The Promise: We’ll Meet in Falkensee II
The Promise: We’ll Meet in Falkensee II
by June Morrall
Chapter Ten
Kay and Martin met at the “Red Mill,” a popular coffeehouse. Martin often went there with his friends to drink beer and meet pretty young girls. My mom was one of these pretty young girls. Her hair was thick and medium brown in color, her clothes were always carefully chosen for the occasion. She was gregarious and strongly opinionated, a young woman who would follow her heart in defiance. Her facial features were classic and she kept herself trim.
By now, Kay, like all of her female friends, had painfully plucked out her eyebrows, then carefully penciled in the shapely arc she desired, a la the famous German actress Marlene Dietrich. But unlike Dietrich and other women friends, she did not smoke. Not then.
Kay and Martin dated and Kay was astounded to learn that Martin’s older sister Dolly owned the Model Haus, a women’s boutique on Brunnenstrasse Bahnhof at Gesundbrunnen–astounded because the address was so close to the apartment she shared with her younger brother, Kurt, and Emily, their widowed mother.
All the clothes at Model Haus were designed and made by Dolly’s mom, Luise. Luise was idolized by family and friends for her ability to whip up beautifully tailored blouses and skirts. But Dolly, Martin confided to Kay, wasn’t the type who liked to stay in the store all day. Her style was to pop in, wearing something expensive looking, staying only long enough to change the window dressing. Dolly was always dressed in the finest clothes, giving the impression of a rich woman, which she was not.
Perhaps because of Dolly’s negligence, the store wasn’t doing well and she was thinking of closing the store. Oh no, was my mom’s response. She offered her highly tuned selling skills. Aggressive as she could be, she was absolutely certain she could turn the business around.
Martin always took a serious interest in his friends, and their happiness, and he believed Kay, the super-saleswoman could improve the situation at Model Haus. It was a job he knew she would love. Dolly and Kay were a good match and the store remained open.
Later when the Nazis took over Berlin, and Dolly did not dare to appear in person to open the shop, my brave mother went to work everyday. Some angry Germans believed Kay was Jewish and spat on her as she walked to the store. But she endured the humiliations because she knew their behavior was inexcusable, the German people’s worst moment in history.
Chapter Eleven
Kay had a style of her own that made people want to watch her. From her carefully coiffed hair to her shoes, she always looked marvelous. She was smart, aggressive, and the instant ability to size up people, perhaps too flippantly. If someone broke her rigid rules, she could be unforgiving. She was known to talk badly of friends behind their backs, her major flaw. They usually learned of her intransigence so she had few close friends.
When Kay and Martin were dating she was easygoing but as she aged she became moody and withdrawn.
She also possessed a “lucky” sixth sense–she believed she could predict future events, on a small scale; she wasn’t a fortune-teller. She could see things no one else did; she could see behind the “masks” people wore. Nobody could conceal the truth from Kay for long because she knew the truth. And, even worse, she was rarely wrong, constantly amazing friends and acquaintances with her sixth sense.
While she was beautiful and generous with material things, she was more negative toward life than Martin was. But somehow they were a good couple–this, despite the strong opposition of some family members who could not understand what bound these two together. A disaster, they predicted. Some of them would have done whatever they could to stop the relationship.
They could be like night and day, Kay and Martin, dark and light. Negative and positive. The way Martin was, it wouldn’t surprise me if he thought he could change her over to his way of thinking. She would be his project.
There was a mystery about Kay, and like her, Martin was also mysterious. He did things, went places nobody knew about.
Kay was wild about Martin; I can’t say for sure that he felt that strongly about her but she would go anywhere to be with him. Loyalty was one of her strongest traits.
[I want to remind you that Martin's family was truly lovable and eccentric. His mother and all her sisters. Each one different. One sister loved gorgeous, sexy lingerie, designed and made it and sold it in her own Berlin store. She lived fully and extravagantly and went bankrupt. I believe her work is even mentioned in a book about the clothing industry in Germany.
And did I tell you that while I have "the eye," I don't know how to make clothes. In grammar school, girls had to take a homemaking class. One assignment was to make a blouse. The teacher ended up finishing mine.]
When Kay met Martin in the late 1920s, Martin was still riding the first BMW motorbike he had purchased with Paul John and he was working for his parents delivering finished pieces of clothing. With Kay in the picture, Martin’s circle of male friends changed. Kay replaced Victor, Werner and ultimately Paul John as Martin’s closest companion. He even took her on his motorbike to visit the historic town of Rostock, a very special trip he made with good friend Paul John.
Kay was working her way into Martin’s heart.
The romantic young couple–and they did look like movie stars, both so stunning–was always searching for their personal “Shangri-La”–or the most pristine garden spot near Berlin.
Victor’s fortunes had taken a downturn and Martin bought his rowboat, the “Ellen” from him. Now Martin and Kay played with the boat but my dad was disappointed to learn that my mom could not swim. Fortunately, Martin was athletic enough for both of them, his shoulders and arms growing strong from rowing and swimming the breaststroke all summer long.
On the beloved motorbike, Kay sat behind her lover grasping his waist covered by a brown leather jacket as they rode back and forth between Berlin and the “Ellen” stored in a boathouse. In those days Kay could be euphoric; happy that she had found her one true love, a man so honest he would never lie to her, her protector forever. Life could not have been more romantic or sweeter.
I’ve mentioned the Shangri-La they did find some 100 miles from Berlin arriving there on the motorbike. Shangri-La was a deserted lake buried deep in a dark forest. As soon as he could Martin dove into the lake while Kay, her brown hair curled, stood at the shore’s edge and watched her man. She loved Martin more than anyone or anything she had ever known.
There was a village of six homes that stood in the midst of this paradise, one of them a guest house, the owners overjoyed to see the young couple, the beautiful young woman accompanied by the vigorous man easily mistaken for a film star, at this time of year.
The owner’s son was anxious to show them nearby Raetz Lake, a spectacular location where one of the homes belonged to the direction of the famous Mercedes Benz Corp. The two days spent in Shangri-La were glorious, unforgettable. That they would soon never be allowed to return did not cross their minds. They intended to return again and again.
