Marie Barbara (Danek) Papp | 1942–2023

My lovely, dear, sweet mom, Marie, died yesterday morning. 💔 

Arrangements via Paul Henney in Bethel Park: https://www.henneyfuneralhome.com/obituary/Marie-Papp.

I'd be really pissed off if my mom croaked today.

Funny story (not really) - I was born with some innate (not inane...) love of bicycles that went beyond the normal fascination that most kids have with two-wheeled fun machines. Born in Ohio, bred in Pittsburgh, nowhere in my family on either side was there a connection to competitive cycling. Baking, yes. Irish citizenship, yes. The Czech language, yes. Europe, yes; and so-on. But there was nothing familial to link me to cycling. Nor was there anything environmental. I mention having seen a BMX movie on TV when I was five or six, and LeMond in the Tour in a brief news segment in '86, but long-before then, when I was riding around the neighborhood we lived-in in Seven Hills, OH, the bike was something more for me than it was for most. What's ironic, of course, is that the predetermination that saw me born with bike lust, forgot to include the physical attributes that would allow me to translate my other-worldly desire to race bicycles (before I even knew that the sport existed) into a lucrative revenue stream that would set me up financially for life. Now granted, I had the gift of a naturally very fast finish, a VO2 of 75-76, the ability to sit big on the bike but always be smooth, and - as noted; as admitted to - an incredible desire to bike, bike bike - to race, race, race.  Trying not to appear totally immodest, I was really smart, too, though as many point out, book smarts doesn't equal street smarts doesn't equal common sense. And I was brash - cocky. All of this thrown together and mixed into a cocktail, served-up after my dad died in '89, would have produced a drink that deserved the name, not of "Kamikaze," but rather a "goddamn suicide bomber!" As in, "Bartender, gimme a 'goddamn suicide bomber!', and make it a double!" -- the ending wasn't going to be pleasant, no matter how sweet (or at least stimulating) that first taste was.

I only got into racing because my Uncle Jim, who died last year (rest in peace), felt sorry for my lame-ass and bought me a road bike. He probably thought I had enough common sense to enjoy riding for fun but would utilize my real competitive advantage, my intelligence, to make a successful career in business - maybe even as that diplomat or spook I'd intended to become. Unlike his brother who he'd just buried, he didn't realize that my book smarts and burgeoning street smarts were totally cut-off from any significant amount of common sense. I mean, who wouldn't seriously contemplate throwing away a near full academic scholarship to a respected public university to race bikes, represent one's country and travel the world?

At the time, that was how I thought...that doing the abnormal was somehow normal or "right" - which it was for me, in my mind, in many cases. LOL. Alas, this caused so much friction between me and my long-suffering mom. She'd just lost her husband, was thrown into a world she was totally not prepared for (widowed mother of two boys, one of whom was hell-bent on becoming a pro bike racer in Europe), and just wanted to ensure that life wasn't turned upside-down any more than it already had been (I'm sure she worried about putting food on the table and managing the family's money and so on). Outside Magazine actually got at least one thing right, as their interviewer wrote: 

"...I could almost identify with Papp's sense of loss. What cycling freak hasn't envisioned himself living the high life of a top European racer? Unlike most of us, though, Papp had the talent to put himself dangerously close to his dream. Growing up in the town of Bethel Park, Papp displayed loads of potential: He won four junior state road-racing titles and built his reputation as a sprinter, specializing in shorter or flatter races. He did it without much family support. His mother was a widow and hoped Joe and his younger brother, David, would stick to simple pursuits like the Boy Scouts.

"Joey was so precocious, and I wondered how he got into cycling at all," she says. "It was so outside of what we did."

Like another Pennsylvania prodigy—Floyd Landis—Papp started climbing through the ranks. Landis, originally a mountain-bike racer, ultimately caught the attention of the elite European-based road squads. Papp toiled for also-ran teams sponsored by a local hospital chain and Franco Harris, the former Pittsburgh Steelers running back. In 1995 he was invited to a one-race tryout alongside Tyler Hamilton on a rebuilt team that would become the Lance Armstrong–led U.S. Postal Service squad. Papp didn't make the cut..."

