatively short travel time between Israel and Tbilisi — approximately 2 hours and 30 minutes. Dental treatment in Georgia is also more affordable compared with Israel. Georgia is already well known and popular among Israeli travelers, so patients are generally familiar with the country and feel more confident about choosing it for treatment. After Israel, the United Kingdom is another important market for us, followed by different European countries. We have also treated Jewish patients from Canada, which shows that interest in Georgia is not limited to one or another particular country. The most common treatments requested by international patients are full-mouth rehabilitation, dental implants, and zirconia crowns.
Constantin Dicusar: Do you think that the good relations between Israel and Georgia, along with the low level of antisemitism in Georgia, encourage Jewish patients—particularly Russian-speaking Jews from across the former Soviet Union—to choose Georgia for such services?
Dr. Dzidzikashvili: Of course, the long-standing friendship and positive relationship between Georgia and Israel is very important. This relationship helps Israeli patients feel safe and comfortable when choosing Georgia for treatment. When a patient travels to another country for medical care, price and quality are not the only factors that matter. Trust, safety, communication, and the overall environment are equally important. We believe that the strong relationship between Georgia and Israel contributes significantly to this sense of trust.
Constantin Dicusar: What strategies do you plan to develop over the coming years to grow international dental tourism? Are you considering becoming more attractive destination for Jewish people from Canada and USA who are looking for dental services that are more affordable than those in their home countries?
Dr. Dzidzikashvili: In the future, our goal is to create a large-scale international dental center where everything is available in one place. We envision a facility combining a dental clinic, hotel, and restaurant, creating a comfortable environment specifically designed for international patients. Our vision is for patients to receive high-quality dental treatment, relax, enjoy their stay, and, if they wish, explore Georgia — all as part of one complete experience. At the same time, we are actively working to make Bucho Denti better known internationally and to reach more patients who could benefit from our services. Our main goal is to offer international patients accessible treatment while maintaining European-level standards of dental care.
Constantin Dicusar: Finally, we would like to turn our attention once more to Georgia and Tbilisi as tourist destinations. You are likely aware that in Europe—particularly in the western part—the worrying rise of antisemitism has limited the options available to Jewish travelers seeking dental tourism. Budapest remains the dental capital of Europe and is well-known within the Jewish community; more recently, Romania, Moldova, and perhaps Riga (Latvia) have also emerged as options, each offering distinct advantages and tourism amenities. From this perspective, what can Georgia and its capital, Tbilisi, offer? What makes Georgia unique as a destination compared to the others?
Dr. Dzidzikashvili: Compared with the countries you mentioned, one of Georgia’s main advantages is the combination of more affordable dental treatment with European-level quality. Another important advantage is the availability of complete treatment packages, including dental care, accommodation, transfers, and other services. Georgia is also an attractive tourism destination. Patients can combine their dental treatment with the opportunity to explore beautiful places, experience Georgian culture, and discover the country. Safety is another important factor. Georgia is a relatively small country, which contributes to a well-controlled environment, and the level of crime is relatively low. Ultimately, we believe that the combination of quality, affordability, safety, hospitality, and tourism opportunities gives Georgia a unique position. Our goal is that when an international patient comes to Georgia, they receive not only high-quality dental treatment, but a complete, safe, comfortable, and well-organized patient experience from beginning to end.
Features
Buck In Situ: A Dog Story
By DAVID TOPPER I suppose the first thing I should say is that, although this is a true story, it’s not about a real dog. (That may be obvious if you look at the picture accompanying this tale.) Yes, the dog – a wooden statue – is Buck.
I do want to explain what “in situ” means. For those who know the term, it betrays the fact that I was a teacher of art history before I retired. It’s a Latin term that refers to an art object being in its original or natural place. For example, the famous Elgin Marbles (statues of Greek gods, goddesses and other mythological figures), which are prized objects in the British Museum in London, were taken by Lord Elgin from the Acropolis high over Athens in Greece, in the early 19th century. If the museum ever returns the statues (as Greeks have been demanding them to do for years), and if the statues were then placed back on the Acropolis – then they would be “in situ.”
All this has been my way of introducing you to a story about a little statue that has been sitting in my home ever since my late wife, Sylvia, and I returned from a trip to Jamaica many years ago.
Here’s Buck’s story. One afternoon during our vacation on the island, we went to an Art Fair. I was particularly interested in wooden carvings. There was a long line of tables, end to end, with different carvers showing off their wares. As we walked along the tables, among the different carvers, I was dumbfounded because they were all carving the same statues! Different artists: same statues. The statues were of some local deities; none of whom I had any interest in taking back home – no matter what magic it could perform.
Sylvia and I were baffled as we strolled along the long row, eventually coming to the end. Then, lo and behold: the last carver was carving different statues – not necessarily of gods. Coming across his table filled with a wide variety of subjects was a breath of fresh air.
Of course, the first thing I asked him was why everyone else was carving the same things. His answer was simply that they thought that was what tourists wanted, and they were afraid to try anything else. I asked him why he was not afraid. He said he was afraid; nonetheless, he would be bored doing the same thing over and over – even if he made more money.
By now you can see where this story is going. It was among his wares, on the last table, that I saw the statue of the dog – which I immediately fell for. Sylvia, a dog lover, fell for it, too, and hence we bought it. I don’t recall the price, or if we haggled over it. But what I do remember – and why I am telling this story – is this. While talking with him and watching him at work, I noticed the way he was squinting. I asked him about this, and he said his eyes were not what they used to be, that he needed glasses but he couldn’t afford them.
At the time, I was in an early stage of permanently wearing glasses. Having gone through various stages of over-the-counter reading glasses during the previous decade or more, I was now wearing my first prescription glasses. I gave them to the carver to try on, and he said they were too strong. “Good,” I said. I told him I had several pair of different power reading glasses at home, which I had used before I got these. I’d be pleased to mail him those glasses, which perhaps could get him through the next decade or more. He gave me his address, and that’s when I found that his name – or, maybe, it was his nickname – was Buck.
“Would you mind if I name the dog Buck?” I asked – because I liked that name for the dog. He had no problem with that, and hence Buck it was, and Buck it always will be.
Not long after we got home, I mailed a box of glasses to Buck. Although I had my return address on the box (in case it got lost) I never heard from him. I didn’t expect to; yet occasionally I talk to my Buck and tell him that I hope the Buck whom he is named after, is still using a pair of the glasses I sent him. It would be comforting to know. My Buck agrees, I trust.
From the photo you can see that Buck sits at the foot of a staircase. Those stairs start in the front entrance of our home and go to the second floor. Buck not only stands on-guard, watching all who enter the house, but he also plays the following role. If I want to remind myself of something without having a paper and pencil handy, I just turn Buck around – say, on my way upstairs for the night. In the morning, coming down the stairs, I see that Buck is reminding me to do something. Although, I must confess, sometimes I can’t recall exactly what it was!
Finally, I live in Winnipeg, Canada. I know that’s far from the island of Jamaica, but here Buck has become a part of our life. All the family knows that if Buck is turned around – it means something! I therefore believe that it’s not stretching the terminology t-o-o much by calling this memoir: “Buck In Situ: A Dog Story.” To me, Buck is right where he belongs.
David R. Topper writes in Winnipeg, Canada. His work has appeared in Mono, Poetic Sun, Discretionary Love, Poetry Pacific,Academy of theHeart & Mind, Altered Reality Mag. and elsewhere.
His poem Seascape with Gulls: My Father’s Last Painting won first prize in the annual poetry contest of CommuterLit Mag – May 12, 2025.