Chapter Twelve
My dad’s father, Sammy, was part of a large family. His sister, Selma, a successful businesswoman, had married Willie K. who acted as a “silent partner” in her three highly profitable clothing shops. She sold fine women’s blouses and dresses in the Central Hotel on famous Friederichstrasse near the railroad station. When her husband became more involved, a second location was opened at the corner of Unter den Linden and Friederichstrasse, some two and a half blocks from the first store. When the second store didn’t disappoint, Selma and Willie opened a third at a corner off the Kurfurstendamm. It was in this store that Selma worked. Willie took charge of the other two.
[Selma and Willie's pretty daughter Ruth got along well with her cousin, Martin, but the two rarely saw each other probably because Ruth ran in different social circles, including those of her private school friends].
One day in the early fall of the late 1930s, Uncle Willie called my father and asked him to come to the store on Unter den Linden where Willie worked. With both hands on the cash register, Uncle Willie smiled warmly and asked my father, his nephew, to do him a favor. This is what the favor was: He asked Martin to go by motorbike and find out if anyone was guarding the Czechlosvokian border.
I imagine there was more discussion about the mission but my father readily accepted. He had never been close to Uncle Willie, financial status separting them, but now he felt affection for him and promised to do his best. From his many outings, my dad knew the area southeast of Berlin very well; he often skiied the mountains there, traveling by train, getting off at the base of the mountain, riding the tramcar to the last stop. Then he hiked for hours to the Baude at the very top of the mountain, arriving thoroughly exhausted but exhilirated by the spectacular climb. A typical stay lasted from four days to several weeks. It was Martin’s favorite place.
Now he wasn’t going skiing but he was doing some spying for his uncle. He left Berlin in the morning, reaching the first leg of the trip in five hours. He stopped at a small hotel, left his motorbike there, and told the host he would be gone for a couple of days, Then he set off on the adventure.
Warmed by the golden sunshine overhead, he headed towards the Snow Baude, observing that there were no guards as he walked into Czechlosvokia.
He continued hiking over the tallest ridge near the Baude where he usually stayed during the skiing season and the owners were surprised to see Martin at this time of year. He stayed overnight and the next day he made several side trips gathering all the information Uncle Willie needed; afterwards returning to the hotel for another night before heading back to Berlin.
This was pleasant work and Martin was even paid for hiking around which he loved doing. But the project wasn’t over yet. Clearly Willie was making a careful plan to get out of Berlin with wife, Selma and daughter Ruth. He saw what was coming.
Willie needed something else done. He wanted his nephew to take the train to Budapest, bring some of his luggage–two suitcases and an ocean liner trunk containg personal clothing and furs– and make contact with a relative who already lived there.
There would be dangerous obstacles to overcome.
Although most of the people in Budapest spoke German due to historical precedent, Martin carried along a Hungarian dictionary. Words had always fascinated him so it was good to have the book.
First, customs at the train station. Martin had to check in the luggage. No problems.
It was a 17-hour trip before he would be walking about beautifully mysterious Budapest by the Danube River.
My dad checked into an expensive hotel and the following morning called Mrs. Holland, Uncle Willie’s sister. She persuaded him to stay with her, noting that the hotel was very high-priced. In that way, the luggage was delivered.
Mission accomplished, Martin was not anxious to leave Budapest right away. He wanted to stay and take in the beauty and mystery around him. He wanted to stay for as long as he could but that was not possible. On one particularly breathtaking part of the Danuble River, view-watching chairs could be rented by the hour. Martin did that, unable to take his eyes off the water traffic. Later he visited “Elizabeth Island,” with its well tended grassy lawns and swimming pools.
Budapest was well known for the high quality of their shoes and Martin bought a pair for 10 Pengo, after bargaining the price down from 16 Pengo. The salesman even threw in a shoe tree.
It was time to go home. Maybe he would come back with Kay or Paul. But he could not return to Berlin via Vienna because it was illegal, illegal for a German National to enter Austria. If caught, the penalty was 1000 Marks and/or prison. So he went back the same way he had come and Uncle Willie paid him handsomely. He also made a last request.
He asked my father to take his place at the store while he took “a vacation.”
Chapter Thirteen
Take Uncle Willie’s place!
I can imagine how my father felt. He was used to having a lot of freedom, having few responsibilities, doing what he wanted with his free time. Going to the Red Mill, motorbiking to hidden lake paradises. Wouldn’t take his Uncle up on his offer change all of that? Turn his life upside down?
No. He wasn’t interested. Not at all. He didn’t care how much money was involved. His freedom came first.
But Uncle Willie persisted. He sweetened the deal with more and more money. And he wouldn’t have to be there all day; there would be plenty of time outside of the store, cutting deals, etc. My father would become an important man.
In the end Uncle Willie won and my father took a new job that he insisted he did not want–but as time passed he got used to the new schedule.
Uncle Willie, Selma and Ruth left Berlin, staying in touch with Martin by mail.
Chapter Fourteen
Most of my father’s time was spent working in the Friederichstrasse store in the Central Hotel, a great location on a busy street. The Central Hotel, with its restaurants and boutiques and Wintergarten, where the public attended variety shows, covered an entire city block. Closeby was the railroad station; trains from all over Europe stopped here. There was a lot of foot traffic as hundreds of passengers got off the trains. During rush hour it was common to fight your way through the crowds.
Martin always parked his black BMW convertible on a sidestreet between the train station and the Central Hotel where the main door to the Wintergarten was also located. One evening after closing the store he walked outside and noticed at once that the street was deserted–except for his car. No other cars, just his. Suddenly two policemen rushed at him, pushing him into the doorway of the Wintergarten.
“You stay there,” one them shouted. “And don’t come out until we tell you.”
Martin took a peek down the street and saw two large limousines roll down the street. When the door of the first car opened, while still in motion, he saw that it was Hitler himself. Martin was astounded. It was one of those rare moments in life when you find yourself in the presence of the direct cause of your fear. He couldn’t take his eyes off the scene, watching as Hitler stood in the middle of the sidewalk. Others emerged from the car and followed their leader single file. They were going to pass by my father who was pressed against the building.
They came, and, indeed, Hitler’s eyes met those of my father. Martin said nothing, his breath sucked in tight, but he saw that the last man in this official line of evil was Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels, recognizeable by his limp. He was the one who wrote the words of hate in publications distributed all over Berlin.
