This morning I read on Facebook that my friend Andrzej Stawiarski died in Krakow after a long illness. I first met Andrzej in the mid-90s when he came to the Sun-Sentinel on a journalistic exchange, and – because of the Polish connection – we became friends. He had a manner that I would describe as breathlessly philosophical: He was easily excited by current events, Polish politics, even the minutiae of everyday life, but he still managed in most things to take the long view. He was a joy to be around. I visited him a few times in Krakow – where, for a time, he worked in the Gazeta Wyborcza offices just off the main square – and I remember walking with him across that square on a bright summer’s day as he led me to his favorite pierogi place – the best pierogi place, he assured me, in the city. The world seemed full of possibilities.
The last few years I sent him messages that were never answered, which made me suspect that something was wrong. I never met his wife, though I did meet his son once, a self-assured teen mature beyond his years, and had no other way to get information about him. Last month in Warsaw, I picked up a photography book in a bookstore that featured work by some of the best photographers in Poland, and there was a large section of Andrzej’s photos. The world has lost a great photographer and a beautiful man.
