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Boris Piskun: a Laguna global citizen with a big heart

Story by MAGGI HENRIKSON

Photos by Mary Hurlbut

“Are you Boris?” I asked the first gentleman I see at the coffee house. No, not him… “Of course!” I mutter as I smack my forehead, for there is the real Boris entering the coffee house, all six-feet-seven of him. I remembered he had been a pro basketball player.

“I used to be six-eight,” he laughs. “When you’re a forward, you’re always six-eight.” 

Boris Piskun

Little known fact to me. (But, then, I swear I used to be an inch taller myself.)

Boris Piskun is what my mother used to call “a long drink of water”, with wit and laughter to match his height. And with his self-deprecating sense of humor, he’s the first to call himself “the tall, goofy guy.”

Submitted photo

Piskun (left) was a Columbia University Lion in the mid 1990’s

Piskun had contacted Stu News because he was motivated by another Laguna Life & People story we had written about high school students, Aaron and Shira Alcouloumre. He wanted to help them in their work with the Day Laborers in Laguna. While he has a giving heart and a kind soul, Piskun also shares a personal reality about the hardships of immigrants.

An immigrant’s story

He was born in Azerbaijan while it was still under the control of the Soviet Union. His family emigrated when he was five, and settled into the ethnically complex region of Brooklyn, NY. “Now they’re all gentrified,” he said of the New York City boroughs. “But, back then, Bedford Stuyvesant was like Mogadishu. We’d say, ‘Do or die in Bed Sty’!”

 Piskun grew up playing basketball in the different leagues of New York City, where he was nicknamed, “The Mad Russian”. His dad drove a cab for 10 hours a day, then followed that with factory work for another six. “It’s the immigrant mentality,” Piskun said. They counted their blessings. Life was better in America.

Things were worse in the Soviet Union, or as he grew to learn, in South Africa under apartheid, and later in Tijuana where these days he witnesses people living in the dry river channel on a concrete embankment filled with tents. 

It’s a luck-of-the-draw where you happen to be born. “Hey,” he said. “We won the DNA lottery didn’t we? Sometimes we forget about that.”

On the other side of the border

Part of this philosophy stems from Piskun’s business. He and business partner, Andrew Gold, have a telemarketing company that targets solar energy for residential markets. He commutes to his office every week in the opposite direction of thousands of other people - into Mexico.

Piskun’s business employs 200 people, many of whom are Mexicans that were deported from the US. 

Having been deported mostly for non-violent crimes, such as DUI or drug possession, deportees’ lives can go from comfort to destitution before they realize what’s happened. One minute they may be having respectable, comfortable lives in the States, and the next they find themselves broke and homeless on the other side of the border.

“It’s either go to jail, or get deported to Mexico,” says Piskun. “A lot of them have been in the US their whole lives, and they don’t even speak Spanish.”

Piskun has seen it all from the comfortable perch of life on the US side of the border, and also as a Tijuana employer. 

They pay about double what wages are in Mexico, “Because we can,” he says. “My whole mentality is I want to be known by my deeds. We are there to make money, and we do, but it’s also great seeing people empowered. It’s a cool feeling.”

A global life puts things in perspective 

Piskun’s global outlook was born in Azerbaijan, and nurtured in New York (including a degree from Columbia University). Then he spent a couple of years as a pro basketball player in Israel. Just when he thought he’d go into banking (“I’m a finance/numbers guy!”), he visited Laguna, met a gal, and everything changed.

Click on photo for a larger image

 

Bella Piskun gets a push on the swing from the tall, goofy guy

Life is what happens when we’re busy making other plans, right?

Little Piskun’s

Today he has a three-day-a-week commute to Tijuana, tennis has transplanted basketball, and he has two very important people keeping a smile on his face: Bella and Ruby.

Bella, Ruby, and dad, Boris, at Bluebird Park

Bella, nine years old, and Ruby, seven, are that special age that parents adore. “These are the times when kids think you’re cool,” says the cool dad. 

And they are the reason Piskun plans to help with the Day Laborers in Laguna. He’s a giving person who believes in volunteerism, and teaching that same practice to his daughters is what it’s all about. 

One of the immediate needs that he’s focusing on right now is his dear friend, Alyssa, who is battling stage four cancer. On a scale of just-not-fair-ness, she came up short. “It’s a roll of the dice, and she got snake eyes,” he says.  Along with other friends, he is busy organizing efforts to help with her medical treatment and with the care of her son.

“It’s inspiring to pay it forward,” Piskun says. “If there’s one thing I want to teach my girls, it’s that it’s about giving, not taking.” 

Spoken like a true forward.