As soon as Hitler was out of sight, the police told Martin that the official cars had arrived faster than expected and they were unable to hide him. Hitler’s people had called the theater just minutes before saying they wanted to watch the pretty dancers at the Wintergarten.
The evening was the chilliest Martin had ever known.
Chapter Fifteen
Is it possible that I haven’t mentioned Falkensee? On the outskirts of Berlin, near a man-made lake, Falkensee was the heart of Martin’s family. His father, Sammy, had built a very small weekend house there, with a huge garden filled with fruit trees. Sammy must have had a lot of help but when he completed the roof he left his signature, his initials, SM, on the roof.
While it is true that my father more often went his own way than the way of his family, Falkensee was the place where they had many happy moments. The house was small and it’s hard to imagine how so many people could fit in there. They would take the train from Berlin to a stop near Falkensee and walk and sing the rest of the way to the property. The singing was a way of being together on intimate levels, a way of being together forever because the songs would never be forgotten no matter what happened to the family.
Not just Martin’s sisters and his parents enjoyed Falkensee, all the relatives, and this was a very big family, came to enjoy special gatherings.
Chapter Sixteen
Uncle Willie and his family were now living in a hotel in Vienna. In a letter, he asked Martin to meet him in Prague. Leaving Berlin by train, Martin arrived in Prague at 5 a.m., and because his meeting was scheduled for later in the morning, he went to a coffeehouse to kill the time. At that early hour the customers were actually drinking beer and wine, more involved in the act of drinking than listening to the background music.
He and Uncle Willie met for breakfast at the hotel. The business and the future of it was on Willie’s mind.
Chapter Seventeen
Losing Martin as a helper was a big loss to his father Sammy but he hired son-in-law Gerhard, his youngest daughter Edith’s husband to work for him. It was impossible to run the business alone.
At first my father was overseeing Willie’s three stores and he shuttled between them on his motorbike, wearing an overall and leather jacket over his business suit. But that wouldn’t last long because Willie had sold one of the stores to a Swiss investment company. The loss of this store did not bother Uncle Willie because there had been an annoying newspaper vendor who sold both the official Nazi newspaper and “Der Sturmer,” both hate-filled publications. Everyday the vendor shouted obscenities, of the anti-semitic variety, and thankfully, most who passed by didn’t pay attention. Uncle Willie’s store was within earshot of the vendor and there was nothing he could about it but sell the shop. Meanwhile he had suffered in silence.
[Not sure which one was the second store. Have to check that out].
Of course my dad believed this guy had purposefully picked the spot in front of the Jewish-owned store to sell the papers–to drive both the customers and the owner out.
When this store, known as branch number two, was finally closed, Uncle Willie headquartered himself in the first and original store on Friederich Strasse. He was working in that store when he asked my father to take his place and to keep it secret that he planned never to return. The instructions were for Martin to run the business as if he expected Uncle Willie to return–meanwhile, he was supposed to look around secretly for a buyer. Martin had power-of-attorney so he could do whatever needed to be done.
Selma, Willie, and their bright daughter Ruth left Berlin, on vacation, arousing no suspicion. Not one of the 16 employees, including salesgirls, seamstresses and the window dresser, asked questions. No one asked why my father was now their boss.
He soon fell into the routine of visiting several suppliers around noon to order new cloth material, returning to the Friederich Strasse store afterwards. A senior saleswoman watched over the third store, although now there were only two, and after hours, around 8 p.m., he picked up the sales receipts.
Chapter Eighteen
The weeks slipped by and no buyers. A Mr. Furst was very interested but he was Jewish….A month after Willie K.’s departure, people started asking questions. Martn wrote his uncle and asked him what to do; how should he answer the questions? Willie said, “Look for more buyers. Find someone to buy the store.”
It was then that my father bought the 1932 used convertible BMW four cyclinder car. Now he owned the “Ellen,”, a motorbike, and the kayak left behind by the Uncle Willie’s daughter, Ruth.
Shortly after buying the BMW, Uncle Willie wrote Martin to meet him at a famous old spa called Karlsbad in Czechslovakia. In the pre-war days, Karlsbad was a popular resort.
Martin’s assignment this time was very dangerous. He was to carry a large amount of German Marks, paper money, an illegal act. You could take a few Marks but not as many as he was taking from Berlin to Karlsbad.
Best friend Paul John went with my dad on part of the scenic trip, parting at the border where Martin got on the train. Strangely, he was the only passenger on this train. He had the German Marks on him and he had to find a place to hide them because the German Customs official would be checking his only passenger’s baggage soon. The hiding place turned out to be somewhere under the toilet in the men’s room.
My dad was a cool customer. As soon as the Customs official checked his passport, he let him go, a great relief. As soon as he was out of sight, Martin rushed to the men’s room to retrieve the banknotes.
Nephew and uncle met and talked about how to smuggle cash across the border without getting caught.
They met again in Prague but this time my father flew Lufthansa, landing first in Dresden where he changed to the Belgian Sabena Airline, a small one-engine aircraft with ten seats. Relations were very bad between Germany and Czechslovakia and that’s why he couldn’t fly non-stop. It was a really short flight from Dresden to Prague.
Again, strangely, he was the only passenger. Since he was the only passenger aboard, once airborne, the pilot, a German National, opened the door of the cockpit and invited my dad to come in and talk. Over the clattering noise of the engine, the pilot said the airport was close, pointing his hand in a general direction. Obviously, landing included some guesswork. The pilot had to rely much more on his instincts as the plane did not have sophisticated equipment of any kind. He had to read the compass and listen to the radio; frustration took over when he miscalculated and had to look for a hole in the cloud ceiling below–but he found the airport and landed safely.
On this occasion the meeting with Uncle Willie went well but it was clear that this once successful businessman hated living in exile, unable to pursue the life he was accustomed to. Too suddenly his life had become deadly monotonous.
And there was another trip to Czechslovakia. Paul John went along on this one, the two old friends driving in the black BMW. The meeting with Uncle Willie took place at a fabulous open-air restaurant located in a valley. Their table faced the terraced hillside, dotted with colorful flowers. Again, how to smuggle cash out of Berlin was the main topic. Uncle Willile was fielding fresh ideas–but I don’t know what they were.
On the way back home, Martin and Paul encountered a Czechslovakian soldier hitch-hiking; they offered him a lift. Although his family was Sudeten-Deutsche, he spoke of the general bitterness toward Germany and that he couldn’t be seen sitting in a German car, which he was at that moment. Martin dropped the soldier off a mile from his barracks.
