Full Circle

Writer's note: I wrote this piece three years ago, and was reminded of it with the passing of my old friend, Dave Demarest.

My former English professor, David Demarest, ambled up to me in the basement hall of St. Nicholas Croatian Catholic Church in Millvale, which was partly filled with food-munching parishioners and members of the crew for “Gift To America,” Dave’s play about the church’s famous Maxo Vanka murals. Dave leaned toward me, his lamb-chop beard trimmer than it had been in my college days, and thanked me for my help in the production, which originally was staged in 1981. I was embarrassed, because I couldn’t express all he’d done.

About 20 years ago, I first visited St. Nicholas Church in Millvale for a field trip for a class Dave taught at Carnegie Mellon. He arranged the Saturday afternoon tour, and he checked to see that we had rides to the church. “Those of you who have cars, help your classmates out,” Dave instructed.

We all made it to Millvale and assembled outside the small Romanesque building. Perched on a bluff along State Route 28 outside Pittsburgh, the little church didn’t look impressive. But walking into the church, my heart felt tight in my chest as I viewed Vanka’s paintings on the ceiling beneath the choirloft. Christ on the cross, wearing a crown of barbed wire and being bayoneted by a World War I-era soldier, and Mary separating two soldiers on the battlefield, snapping a soldier’s bayonet from his gun like a matchstick. Those two scenes are part of 22 murals that decorate the church, and nothing Dave told us could have truly conveyed their magnificence.

I’ve been amazed by the murals ever since, and I have written about them for various publications. I just recently started volunteering with the Society for the Preservation of the Millvale Murals of Maxo Vanka, which produced Gift To America. Dave had known about the murals for decades, and had written a play about them and also an illustrated guide about them. He’d told friends, students and many others about the masterpieces.

I’m thankful that Dave introduced me to the murals, which convey an understanding that is universal, while being uniquely Croatian. The paintings also are special to me because I am part Croatian, through my mother.

My late father sometimes referred to Carnegie Mellon as a “communist” school, because in his eyes the school was liberal. I know my churchgoing father would be pleased to see that my connection to CMU led to an awakening. I realized that working with others on the goal of restoring and preserving the murals gave its own catharsis.

On the opening night of the play, as the first strains of tambura began to play and  a few soulful Croatian voices sang as the actors slowly entered the sanctuary, a teardrop crept out of the corner of my right eye. I quickly wiped it with my hand. Then a teardrop trickled out of my left eye. I felt foolish, not understanding why I was reacting so, and quickly wiped the tear. My stomach was strangely queasy. And for a moment, I never felt closer to my great-grandparents, Franjo and Lucia Vukelich, who came to America from Croatia nearly a century ago.