Seeing Adolf Home

Even in 1919, when Anna Gosko got her first look at him, Adolf Balaban was no matinee idol. He was an awkward, wistful little fellow with a flat face, jug ears, and old-country manners. He wasn't the smartest man in the world, either. He had been "over" from Poland for six years, had served in the U.S. Army during World War I. He had a laborer's job in a Brooklyn sugar refinery, but he could speak hardly a word of English.

Anna, a big handsome Polish girl who had a habit of getting her own way, thought he was wonderful. Adolf soon proposed. They were married and lived happily in Brooklyn for eleven years. Then Adolf evolved a wonderful plan. He would go back to Poland, sell his family's farm, bring his aged parents to the U.S. and buy a farm himself. Anna agreed.

Red Tape. Adolf went to Poland in 1931. But without Anna he was soon in difficulties. He couldn't sell the family land--there was a depression in Poland, too. And at the end of a year he also discovered that 1) being a soldier had not made him a U.S. citizen, as he had supposed; 2) he had neither a passport nor a visa; and 3) his re-entry permit had expired. He could not get back to the U.S.

Anna hurried to Poland to rescue him. She failed. Undiscouraged, she came back to the U.S., got a job as a housekeeper for a federal judge. In 1937 she went to Poland again. This time she was a naturalized citizen with a citizen's rights. She had money. With the judge's help, she had even wangled a letter of introduction to U.S. consular officials from Secretary of State Cordell Hull. But she was overwhelmed by red tape all over again, came home without Adolf and with only three dollars in her pocket.

World War II halted her plans for a third attempt to bring Adolf home. She did not hear from him for five years. But she saved her money, and when she finally got a letter from him, after V-E day, she was ready.

A Couple of Acres. Adolf had been battered by the war. He was broke; the records of his immigration case had vanished. Anna sent him clothes and money, and got a Manhattan lawyer, Polish-born Charles Czalczynski Carroll, to handle his case. When Carroll finally badgered the Polish foreign office into giving Adolf a passport, Anna sent him a $463 airline ticket to New York.

Last week, after 17 years, she finally got him, back again. Adolf still couldn't speak English, still looked bewildered. Beaming, Anna cried: "I'll have to work and save money and get him a couple of acres in the country, that's all. He likes fruit trees." Adolf beamed too.

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