Chapter Nineteen
Martin’s responsibilities grew; his complicity in the secret departure of the Willie K. family extremely dangerous. He was leading a life fraught with serious consequences–even though he was right, he was acting in a moral way, he was operating on evil ground where morality or humanity is never recognized.
A large amount of cash had been left with Martin–Uncle Willie told him that on a certain day his “people” would come and pick it up without leaving a receipt. This worried my father, made him nervous. What if the money disappeared? What if the wrong people got it? If anything went wrong, he could be killed.
But Martin was being paid for taking care of the dangerous matter. He was to receive a portion of funds from the eventual sale of the store.
Now everything seemed to hinge on sale of the store.
Already a Jewish man had shown interest but he knew that would never work out. Then a very strange offer came in from a influential Nazi Party member. He offered to buy the business, turn my father into a “pure Aryan” and even change his name so he could continue to run the store. Martin listened, weighed the pros and cons, and refused the offer. Thank goodness, he thought later.
There was a lot of pressure to sell the store. Uncle Willie’s attorney in Berlin said something had to be done at once before the business fell into the hands of the Nazis, who would pay nothing for it. There was one other option–and that was for Martin to buy the business himself.
That worked for everybody and the papers were drawn up. Dad’s down payment covered ten percent of the full price; the remainder would come out of the daily sales. Martin did lack “the eye” that Uncle Willie had ten fold when it came to choosing the latest fashions that would blow out the door. But it didn’t take him long to learn that the salesgirls could help him with that most important part of the business.
Twenty-four hours after the papers had been signed, and Martin had just opened the doors to the store, two tough looking plainclothes policemen came looking for Willie K. They accused Uncle Willie of tax evasion and they were there to take over the store in the name of the government.
Just as expected–and they beat the government bureaucracy.
“I’m the new owner,” my father explaining, showing the legal papers. Things didn’t go further than that, the explanation and the papers seeming to satisfy the men who finally went away.
Martin’s ownership was so new that he hadn’t had time to tell his employees but they overheard the conversation with the police and as soon as they left congratulated him. His married sister, Edith (whose husband, Gerhard, was working for Sammy) now became the manager of the other store located near the Kurfurstendamm, a ten minute walk from her apartment.
Making the payments wasn’t a problem because he had a deep inventory to draw from. In fact, he paid off the balance earlier than due.
Meanwhile current taxes and rents for both stores were very high and both were going to shoot much higher. As a bachelor, Martin had to pay 48% of his total income in taxes. Fortunately, his accountant hated the regime but he had once worked in the Revenue Department–he was going to use his connections to convince officials that there had been no wrongdoing but no luck. Martin had to pay more money. In the end he was stunned to discover that he was the largest taxpayer in the entire district.
Chapter Twenty
My father had been racially categorized as a “mischling,” of mixed race. That did not keep him safe and as the official taunts against the Jewish people grew louder and louder, he worried about his own future in Berlin. As the days passed, he felt more and more uncomfortable but his family felt things would improve with time.
Chapter Twenty-One
As people’s races were categorized so were their relationships with Germans, proven to be Aryan. My mother Kay was considered a pure Aryan and it was illegal for her to be seen with my father in public. And vice versa.
The Nuremburg Laws strictly prohibited marriage between Aryans and non-Aryans, called “Rassenschande.” It was a major offense that affected friendships and even business deals fell into the realm of this vicious law.
Some so-called friends and relatives took personal responsibility for the policing of this law, watching and reporting to the authorities when they saw it happen, the mixing of the races. It didn’t matter if it was their mother, father or siblings. It had to be reported.
Kay and Martin could not trust their friends or relatives. They were so afraid of them that they started a rumor that the couple had split-up. The official word was that they were no longer seeing each other.
With its international atmosphere, the Hotel Adlon on Unter den Linden was a kind of safe house, a haven for Martin and Kay where they didn’t fear getting caught together. Uniformed Nazis did not come into the restaurant as they did others asking for money or forcing people to give. It was believed that foreigners dined at the Hotel Adlon and they were not bothered. At that time, foreigners, especially Americans, were greatly respected.
Chapter Twenty-Two
(Photo: “The Tower Room” at the Milastrasse apartment in Berlin. Edith’s room, I think.)
Leading a normal life was becoming more and more difficult but Martin and his family didn’t want to believe that they would have to leave their home. The idea seemed an impossibility, was impossible.
Yet all the signs were there. Propaganda speeches on the radio had become routine and hard to avoid because of strategically place loudspeakers in public places. Big Brother was everywhere.
Every year the Nazis celebrated the “Putsch,” the unsuccessful 1923 uprising in Munich. The loudspeakers screamed at everyone in Berlin so Martin decided to outwit the system by leaving town, traveling high into the mountains, 2, 920 meters high to the snow capped Zugspitze in Bavaria. There was a beautiful hotel where Martin was well known and all he had to do was call anytime for a reservation.
But even the faraway Zugspitze couldn’t stop the propaganda from reaching his ears. It was November, and he was happily skiing, when, to his horror, he heard the voice of the Fuhrer coming out of a giant loudspeaker placed in front of the hotel. The voice was booming in his direction where he was skiing. Apparently the guests bitterly complained because the loudspeaker was removed soon after.
The loudspeakers were annoying and scarey but the evil was crawling even closer. Martin and his parents were living on the top third floor of the Milastrasse apartment building I described earlier, the historic home of a rich beer baron that had been divided up. Where there once had been spacious family rooms on the first floor there was now a private lobby.
Of all things that could have happened, why this? Why now? Next door to the apartment a branch of the Nazi stormtroopers opened a new office. They were loud and liked to keep the windows open so their hateful voices carried. From time to time the sound of physical beatings, of fists hitting flesh, the cries of victims, all could be heard.
Chapter Twenty-Three
How do people get through horrific events?
Martin was a great believer in the power of the human mind, in the ability to adjust, to get through the worst situations. He thought of himself as a survivor.
Martin and his family were trying to live as normal a life as was possible–even as they couldn’t be in the same room with some friends, with some relatives. On some level they were beginning to realize that they were the hunted and they learned to avoid hostile confrontations, to be clandestine. They also ignored problems.