Like I said, that caused a lot of friction, but thankfully, in the past few years, my mom and I have done a lot to reconcile our relationship and find a common ground. In fact, she's been a big supporter of mine as I go through the process of trying to transform a doping positive and the implosion of a fantasy life into something sustainable. To say that I have come to love and appreciate her in a way I didn't before would be an understatement.

Thus, imagine my horror when I tried to ring my mom on her mobile today and found out she was in hospital, having been admitted late last night, and facing emergency surgery. I am mad as hell that she didn't call me last night and let me know what was happening, but her entire persona is built around being supportive of others, and not adding her woes to theirs. I would argue in this case that it would have been perfectly acceptable to call me or my brother, but some things you can't change - at least in others. So... I'm writing this while driving back to town, waiting to hear an update on her condition, hoping that when I do arrive she's ok. I'm starting to think that I had a karmic debt that was built with the same structure as some of the more exotic mortgages that caused the housing collapse - 10+ years of pretty blissful living, followed by three years of what seems to me, by comparison, a hell - on - earth.

If there are grammar, punctuation, spelling or composition errors in this, sorry - Blogger via Gmail via T-Mobile via BlackBerry in an Audi (with a stick shift) is probably a triple-felony in Alabama. No lessons here or moral preachiness...just a belting out of some strong memories interlaced with some very real, present-day fears. Peace out, y'all and ride (drive) safe.

---
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Photo Retrospective - 1

 

My Family - I'm So Tired of my Involement in Doping - but I can't end it

Does anyone who reads this blog realize that I'm married to an amazing woman, who was herself a world class rider, comparatively better than me as an athlete and an all-around-good person? The only problem was that she is Cuban and I am American. I was recently asked if I was divorced, because it said in my wikipedia that my wife, Yuliet, and I were separated or something. Well, yes, we are separated by the evil tyranny of the Castro regime in Cuba and the inefficient system in place by the US to grant visa's to the foreign spouses of US citizens. I haven't seen Yuliet for nearly three years, our last reunion being in late-2006. Emigration plans were in place, and she might have been in the US that spring - but for the fact that she became pregnant.

If the Cuban and US bureaucracies would have gotten off their collective asses and considered this situation for what it really was, maybe they would have showed a bit of humanity to get Yuliet out then and there, but they didn't. By the time the US papers were ready (and I commend the staff of the USIS in Havana for their self-less efforts on behalf of my wife), the Cuban papers weren't, and probably never will be. Eventually, too pregnant to travel, Yuliet gave birth to a boy in Cuba in July 2007. Two years and around two months have passed, and yet I've never held him in my arms. But he kept calling me "Papa, Papa!" during one of these rare phone calls we can make work. There might be internet in hotels and state offices in Cuba, but the normal, average Cuban is lucky to find food on a daily basis - let alone have access to email and broadband.

If you're ignorant of the horror of the modern Cuba, visit The Real Cuba. I competed (doped and clean ) in the Vuelta a Cuba five times, and with my own eyes I saw the deprivations that Castro claims don't exist there.Yet Cuba has the potential to be the most beautiful country in the world. If my shit was together, and there was a foreign multi-national hiring MBA students to work in Cuba, I'd be there in a second. Three years without my wife and the son Ive never seen, who called me "Papa! Papa!" tonight , have left me a tormented man. Trying to be correct and proper we did our best to follow the legal process for securing Yuliet's departure from Cuba. If I came from a family of means, I would have paid a team of mercenaries to extract her and our child from a remote beach somewhere so we could be reunited... Powerball loterry anyone?

