Life of "Dmytre Z." emerges thanks to exhibit , and some journalistic sleuthing (03/14/04)

Life of "Dmytre Z." emerges thanks to exhibit , and some journalistic sleuthing

by Yaro Bihun

"Vichnaya pamiat..."

When the last refrain of this simple, mournful funeral dirge we sing dies away into silence at the gravesite of a family member or friend, most eyes are filled with tears or, at the least, are misty. The coffin is lowered into the ground; we shower it with handfuls of dirt or flowers; linger for a while; and then regroup at the tryzna reception, where we recall his or her life and what they meant to us. We mark their passing again on the 40th day and, afterwards, on the anniversary or on the Sunday following Easter - until we have other, more pressing matters to attend to, move away, or simply forget.

Rarely do we consider the meaning of "vichnaya pamiat," as we repeat the two words in our lament, beseeching God to grant the departed "eternal memory." God, in turn, responds in kind, rarely granting our request - most of the departed are remembered, but none forever, at least not in this world. The reality is that few among us know the names of our great-grandparents, and even fewer pause to remember them every now and then.

I thought about the meaning of "vichnaya pamiat" as January drew to a close, when, browsing the Internet for Ukraine-related news, I chanced upon an article in the Village Voice by Jennifer Gonnerman about an exhibit that opened January 17 at the New York State Museum in Albany. The exhibit, "Lost Cases, Recovered Lives: Suitcases From a State Hospital Attic," profiles the lives of 12 former patients of the Willard Psychiatric Center, a century-old, state-run institution that was taken out of commission in 1995. It was located halfway down the eastern shore of Seneca Lake, about 50 miles southwest of Syracuse, N.Y. As the title suggests, the exhibit is based on the contents of patients' trunks and suitcases that had been stored and long-forgotten in the attic of one of the Willard buildings, and augmented with several years of research conducted by a team that worked with the museum's curator, Craig Williams.

Among the 12 patients, all now dead and identified in the exhibit and in the newspaper article only by their first names and last-name initials, was "Dmytre Z.", a post-World War II Ukrainian immigrant who, along with his wife, Sophia, came to Syracuse in 1949. They were well on their way in the pursuit of their "America dream" when, two years later, their dream took a tragic turn when Sophia died.

It was a fascinating and heartbreaking story, but for me it left a number of questions unanswered, the first among them: Who was "Dmytre" - or, more accurately, Dmytro - Z.?

This is his story, so that we, too, can remember him.

The initial "Z" stands for Zacharuk. The Rev. Ivan Kaszczak, pastor of St. John the Baptist Ukrainian Catholic Church in Syracuse, checked the church records and found that a Sophia Zacharuk, born in 1923, died there in November of 1951 and was buried in the parish cemetery.

An Internet search of Social Security death records confirmed that a Dmytre Zacharuk, was born in 1916 and died in 2000 - the dates noted in the exhibit. Additional phone calls to the New York State Museum's press office, exhibit curator Craig Williams, and various sources in Norwich, N.Y., where he was buried, as well as Internet searches, filled in most of the remaining gaps in the story.

Dmytro Zacharuk was born on October 28, 1916, in the heart of Hutsulschyna in the Carpathian Mountains - in Utoropy, the oldest village in the region. It lies within 10 miles of Kolomyia, which is located to the north, and such Hutsul jewels as Kosmach, Sheshory and Kosiv to the south.

His father, a poor farmer, died when Dmytro was 2, and after a few years of primary schooling, Dmytro worked the poor mountainous land as well. During World War II he was rounded up and sent to a German slave labor camp. Following the war, he passed the time in the Hellbrunn displaced persons camp in Augsburg, where he met and married Sophia. He was in his early 30s; she - in her mid-20s.

In 1949 the Zacharuks emigrated to the United States, settling down in Syracuse, with its large Ukrainian community. Things were looking up. He worked in the home-building trade; she worked as a nurse; and they were planning to get a home of their own.