When encountering a group of Nazis on the street, my father immediately entered the closest building or store or disappeared into the subway.
“Stay well; be alert” was the family motto. Business was still good, my father was earning enough money to buy a new black convertible BMW. He gave his old car to his father, Sammy who failed the test for a driver’s license twice before passing it.
Martin’s car meant total freedom and he treated it well. He hired an amiable man called Rudolph to wash and polish it everyday. The shiny BMW was kept in a rented, heated garage, a five minute walk from the Milastrasse apartment.
It was important to be able to store the car in a garage because in the winter months the weather grew very cold.
[ I can barely imagine my parents living in a cold place. My dad was an accomplished skiier, when I tried to ski I tipped over and finally gave up trying].
Cars were treated differently in the 1930s. They received great respect by their owners, perhaps as a fine horse would. There was a rigid schedule that Rudolph adhered to: between six and seven in the morning he parked the car in front of the Milastrasse apartment. If my father was traveling by train or plane that day, Rudolph picked him up and drove him to the train station or airport.
A friendly bond developed between Martin and Rudolph; they were close enough that Martin loaned Rudolph the car from time to time.
There weren’t many cars on the roads at that time so Rudolph accompanied his boss on short trips, to the port of Bremen, for example.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Uncle Willie’s life was taking an ugly turn. While still in Vienna he had anticipated the “Anschluss”–the bloodless coup that united Austria with Germany–and with the help of my father made plans to move on before the Nazi’s moved in. He sailed for the island of Martinque, then Cuba.
Getting into the United States was pretty hopeless. He was born in Poland and the entry quota from that country was then very low. But his chances improved once he was in Cuba–and soon after he arrived in New York to begin all over again–but his life wasn’t easy.
Martin often thought about Uncle Willie’s decision to leave Berlin and thought he left too soon.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Life went on as it had–Martin and his family lived in the Milastrasse apartment, the Nazi’s kept their office next door, shouting and screaming obscenities at all hours, Hitler’s voice could be heard booming through loud speakers where you never thought you’d be exposed to evil.
Strange as it sounds, there was a kind of stability to their life. Nothing out of the ordinary, as everything was out of the ordinary.
Then one night the phone rang and something different happened to push the fear meter up a couple of notches. The caller was the man who had hit Martin’s motorbike. Years earlier. The case had been settled but the man had been reluctant to pay for damages. Now he was calling and saying that the time for retribution had come.
He was angry and he threatened my father, reminding him that it was a Jewish judge who had made him pay the original damages. Now, he said, it was my father who owed him money–and if he didn’t pay he would go to the Nazis and to hell with Martin.
The call was frightening. I can imagine that there was a family meeting held to figure out how to handle the situation. They were trying to stay below the radar and if the caller went through with his threats, their very lives would be threatened.
One truth about being part of a huge eclectic family was that you could find help with just about anything. Each person had their area of expertise. And Martin recalled that one of his mom’s cousins said, “Call me anytime.” Meaning if you get in trouble I’ll try to help.
This cousin worked for Propaganda Minister Joseph Gobbels and he was anxious to help. He would fashion a ruse and this is how it went down. Martin’s faithful cousin Aute would have to play a role and dress up in a Nazi uniform. Meanwhile a summons to appear at one of the storm trooper’s meetings was sent to the caller.
Present at the phony meeting was Aute in uniform and the other relative who set the whole thing up and who was a member of the Nazi party. He wore the uniform of a high ranking officer which was very intimidating.
The caller arrives at the meeting, and instead of being congratulated for exposing my father, as he expected, he is reprimanded and lectured on the meaning of the national socialist revolution! HE is told that he could be charged with a severe financial penalty–and even concentration camp. But all would be forgotten if he promised, if he swore, to never again bother Martin M.
By this time the caller was terrified and ready to agree to anything. He had been emotionally beaten-up. It wasn’t really his idea, he said, his voice trembling. It was his wife; she forced him into the whole thing.
It was a amazing how Martin’s relatives wearing these soldier’s uniforms could turn a man like the aggressive caller into instant submission. The event had been orchestrated, Aute wasn’t even a soldier. The realtive had probably borrowed the officer’s uniform. Yet they had been able to fool the caller.
But this was very serious stuff and my dad wondered if help would be there next time. He finally started thinking about getting out of Berlin.
[Note: By now my father had given up his passport to the authorities. I have lost the point in time and the circumstances but I'll find it.]
Chapter Twenty-Five
Remaining in Berlin was becoming more difficult than Martin and his family had ever imagined. He owned Uncle Willie’s store and now would like to sell it and get his money out. A consortium expressed interest, businessmen who said they hated the regime. Martin knew they were serious bargain hunters but he went ahead and tried to work something out with the group.
Meanwhile, Martin, who had no passport, asked friends in London to mail an official letter requesting his presence on an urgent business matter. In that way, he thought he might get his confiscated passport back.
The letter arrived and Martin went to Nazi headquarters, arriving before 7 a.m. Already there was a long line of people waiting, all of them wanting their passports. The office was supposed to open at 8 a.m. but didn’t for another two hours; the bureaucrats barely looked at the long line of people standing and waiting.
“You can come in now,” a man wearing a Nazi uniform told my father. “What do you want?”. Martin showed him the letter but the official didn’t even look at it. “Request denied,” was all he said.”
Martin thought he would never get his passport now.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Ja, Ja, die Juden,
Und die Radfahren!
Warum die Radfrahren?
Warum die Juden?”
When Martin went back to the store his accountant was there. He told him he was trying to get his passport back and the accountant said, “Why didn’t you tell me before? I can help you with that.”
It seemed that if you had the money there was somebody who could help with anything.
The accountant wanted 400 Marks to get the passport. Martin was to go back to the passport office, ignore the long line of people waiting and just go into the main room. This he did and found himself face to face with the same man who had turned him down the day before.
Looking up from the paperwork spread out on the desk, the man motioned for my father to sit. “Your application has been approved by me,” he said. “It is valid for one year. Just the sign the passport in front of me.” Smiling, he pushed the valuable document to the edge of the desk.
