Legacy

Iwan Alexseyevich Karpenko. (Иван Алексей Карпенко)

Spell check is telling me that name is a typo, but it's actually the real name of the coolest Russian man I know. My Dedushka. My grandfather.


He was born in 1921 the Former Soviet Union near Moscow. From what we guess and hear, he had at least 5 or so brothers and sisters, all of whom were well off and educated. He was a brilliant man. 


He was a pilot in the Soviet Air Fleet during WWII. It was during the time when Russia was invading Germany, and he was shot down over Austria. Of the group of planes that were shot down, he was one of a few that survived.

Tradition mandated that if you were shot down and lived to tell about it, it was a matter of honor to take your own life. Kind of like how the captain of a ship would kill himself instead of see his ship go down. Well, my grandpa wouldn't take the cyanide pill. He wouldn't shoot the gun, or whatever it was they wanted him to do. 
He was taken as a prisoner in a POW camp in Austria - he lived through terrible things, including being tortured and starved and who knows what else. He lost all contact with his family when this happened - and never saw them or heard from them again.

Meanwhile, meet my Bobushka. My grandmother, Valentina Savastekjo. She came from a family of farmers in the Former Soviet Union - I'm told she was Ukranian or Yugoslavian, I'm not really sure. They were poor..my grandma's father worked on railroads and they grew just enough food to feed their family. Then, as Stalin's regime began taking land from their own people, they were literally chased off their own property by the Soviets - they were shooting and dropping bombs right behind them as the family ran for their lives! Imagine that...the sheer terror must have been maddening. Willing your legs to carry you faster, just waiting for the explosion to make everything go black. 


As they ran, there was a rail car that everyone was scrambling toward that would take them away to relative safety. This would've been their ollie-ollie-oxen-free, their refuge...and they didn't make it. They got caught. They were brought to an Austrian concentration camp and exposed to who knows what for I honestly don't know how long. 


Iwan and Valentina would never have met each other had they stayed safely in their respective parts of Russia. A wealthy, educated family would have no dealings with peasants. My dad always made the comment that our name was "a good Russian name" - I always just thought it was one of his dad jokes, but he was right. Karpenkos in Russia were almost aristocratic. But the Lord knew what he wanted to do with them.


Iwan was released from the POW camp in 1947. Somehow, the Lord worked it out, and he met Valentina, the beautiful young woman that was just released from her camp as well. And Iwan knew love when he saw it.


He wanted to marry her right away, but my grandma wouldn't marry him unless he believed in Jesus and was baptized. Beautiful women have a way of motivating men sometimes, and Iwan was baptized in the Rhine River in Austria. He talked Valentina's father into letting her marry him - he promised to take her far away from Europe, far away from the horrors they had gone through, and make sure she remained safe. He let her go, and Iwan and Valentina, whose wedding picture is above, fled to Buenos Aires, Argentina. Did I mention my grandfather commandeered a plane to do this? Yeah. He was awesome. 


They settled in a new place with a new language with a new culture and new people group with no money.Now Russians, to the best of my understanding, are typically a quiet people - the older, conservative ones are plain, to the point, and to themselves. Argentina? The opposite. But they were vivacious and ambitious and learned Spanish, had 4 children, and began a life there. My dad was one of the children raised in Argentina, mastering Russian and Spanish as a kid (my dad inherited the brilliant gene from his parents).

They relocated to San Francisco, California, in 1960 - my grandfather was the editor of a Russian newspaper there. In 1965, he helped relocate this paper to West Sacramento, where they settled and had their last child. He maintained the use of the Linotype printing press for the paper - he could read and write in many languages, I'm told. He was also a baker for a major grocery store chain, and did that for many years until he retired. 


One of the coolest things I remember of him was the wood shop he built in his backyard - I remember following him around sweeping wood chips while he worked. I would put his screwdrivers away and open his drawers and explore everything. It made me feel special when he showed me how to work his machines. I spent hours in that shop, and to this day, the smell of wood reminds me of him. 


My grandpa taught me how to tie my shoes. He also gave me and my brother haircuts until we were 12. Mostly they worked out. I only cried once because he cut it really short. Every Saturday, we were always going to Bobushka and Dedushka's house for lunch - oh, the LUNCH! Russian food holds a special place in my heart (more accurately, my stomach?). My grandma would make dough and make these huge rectangular pizzas (which were always our favorite), piroshki, borscht, pilmeni, and so much more. I miss it. My grandma kept up a garden - beautiful flowers, vegetables (in her accented English, she always 
pronounced it "koo-cumbers" instead of cucumbers), and fruit trees. I loved following her around while she told me about her flowers. Even when I knew the story of what each flower was, I still wanted her to tell me one more time what it was and when it bloomed.

Even up until the last years of my grandpa's life, he talked about going back to San Francisco and seeing the street he lived on and the church he attended. My grandma took care of him until she died in 2006. They are some legendary people who lived through tragedy to create a legacy. They had 5 children and 10 grandchildren.


I'm proud of my heritage. I'm proud of my name. My good, strong Russian name.