SO if you think I am dick or a jerk or a putz as a result of our having an interaction at some point during these last three years, keep in mind that I'm very negatively affected, always by the notion that my wife and I, who love each other very much, stand little change of being reunited again. That weighs heavy on my heart, and it's a big reason why I don't write much about Cuba anymore here at Pappillon.

The reason I don't write about my family here is because to do so forces me to confront the terrible, horrible pain that accompanies the impotency of not being able to free your wife and a little two-year old boy from the clutches of a tyranny only 90 miles south of Miami.

Obžínky

I was in Ohio on Sunday for Obzinky, about which I wrote last year. I'm happy to report that this year's Harvest Festival was even better.

I miss my Babi, but I don't think that every goes away.
So, until next year...

Old Photos are Cool

bye!

Nemiz

Joseph J. Papp

October 21, 1937 --May 24, 1989

RIP

What's Important?

For years it was being quick on a bike and living hard and fast for the moment. It's taken two-plus years without the bike to peel away dozens of onion-like layers to reveal what was at the core of that obsession with cycling, and why it became so easy to resort to drastic measures to stay competitive. It's also more clear to me why the thought of leaving the sport for a normal job (if you can call being a diplomat or a spook "normal") was so unthinkable...and something so scary to contemplate. Who says running away has to be done à pied?

Perhaps more on this to come sometime in the future, either in this blog or a book. But until then - stay frosty. I'm off to Ohio tomorrow to visit a sick relative and pass spectrally through my old, old 'hood.

From the Archives

May God give you to search for your children with a Geiger counter

UPDATE! - Not. Sorry, you don't get one, other than reading my claim to have suffered the greatest indignity of my life this past week. There's no use crying over spilled milk, but we do it anyway, so:

1. If my father were alive, this never would have happened.

2. Even though he is dead and it happened, that the final insult to my injury was seeing my favorite adidas Clima365 tracksuit top - which I'd stalked Dick's Sporting Goods for two months to find in size small - ruined by having LYSOL® Power Toilet Bowl Cleaner with Bleach spilled on it by my mother...I couldn't make this stuff up if I was Jayson Blair.


PS. Anyone with the balls to tell me to "get over it" ... I will ask God to take special care with you: "Da bog da trazio detzoo Gaygerovim broyachem."

Danek Family Passport, circa 1948

Danek Family Passport

My Dad v2

My Dad was named Joseph John Papp, and he was born on October 21, 1937. He died on May 24, 1989 - the day before my 14th birthday. He'd been sick for some time before he finally succumbed to liver cancer, ... Email me if you want to read more.

My Dad

My Dad was named Joseph John Papp, and he was born on October 21, 1937. He died on May 24, 1989 - the day before my 14th birthday. He'd been sick for some time before he finally succumbed to liver cancer, but even knowing months in advance that his condition was terminal didn't prepare me for what life would be like after his death. The utter desolation that washed over me in the days after his funeral mass and burial were like nothing I'd ever experienced.

I'll never forget sitting on the side of my bed, with my dad next to me, bawling my eyes out about how I didn't want him to go; this was a few weeks before he died. He was a very strict disciplinarian, having been raised Irish Catholic in Cleveland, and the oldest of three brother and one sister. Up until that point in my life, Dad was much more of an authority figure and provider than a friend, as our relationship simply hadn't matured to that stage yet. I loved him, just like my mom and brother both loved him, but he was still the guy who you didn't want to get punished by so better not to be bad, or at least not get caught being bad.

But on that day, father and son sitting side-by-side in a child's bedroom and struggling to understand the reality of death and its impending effect on our family, we shared a moment of admiration and sorrow and love that I'll never be able to properly describe to anyone, because it was something so personal.

Dad's dying devastated me and the sense of loss was more than profound. That day in my bedroom, he'd implored me to take care of my mother and watch out for my kid brother, but after he was gone I couldn't even watch out for myself.