400 Marks later and Martin breathed a great sigh of relief. Even Hitler’s Reich money talked.
There were people interested in buying the store–but the man who was negotiating on Martin’s behalf suddenly fell ill, leaving it up to Martin to work the deal. This wasn’t good because it exposed Martin, who was a “mischling”, and, frankly, wasn’t holding the stronger hand. Of course, the final price was lower than expected but he would receive cash. Maybe this was the best route, he thought. He’d heard stories about transactions where the money was frozen; at least with the cash he could take it and run. In the end he agreed to the deal.
With the sale of Uncle Willie’s store, an important chapter in my dad’s life ended. Opportunity had knocked…now he confronted a new, much more difficult problem. Where in the world would, could he go?
So many refugees had left Germany that other countries closed their borders. Getting in England had become difficult. Cuba was a possibility but for some reason he didn’t follow-up on it. He had no connections in South America.
One day in October 1938 Martin’s younger sister Edith said her husband, Gerhard, met a counsin on the street who had booked a getaway voyage for Shanghai, China.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
While my dad was a businessman, the owner of an important store in Berlin, and the largest taxpayer in the district, he became close friends with Walter C., who managed a medium-sized wholesale women’s clothing business. He supervisored some 50 employees and worked with many “contractors”.
The owner of the business was a man happy to let Walter take over all of the negotiating duties. He was rarely on site when models showed off the latest styles.
[Walter had a brother Werner and the two lived together.]
Martin and Kay met Walter often at the Hotel Adlon, usually with blonde girlfriend Vera on his arm. Werner and his ladyfriend might be there, too. One of the finest restaurants in Berlin was located at the Adlon. They all knew the maitre d’ who welcomed and treated them very well, knowing a big tip was coming his way.
Dad described Walter as a 35-year-old playboy, though the description of him doesn’t make him sound that handsome. He was 5′6″ and bald, slim and endowed with a charming smile, his best asset. He was high energy and loved women. He had three girlfriends at one time, and, well, if another beautiful gal came along, he was always game.
On Walter’s list of girlfriends, the stunning blonde Vera held the number one spot. She lived in an apartment in Berlin and didn’t work because Walter supported her. Then came the extremely gorgeous dark-haired model Karen. She was the smart one.
Number three was the boss’s wife, Sharon. Her husband was twenty years her senior and, well, what can I say: she enjoyed the company of a younger man. Sharon was bold and brazen– after all her husband owned the place where Walter worked– and if she needed an hour of lovemaking, she showed up and told Walter she needed a new dress.
All the models, including Walter’s #2 lover, Karen, had to model the latest designs for Sharon, Walter’s #3 lover. Sharon picked a dress, which had to be altered to fit her curves–or even made from scratch. Then, in her sweetest voice, Sharon told Walter to deliver the finished dress to her home.
All of them being Europeans, Sharon’s husband knew about her fling with Walter and he suddenly wasn’t around when his wife showed up.
Somehow Walter divided his time after working hours between the three girlfriends–and, don’t forget, he never turned down an interesting date. But what he loved doing best could also be his undoing.
Life was anything but normal and stable in the 1930s. The mind can adjust to things that just aren’t “right,” because changes are happening at a very fast rate–but later as these things are filtered and closely examined a kind of shock sets in, a numbing shock that leaves only one avenue open and that street says “run.”
In the 1930s the political men of the day were Hitler and Mussolini–but the middleclass and the rich didn’t pay attention to their message, they thought it wasn’t aimed at them. Walter didn’t pay attention until one day Vera, girlfriend #1, was found dead in her apartment.
Vera was murdered, the newspaper’s headlines screamed–a grisly murder!
It didn’t take long for the police to track down Walter C.. They found the key to Vera’s apartment at his place and Walter was booked on suspicion of the murder of his beautiful girlfriend. The motive, I’m guessing, was probably jealousy.
Walter proclaimed his innocence but the cops didn’t have any other suspects and the community was outraged. As their prime suspect poor Walter was questioned over and over again.
From what Martin says about his friend Walter, he was easily taken in, and one person that fooled him was Vera. Walter was shocked whent he police told him that his gorgeous girlfriend was a prostitute, a sex worker, who looked for men after dark. Walter way paying for the apartment, was paying for her clothes and lifestyle; he had no idea she was a sex worker. Worse, he now realized she lled when she told him she loved him.
And all this time Walter was in jail, protesting his innocence.
Once again, family connections came into play. Walter’s brother Werner knew a detective who promised to help, and, true to his promise, he got Walter out of jail on the basis of insufficient evidence. Not long after that the real murderer was caught, a man who admitted killing Vera after arguing with the beauty.
Walter was free, off the hook, but as you can imagine he was depressed. He thought he knew Vera but he didn’t know her at all. What else didn’t he know?
The entire experience had filled him with fear, and realizing that it all began with too many girlfriends, he broke off the affair with Sharon, the boss’s wife, and married the model Karen, who, corny as it may sound, truly loved him.
Later in the story I’ll return to Werner and Walter.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It had become more and more difficult for Martin and Kay to meet openly, and my father, who used to drive out of town to the boathouse where the “Ellen” was stored, gave up the beloved kayak. For awhile Kay went there alone and even bravely waded into the water. What would she do if Martin left? What would she do once Martin had gone? She loved this man. The thought was so chilling that she had to push it away.
[Note to reader: There's some detail missing here and there, I see it...other important events occurred. I may wait until I've completed the entire draft before plugging it in.]
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Edith’s husband, Gerhard, had gathered all of the information about getting to Shanghai, and it was he who persuaded Sammy and Luise that the best thing to do was to give up the struggle and leave for China right away.
The family called the Norddeutsche Lloyd company and arranged for passage, for Martin’s passage as well as Edith and Gerhard. At that point my father also planned to leave Berlin but not for Shanghai, a place he knew nothing about. He had no desire to go there and continued to look for another safe refuge, without result.
From Germany it was not possible to enter the U.S. but if he could get into Mexico or Canada he could cross the border into America. He couldn’t find a way to do this. Finally he gave up the idea of going it alone and tried to book a cabin on the SS Gneisenau with his parents. Unfortunately the liner was fully booked which must have been frightening–until he suggested setting up a third bed in his parent’s cabin and a deal was struck.
Martin had made the commitment; he was sailing to Shanghai, a two month voyage. From there he could examine new alternatives.
They booked passed in September for a December 27, 1938 departure date. That gave them two months to close-up the business and say farewell. It was heartbreaking to leave most everything behind after all the work, time and effort they had put into building up the clothing business. They had survived many lean and fruitful years.
