A John Guzlowski writes:
The Polish Graves in St. Adalbert's Cemetery
When I was a child back in the 1950s, some Sunday mornings in the summer after church, my parents would take us on a bus all the way to St. Adalbert's cemetery in Niles, a suburb on the far northwest side of Chicago.
My parents had left their dead in Poland and Germany. Some had been buried before the war and some were left behind where the Germans had shot them in a house or on the side of a road. So my parents would bring us to St. Adalbert's.
This was the Polish cemetery, the cemetery where they would search for the Polish names they had loved, Wladyslaw, Bronislawa, Wojciech, Zofia.
My sister and I would walk with them straightening the flowers the wind had blown over.