I'd always had a fascination with bicycles, even though I had no idea that there was an entire sport built around racing them. It was my dad's death that opened a door for me into the world of cycling - in the weeks following Dad's passing, my Uncle Jimmy, Dad's younger brother by two years, bought me a black 12-speed Schwinn World Sport from Baker's, a shop in our town of Bethel Park, Pennsylvania.

While I truly liked cycling, I pursued it so vigorously for two other reasons: it was a faster means to get away from the sadness and emptiness that Death had brought me, and I found several surrogate fathers through the sport who - perhaps unbeknown to them - helped me to experience some of what it must have been like to grow into young adulthood with a dad.

Alas, even the strongest cyclist on the best bike - even one who dopes - can't outpace Death forever...even if the chase takes place across continents.

When I left Italy in 2006, it was with the hope that I could quickly replace the support and sustenance I'd sought from cycling with something healthier and more stable: my own family. And by that I mean a wife, who I knew loved me very much, and eventually children. Unfortunately, as has been chronicled here and throughout the media, the high-stakes gambit that Yuliet and I made failed miserably at the hands of Fidel Castro, leader of one of the most evil totalitarian regimes to ever hold power in the modern era.

To say that didn't go according to plan would be an understatement, and it further catelyzed the reaction that culminated on the 31st of August this year, when my Uncle Jim died. Despite almost always keeping my head down and pushing the big ring, Death finally ran me down and delivered his package.

Sitting in St. Francis de Sales Church on September 6th, with the few remaining members of my immediate family needing only a couple of pews to accommodate us all, I listened as Rev. John Vrana presided over James S. Papp's funeral mass. While the day was horrible enough with Uncle Jim's being gone, it was during mass that Death caught me, and ended a chase that had started a little more than 19 years and three months prior.

One of the scriptures read during the liturgy was Lamentations 3:17-26:

"My soul is deprived of peace, I have forgotten what happiness is; I
tell myself my future is lost, all that I hoped for from the Lord. The
thought of my homeless poverty is wormwood and gall;
remembering it over and over leaves my soul downcast within me.
But I will call this to mind, as my reason to have hope: the favors of
the Lord are not exhausted, his mercies are not spent; they are
renewed each morning, so great is his faithfulness. My portion is the
Lord, says my soul; therefore will I hope in him. Good is the Lord
to one who waits for him, to the soul that seeks him; it is good to
hope in silence for the saving help of the Lord."

I'm admittedly a wayward Catholic, but at that moment, the last lines of defense that I'd established to "protect" myself from the grief of my father's passing were broken. Death recognized his moment, which came when Rev. Vrana spoke the names of those family members who'd died before my Uncle Jim - including, of course, Joseph Papp. Suddenly I was a boy of 14 again.

I'm so sorry for not taking better care of my mother, for not being as supportive a brother as I might have been otherwise and for generally growing apart from my family as I raced around the world on a bike. But I now understand and can acknowledge that my own father's death nearly two decades ago haunted me, and influenced so many of those decisions that I made both consciously and subconsciously.

If I could have just one last chance to speak with Dad, I would tell him how much I miss him and love him, and how sorry I am for not having been a better man since he died.

James S. Papp, RIP

JAMES S. PAPP, 69. Beloved brother of Joseph (deceased) (Marie), Joanne "Marie'' Jurkoshek (deceased) and Patrick (Patricia); uncle and great-uncle of many; loving son of Celia Papp (deceased). Funeral services Saturday, Sept. 6, 2008 at 9 a.m. at the funeral home and Mass of Christian Burial at 9:30 a.m. at St. Francis De Sales Church, (Snow Rd. at State Rd.). Interment Holy Cross Cemetery. Family will receive friends at THE YURCH FUNERAL HOME, 5618 BROADVIEW RD., PARMA, OH. (BETWEEN SNOW AND BROOKPARK), FRIDAY 4-8 P.M.

Death notice with online guest book is here.