As you know by now, the BMW convertible that Martin owned was one of his beloved possessions. He couldn’t take the beautiful automobile with him and called a friendly car dealer on Friederichstrasse who agreed to buy the car, offering thousands of marks in cash. Without the car, he used public transportation as he had as very young man.
One day a cop knocked at the door of the Milastrasse apartment. He was looking for Martin who was home. He wanted to see his passport. The passport was a cherished item and Martin lied about its whereabouts, saying he left it at the British Consulate because he was waiting for a visa. The cop seemed half-satisfied with the answer but he returned a few days later.
This time the cop took my dad to the police station–and he had to bring the passport with him. (He had hidden it in a secret place). He had to bring it or go to jail–the cop was polite and my father apologized.
The passport was left at the station and Martin was supposed to return on a certain date. When he did he found out terrible news: the passport had been forwarded to the special Police Bureau, located in Pankow, north of Berlin. The building, in reality a police bureau, had the facade of a private residence.
As soon as he got there he was directed to a uniformed official who retrieved his file.
“You owe taxes to the revenue department,” was all he said. Martin was dismissed.
My dad contacted his sympathetic accountant who knew the top Nazi in the tax office. Amazingly, Martin was the biggest taxpayer in the district and his payments were made quarterly. There was a missing payment for October but the business had been sold. He didn’t really owe the money. Didn’t matter–it was blackmail and the final price was negotiated.
Two week after the agreed-upon tax had been paid, the passport was returned.
Martin didn’t have the money to pay the taxes; he had to borrow some and even though there was the promise of his receiving it back, once things were sorted out, it never happened.
At the time, restrictions for taking anything out of the country were extremely harsh. Anything besides the most essential personal belongings was prohibited.
As I informed you, Martin’s family was huge and there were many different political alignments–most of them supportive. When the friendly ones knew in advance of something coming up they warned Martin and his parents.
Friends told them to go into hiding for a few days before a round-up of non-aryan males was scheduled to take place. Sammy and his son Martin left in the early hours of November for the Lehrter Railway Staion where they took a train to Hamburg where Aunt Hede lived. The trip took about ten hours.
Finding their second-class compartment empty, they stretched out and slept on the upholestered benches. In Hamburg it was quiet and Aunt Hede, who did not expect them, was pleasantly surprised.
Edith’s husband, Gerhard, did not go along with his father and brother-in-law. He wanted to stay in Berlin but all the frightening talk of the round-up put his life in danger. He ended up hiding in the Milastrasse apartment, in the maid’s room next to the kitchen. Just in case, a large piece of heavy furniture was place in front of the door.
But nobody came to check the apartment–showing, my father told me, the respect he and his family had in the neighborhood.
Two days in Hamburg and father and son returned to Berlin–what had happened in the meantime was the notorious “Krystalnacht”–and, I have to wonder, how many people knew in advance of what was going to happen?
Krystalnacht….wild groups of Nazis ransacking Jewish-owned stores….smashing windows….burning synagogues….the arrests of many people……….
Krystalnach was so infamous, so irrational that the horrific event event split the Nazis into two camps (if you can believe it): those who advocated chaotic violence and those who did not.
“Get me out of here,” Martin’s sister Edith screamed. That summarized the aftermath of the night of frenzied insanity–when a kind of silence prevailed over the once-sophisticated, civilized European city.
That that kind of unbridaled craziness could occur drove Martin and his family to make their final decision: get out of Berlin….right now….Life’s routine focus had catapulted into a necessary move that made them pack with great speed.
Although their scheduled date for departure was during the Christmas holidays, they wanted to leave earlier, even a day earlier, even 12 hours earlier, even 1 hour earlier. Usually the holidays were a joyful, festive time, a part of which included meticulously baked cakes and cookies–but on this occasion they booked Lufthansa for a flight to Rotterdam where they planned to pick up the Gneisenau for Shanghai.
The extreme times spilled over into everything, even how Martin and his family packed whatever belongings they were allowed to take. What they wanted to pack had to be checked and approved by officials before being put into the suitcases…. a deeply sad procedure as these strange men looked at the most intimate things….but nothing was rejected..
It took all day before the personal possessions of a lifetime were approved, packed and officially sealed and the final words “good luck.”
No more than ten marks could be taken out of the country. Dad–walking as if in a dream, hearing and seeing nothing– and his parents met sister, Edith and her husband, Gerhard, and Pootz, the dog, at the Temelhof Airport.
All of them may have been walking in a dream but they woke up in the middle of a bad dream as the plane landed at Rotterdam and the authorities refused them admittance. Holland had espoused neutrality and theoretically there should have no problem entering the country–but now they were told that they were “undesirable aliens.”
Let me say it again: Undesirable aliens.
Of course they pleaded, wouldn’t you? Nothing helped–not even the intervention of a Dutch Jewish committee. They were detained in separate rooms, as if they were criminals who had committed a horrific crime. Finally Lufthansa was told to take them back to Berlin.
How did they feel? They felt like a herd of sheep going to the slaughter house as they filed onto the plane taking them back to Tempelhof airport at Berlin. No words were spoken but they were so close to each other that they had the same mind-vision: death or concentration camp.
Everybody looked at them, many with pity, as they walked through the airport. They had to walk through customs where the uniformed SS military police let them pass without incident.
The government had limited them to a few Marks so they didn’t have enough money for a cab but a friendly driver agreed to take them to Dolly’s apartment on Potsdamerstrasse, where he would get paid.
[Dolly's dentist-husband, Mischa saw patients in the apartment which wasn't that large].
In search of fresh air, Martin left the apartment, walking around, feeling invislble as he watched the happy Christmas shoppers.
Of course they didn’t want anyone else to know they were back in Berlin, fearing the consequences. Martin did contact Kay and they probably spent some time together.
It was December 26, Luise’s birthday, usually a special day, when they got on the train for the port of Bremen. They had stayed most of the week at Dolly’s but on the final night they rented a hotel room.
Once again customs officials inspected the luggage. There were so many people booked for the voyage and so many suitcases, and so much paperwork to fill out, that the officials couldn’t open and look at every piece of luggage. They ended up doing random inspections.
