Melnik, that’s what I called him. Jim — to his many friends, fans, and clients — was a character to be sure. An artist, landscape designer, father, grandfather, husband, drinking buddy, and spiritual guide, he had many talents, but mainly, Melnik was my friend. For more than 15 years, I was his personal assistant — but his codename for me was “the Empress of the Universe.”
We shared a deep bond honoring our Polish heritage, a love of Polish vodka, pierogi, Gołąbki (stuffed cabbage rolls), laughter, and spending time together contemplating the wackiness of life. We decided it is the story we tell ourselves that reminds us of who we really are — what rivers run through us, what blood we share, what secrets and lies we hold dear or spread around like wildfire — and Melnik’s recurring cosmic theme was that all that really mattered was kindness.
He grew up not on the wrong side of the railroad tracks, but between them, in upper-state New York to a family as complicated as most. After his mother passed away, Jim, his two brothers, and his older sister were raised by their father. One of his first jobs was working in a donut factory — squishing the custard into the soft donuts — and he marveled at how ironic it was that the kid who couldn’t afford to buy a donut was making them.