In gratitude to the United States for giving them and other immigrants a chance at a new life, Mr. Zacharuk built a wooden replica of his village church in 1950 and brought it to Washington to present it to President Harry S. Truman. His large, 3- to 4-foot-high replica remained on display at the Displaced Persons Commission headquarters in Washington for a number of years.

Then, in 1951, their world was turned upside-down. Sophia Zacharuk died during a miscarriage, and shortly thereafter Dmytro began showing signs of mental instability. He claimed that he was being persecuted, just as Jesus Christ had been, and on a subsequent visit to Washington he claimed to be married to President Truman's daughter, Margaret. He was detained by the Secret Service, returned to Syracuse, where he was committed to the Syracuse Psychiatric Hospital and, in 1953, transferred to Willard.

For his first 10 years there, the staff at Willard apparently had a difficult time communicating with him, and their attempts at treating him did not produce results. In 1963, however, when they brought him into an art therapy class and placed a paintbrush in his hand, Mr. Zacharuk was transformed. They were amazed at the change it brought about in him. Painting became a great release for him, they said, and he was prolific, oftentimes producing a painting a day.

Mr. Zacharuk was released from Willard, after 24 years, in 1977 and transferred to a nearby country home. Ten years later he was transferred again, to Preston Manor in Norwich, N.Y., some 50 miles southeast of Syracuse. When his condition worsened in 1996 he was sent across the Pennsylvania border to the Ellen Memorial Healthcare Center in Honesdale, northeast of Scranton, and that is where he died on March 15, 2000.

For some reason, he was returned to Norwich for burial at Mount Hope Cemetery. No one I spoke to could tell me why, but circumstantial evidence suggests that for Mr. Zacharuk, Preston Manor had become his second home. His mural of the institution adorns its entry hall, and the staff still remembers him with fondness, according to Frank Speziale, a local photographer who helped me on this story.

Mr. Zacharuk gave away most of his paintings to staff members of the various institutions he lived in. A few remained at the Willard museum and are now on display at the New York State Museum exhibit in Albany, along with the other contents of his suitcase - photographs, books, letters, postcards, mementos and the like.

I didn't tell Mr. Speziale the story about Mr. Zacharuk when I asked him to photograph his gravesite and the mural for this story. But, not unlike my first feelings when I saw the Village Voice article, he sensed something about his subject.

"As I photograph the site, I begin to feel for this man," he wrote as he e-mailed me the first photographs. "I do not know why. It seems to have come alive. ... I know I should not get involved with my subjects, (but) who was Dymetro that lived so close to me?" he asked. (The small, metal "temporary" marker on the gravesite says "Dymetro Zacharuk. 1916-2000.")

According to the Fahy Funeral Home in Norwich, which handled the funeral arrangements, there was no family involvement during the arrangements and the funeral, and the county covered the costs.

The only evidence of family is found in letters from the late 1950s written to him and the administrators of Willard by Mr. Zacharuk's brother and two sisters from Utoropy. It is not known if they have been notified about his death.

When the Rev. Kaszczak asked his parishioners about Dmytro and Sophia Zacharuk, no one could recall them. It was, after all, some 50 years ago, and even then, they were part of the community for only a couple of years.

The Rev. Kaszczak will conduct a panakhyda memorial service at St. John's in Syracuse on Monday, March 15, the fourth anniversary of Dmytro Zacharuk's death.

Frank Speziale said he would place some flowers on his grave on that day in Norwich.

If you happen to be driving by Norwich, stop by Mount Hope Cemetery and look in on Dmytro Zacharuk. (The cemetery is located just south of town on the city limits. The gravesite is in section 40, plot 326, just to the left of a large stone marker for Clarence Dollaway.) You may well be the first Ukrainian American to do so. Tell him we remember him, albeit belatedly, and his wife, Sophia, as well.

And let him hear a refrain of "Vichnaya pamiat..."

The exhibit, "Lost Cases, Recovered Lives: Suitcases from a State Hospital Attic," will remain on display at the New York State Museum in Albany through September 19.

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