by Cliff Sakry, with editing, research and additions by Mark Keith Sakry  © 2002

An Inglorious Beginning

- Cliff Sakry reflects on his boyhood years -

As I once disconsolately had to explain to a friend who had somehow discovered the deepest, darkest secret of my boyhood years, I was born (or perhaps "launched" is a better word) with two strikes against me.  The over-zealous Polish pastor of our one-hundred-percent Polish congregation at the new St. John Cantius Catholic parish in the then ”west end” sector of St. Cloud, Minnesota, had christened me Kleofas Raymundus Sakry just ten days after I came into the world on August 27, 1914.

My parents, of course, called me Clifford Raymond (named in honor of a friend of my father’s whose name Clifford he admired)...an appellation, by the way, which proved to be only slightly less disconcerting than the baptismal version when my playmates decided it was uncommon and therefore "sissified."

In any case, the church records had me marked for life, emblazoned officially in the parish annals as Kleofas Raymundus, son of Paulus and Monika (Thomalla) Sakry.  Interestingly, since there seems to have been no equivalent of my English name in Polish, the officiating pastor, Reverend Father V.J. Wotzka, had dutifully done the next best thing and labeled me with an ”acceptable” Latin version.  Since all good Catholics had to have a proper patron saint as a namesake, he explained to my devoutly faithful parents that Kleofas was a Christian saint from Roman times whose name was as close as he could get in providing a fitting substitute for the ”heathenish” Clifford.

Years later I went to the Stearns County Court House hoping to set the record straight ... only to discover that the record there contained no name whatsoever, only the notation: ”baby boy born 27 August 1914 to Paul and Monica (Thomalla) Sakry.”

Thus it was that Kleofas Raymundus, otherwise known later by his preferred name of just plain CLIFF SAKRY (professionally) and/or Clifford Raymond Sakry (officially), first saw daylight in the tiny bedroom of the tiny frame house at 1624 Breckenridge Avenue North in St. Cloud, Stearns County, Minnesota, U.S.A., the first born of Paul Edward and Monica Sophy (Thomalla) Sakry.  I was once told by my mother's childhood playmate and lifelong friend and neighbor, Mamie (Karash) Shaefer, that my aunt, Mrs. Joseph William (Agnes Johanna Gamroth) Sakry, had Dr. Francis Schatz for delivery of my cousin Cyril who arrived just three weeks before I did ... and since we all lived in the same block as a closely related group, it can be presumed that Schatz also delivered me.

The Great Killer Flu

One of my earliest recollections as a very young boy of about four years of age was being taken by my mother to our next door neighbor, Mrs. Theodore Sobiech, to be ”baby-sat” while mother shopped for groceries.  Mrs. Sobiech would reach up in her cupboard in her bright, spick-and-span kitchen and bring out an old harmonica for me to play with.  I was fascinated with it and would make ”funny” sounds with it by the hour.

I can also recall being sick in bed with a fever, at about the same age (4), and, while recovering, being brought a big cone of ice cream by my mother.  I remember the name, Ives ice cream, and can still vividly recall the strange, flat, ”un-ice-cream-like” taste it had, probably as a result of the fever.  These were the days when the ”Great Killer Flu” took many lives, but, I am happy to report, we hardy ones survived.

Boyhood Gangdom

To say that I had an eventful, exciting, adventurous, fun-filled boyhood would be putting it mildly.  I grew up in the tightly ethnic precincts of the Polish section of the city where, under the domineering guidance of our strict, dogmatic and patriarchal pastor, the Reverend Peter J. Kroll, we were a closely-knit group of families in which children of varying ages outnumbered the adults five to one. Only a few ”outsiders” had somehow infiltrated the ranks ... a German family or two ... but their social status among all these ”polski ludzie” was understandably that of a very minor minority: tolerated but never fully and openly accepted.  But we were, for the most part, a community of Poles with so much in common ... church, school, religion, parental language, customs and traditions ... that we could find nearly everything life had to offer, right there among ourselves, at least during the early stages of our lives.

This was especially true of the young people, the growing children, who could, because of their number and close familiarity, manage to create for themselves all sorts of outlets for their endless energy, curiosity, and playful pursuits.  In my own case, along with my brothers and sisters, cousins and neighborhood playmates, we were given considerable leeway in our pursuance of childhood amusement ... so long as we observed the strict tenets of our Catholic bringing-up.  We did, of course, as most boys are inclined to do, occasionally stray beyond the limits and engage in such mischief as we could safely get by with.  When we ”swiped” pastries from the bakery delivery wagon or watermellons from the Juenemann truck farm, it wasn’t so much out of wanting something that didn't belong to us as it was the sheer adventure of a possible chase if we were discovered.  In some cases we actually made ourselves known during the act, so that the irate ”victim” would come running after us.  The pranks we played were many and varied, and at least a few of them were thoughtlessly if unintentionally severe enough to cause certain property damage and even some minor personal injury or discomfort.

Boys have an innate affinity for ganghood, and certainly we were no exception.  We always had a gang.  And, as so often happens, nearby rival gangs sprang up.  But unlike the gangs of big city ghettos which can sometimes clash in serious conflict, ours were seldom more than a lot of noisy strutting, taunting and verbal bluff ... winding up in nothing more serious than a wintry snowball fight or a summer mud-slinging ”battle” with a ”no-man's land” wide enough to safely dodge most of the missiles.

The charters, by-laws and organizational constitutions which I was destined to author in later life had an early beginning for me in this boyhood involvement with the gang.  My first effort at composing a set of by-laws goes back to my grade-school years.  I recently unearthed the original copy in my archives, done in lead pencil on a sheet of rough tablet paper about the year 1926.  Here it is, exactly as written:

Rules Regarding the Club Of the ”Red Raiders.”

Adopted by - Clifford R. Sakry (&) Cyrill Sakry.

Each member will own a set of bow & arrows.  He shall have an extra made belt, on which to secure a blunt sword and a screen mask.  He must obey orders of all officers appointed over him.  He must also wear a hunting knife at his belt. His motto must be, ”Make war on the bad, and boost all that is right.”  He must act manly, and must have the habits and abilities of a good woodsman, boatsman, bow man, sword man, hikesman, and swimmer.  He must have at least a 27 ft. rope which he carries with him at all times while on any excursion with fellow members of his club.  Each member shall have an Indian name such as Little Fox etc.  This name will be given him by the captain of the club.

• Pins must be worn at meeting. (1 round)
• No disagreeable gases from any member. (2 rounds)
• A member, wishing to speak, must address the
• chairman thus: ”Esteemed Chikasha Bone Crusher,” but must not
• speak while another member is engaged in flowery oratory. (1 round)
• Any unruly disturbance during solemn part of meeting, if there be such,
• will be considered a major violation. (2 rounds)
• A member wishing to speak must rise and be
• acknowledged by the chairman.
• During meeting, order shall prevail, all members
• remaining seated at attention. (2 rounds)
• Dues must be regular, regardless of irregular attendance.
• (Chairman is judge in this case)

TO BE CONTINUED … THIS MANUSCRIPT IS INCOMPLETE AS OF THIS PRINTING … FEBRUARY 18, 2002

See additional sheets attached from Cliff Sakry’s original typed copy!

Sincerely, Your ”Editor-In-Chief” – Mark Keith Sakry