Karoly (a.k.a. “Charlie”) Csicsmann
9/6/1924 – 10/5/1991
POW camp, Siberia
I was a daddy’s girl, through and through, no doubt about that. My dad was many things, perhaps, but he was always a good father to me. He was funny, bawdy, kind, generous, amazingly intelligent, irreverent, enigmatic, patient. It was funny how he could be so blatant about some things and yet much of his inner life remained much of a mystery. As the card to the left shows (click and you will read a note from his co-workers), he was quite something. He taught me to swear in six languages. Instead of getting angry at me for drinking, he’d revel in how I’d drink most of everyone under the table (especially taking pride in the fact that many of them were guys). Like MacGyver, he could fix anything. He would give you the shirt off of his back if he thought you needed it more than he did. Yup, he was something.
Had he lived much past his 67th birthday, he would be turning 83 tomorrow. I miss him… every day. Not a day goes by that I don’t still think of him, it just doesn’t smart as much. I wonder how much longer he would have been around had he not worked in a cigarette factory breathing in the chemicals and tobacco, or smoked Camel plains.