Obžínky

Made the trek to Ohio yesterday for Obžínky. Despite missing the parade after leaving late, and getting rained on, I'm glad I went - though I wish I'd had more time there to catch up with my Uncle Frank (my mom's brother) and my other relatives on my mom's (Czech) side of the family.

I would definitely characterize the day as "bittersweet." It wasn't sad to return to Taborville, so much as it was poignant and a reminder that time waits for no man. Everything was smaller than I remembered it, there were no familiar faces apart from my family's and those captured in fading pictures tacked up on the "DTJ Historical Archives" board in front of the hall.

I did finally get to order a beer on my own at the lower bar in the hall (instead of stealing swigs from my uncle's) and of course I chose a Pilsner Urquell. Could it have been anything but?

Standing in front of my Babi's dilapidated cottage was heart-breaking, but to experience that emotion is only possible because of all the wonderful memories I have from the time I spent there growing up. I miss my father and my grandmother dreadfully, and I can't ignore how old my mom is getting, but my life is made up of a rich tapestry of experiences that I'll always treasure. Loss - and by that I don't just mean death - will always be part of living, and the challenge is to push through the sadness and fight to get back to a state of balance.

Though our outward man perish, yet the inward man is renewed day by day. -- 2 Corinthians 4:16

Cuba, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Boston, Bellevue Borough, China, Italy and Bethel Park. Just a few compass points on this map that I'm unfurling. I wish I'd done a better job of appreciating some of the stops along the way, but there is no going back, and only hope for the future.

In the meantime, check out my Obžínky photos here.

And to avoid being totally morose, I'll admit that something funny did happen yesterday (though it was painful as hell): a wasp stung me just under my right eye when I was about 30 seconds away from the safety of being inside the Audi after we'd decided to jet. Holy smokes - that hurt, but I'm glad it made PJ laugh...

I'm reprinting a post from 2006 which explains a bit about DTJ Taborville:

Sunday, November 05, 2006
DTJ Taborville

For those of you who don't know what DTJ is, I'd like to take a moment to give you a brief explanation.

The initials DTJ stand for "Delnicke Telocvicne Jednoty" or "Workers' Gymnastic Union". DTJ as an organization is a part of the great Labor Movement as the translation implies. It is an International organization, whose program consists of training the youth of the world to enable it to take part in the great movement for a better and more just organization of human society.

A Little History

The DTJ organization was formed by a group of tailors in Prague, 1897. The group was sympathetic towards the Social Democratic movement of that period. Gym work was started immediately, classes being held wherever room could be found, mostly at the Inns.

The first DTJ group to be formed in America was founded in Cleveland, Ohio by members of the Lassalle Senior Club in 1909. Soon after another group was organized in Chicago, Illinois. An organization affiliated with the DTJ is the American Sokol of New York. Although the D.A.S. has a sick and death benefit provision in its program, there is possibility that it will come in closer contact with the DTJ of the future.

Brothers in Ireland

Hanging with Dave and a friend south of Dublin City Center.

Mutual Confidence

MUTUAL CONFIDENCE IS THE FOUNDATION OF ALL SATISFACTORY HUMAN RELATIONSHIPS

Most of us have two basic questions about others when we enter into a relationship. They are: Can I trust you? And, do you really care about me? Depending upon our previous success in partnerships with others-personal or business-the answers may be slow in coming. Confidence in another is often developed gradually as those involved in the relationship commit themselves to each other’s success and happiness. Although trust and confidence are the basic underpinnings of all successful relationships, they are fragile. A relationship that has endured for months or even years can be irreparably damaged by a few unkind words or a single thoughtless act. Don’t allow yourself to act in haste or to lose control of your emotions in important relationships.

This positive message is brought to you by the Napoleon Hill Foundation. Visit them at http://www.naphill.org.

Together Again, at least for a moment...

Where is Yuliet?

This is Where Yuliet Is:

Reparto Mulgoba

I want to go there on Friday and find her.

Phone Message from Yuliet.