There were so many people in line that the Nazis singled out Aryans, allowing them to board before the others–but in one case there was a great embarrassment when a tall blond man turned out to be Jewish.
Everybody had to be patted down. Everybody was suspect. Luise, wife and mother of three children, had to undress completely.
Finally after jumping through all the hoops, they boarded the ship to traditional German music played by a band, and the steward took them to their first-class cabin which faced the sea. That was the one thing, they wanted to travel first-class, to leave Berlin on this forced voyage with their heads up.
Dolly and Mischa came on board to say their goodbyes. “When the war is over, we will meet in Falkensee,” they said. That was the promise, to meet in Falkensee at the little house where the family had had so many good, warm times.
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
More than half of the passengers were refugees, the rest people traveling on business. A line was drawn socially and it was taboo for a German National to talk with any of the refugees. The rule was strictly obeyed because of great fear on that ship. It was believed that there were Nazi agents lurking in the shadows looking and waiting to report and punish anyone who broke the rule.
That didn’t mean that anybody liked the rule–the German Nationals whispered among themselves that the Nazis were a cruel lot, disapproving of their shovingn the Jews out of the country.
They may not have been able to talk to each other but they could swim and play shuffleboard. On later boats this was not allowed–refugees were not allowed to swim in the pool at all.
Martin and his parents and sister and brother-in-law (and Pootz the dog, who was delegated to a special pet room, other than the cabin) were treated very well by the German crew, obviously because they were staying in first-class accomodations. Why should they have exposed themselves to one more act of harassment? Money helped them to turn the tables around, at least temporarily.
All along Martin wondered what Shanghai looked like, what they would do, would they find work, would they understand the language? Their English wasn’t even that proficient.
When the ship docked at Rotterdam–the port where they had been turned away a week earlier–no one stopped them from going ashore and roaming about the city. An aunt and uncle who moved to Holland a couple of years earlier joined them later for dinner on the ship. They seemed content.
It was winter and the night was frigid, too cold for an evening stroll on the deck.
[Sketchy here] The Gneisenau sailed past Belgium, later entering the Bay of Biscay where the sea was rough. Strong north-westerly winds pushed the boat back and forth making every sea sick.
By December 31 they were in calmber waters but not in the mood to celebrate New Years Eve, usually a big day with costume-wearing and much drinking and laughing and loving. There was a party on board and Martin and his parents attended but it wasn’t much fun, it was more as if they had been forced to come. Again they felt like invisible observers, dead to any emotion as they watched smiling, laughing men and women clinking champagne glasses at the other tables.
On January 1, 1939 they saw the coatlines of Spain and Portugal. The warmer temperature was welcome and for the first time they could cast off their overcoats. Traveling at 20 knots, the Gneisenau reached the Straits of Gilbraltar and they entered the beautiful Mediterranean. The next port of call was Genoa where they encountered cooler weather again.
Martin noted the differences beween Genoa, Rotterdeam and Bremen–admitting it would take him a long time to shake off his expectations as a German. That is to say, Genoa didn’t impress him as much as Rotterdam and Bremen.
At Genoa new passengers boarded and then the ship headed toward Port Said, Egypt, reached after a fascinating passage along the islands between southern Europe and norther Africa.
Almost all of the passengers were eager to see colorful Port Said–but not my father. He didn’t go, not even to see Simon Arzt, a famous department store. He was growing accustomed to shipboard life.
The Gneisenau was on its way to entering the Suez Canal, a passage that took many hours. This was a different world filled with warm air and an exotic landscape. It was a rare experience for the Germans, accustomed to cold winters, to walk about in warm weather in January.
But seeing more of the world for the first time also made them realize how narrow their lives had been. There was so much more to see.
When they got to the Red Sea the temperature kept rising. It was so hot that they swam in the pool all day. Bombay, India came next and Martin went ashore and hired a rickshaw for the first time. Seeing human beings pulling others in a cart-like vehicle made a deep impression. Here Indians slept on the sidewalks or squatted.
This is the Orient, he thought, and I will have a lot to learn.
Singapore’s beautiful harbor was stunning and Manila flaunted its own brand of beauty. In Singapore, he bought a pair of handmade sandals for 50 cents, an amazing price for sandals that lasted many years. Too bad they spent only a day at each place. Hong Kong’s harbor was the pearl of the Orient, a thriving port in 1939. The streets were crowded with people and the Chinese lived in specific areas.
In Hong Kong the locals were permitted to board the ship to sell their goods. One man ordered a white duck suit for $2.50. The tailor appeared the next morning to deliver the suit which not only looked good but was washable.
After an overnight stay in Hong Kong, the ship sailed in a northerly direction where the seas were rough and the wind made a whipping sound. Time to put on warmer apparel.
The part of the voyage that had been paradise was over. Hong Kong was the last bright spot along this journey into the uncertain future. So far every stop had been an adventure–if he could, my father would have gladly settled in Singapore, Manila or Hong Kong—but without special connections it was impossible.
Chapter 32
They were traveling first-class and mingled with others on the upper decks.
[Having once traveled on the QE2 from New York to Southhampton [1985?], I have a little experience with this as my room was practically down in the hold! Well, I wasn’t on the top deck, okay. I paid for a second or third-class ticket, I can’t remember which. There was no mixing between the decks, first and second class, although after a few glasses of wine I did venture up once…]
Martin became friendly with a man from Frankfurt called Humpoletz, who, when he settled in America changed his name to Humpole. From a well-to-do family he had a permit for admission to England and apparently got off there when the Gneisenau arrived at Southhampton. Later he came to New York and married, finally settling in Chicago where he worked for the Inland Steel Co.
Another acquaintance was the attorney, Eric Eulan, and his wife, Francis, Eric’s former secretary, who had boarded the ship at Bremen–but Francis did not stay on the Gneisenau.
Not until he had been at sea for awhile did Eric open up and tell Martin his gripping story. He revealed that he had just been released from Buchenwald, the concentration camp after a terrifying six weeks. Somehow his wife Francis got him released, with the condition that they leave the country within twelve hours.
He had lost a great deal of weight as his clothes hung loosely on him. The authorities permitted him to take one suitcase and he expected to meet up with wife Francis at Manila, where she had relatives, including a brother who had wed a Spanish girl.
[Please go to “Falkensee III” or “Dolly’s Story” which I’m just beginning.