World War II had, thankfully, ended on May 8, 1945. My mom and dad were 25 years old, having gone through a terrifying time of their lives, with no connection to the atrocities that were to be learned as time went on.
Peace was achieved in Europe. As the dust settled, I was preparing to enter a world, unaware and untouched by the war. My destination was Schwabendorf, a tiny village of about 450 people close to Marburg in the American sector.
My dad had been in the German Air Force, a mechanic, who managed to stay out of harms way and protect his wife, my mom, as best as he could. Knowing the end of the war was coming, he moved her to a small town north of Frankfurt, under the control of the US. The village was an old Huguenots settlement formed in 1687, with no more than 500 residents occupying the town in 1945. As the war came to an end, my father managed to head back home and hide in a barn as the Russians came through town, on their way east. The Americans then took control of the area, including this small town.
The rest of the Schuder and Patel relatives remained in East Germany, under Russian control. This would last until 1989 when the "Wall" finally came down, thanks largely, to the efforts of Ronald Reagan and Mikhail Gorbachev. The Reykjavik Summit was the beginning of Russia and the USA working to bringing Germany back together again.
A few months later in September of 1945, I was born in a second floor farmhouse, on the corner of Winter Strasse. A midwife was there and American soldiers were waiting outside, incase any issues came along. I was a Sunday child, an easy delivery and the town was happy to cheer on my arrival. It wasn't until 1993 that I came back to visit the old homestead, still there, in pristine shape, with little change to the community in all those years.
My dad took a job in a local chair factory, but then quickly found a job as a telephone lineman in a town close by. We first moved to another small farm community and then eventually, to the town of Frankenau, where a number of his co-workers lived. Moving seemed to be second nature, as by the time I was seven years old, I had already moved four times, with three more moves coming in quick succession, during our early years in the USA.
Peace was achieved in Europe. As the dust settled, I was preparing to enter a world, unaware and untouched by the war. My destination was Schwabendorf, a tiny village of about 450 people close to Marburg in the American sector.
My dad had been in the German Air Force, a mechanic, who managed to stay out of harms way and protect his wife, my mom, as best as he could. Knowing the end of the war was coming, he moved her to a small town north of Frankfurt, under the control of the US. The village was an old Huguenots settlement formed in 1687, with no more than 500 residents occupying the town in 1945. As the war came to an end, my father managed to head back home and hide in a barn as the Russians came through town, on their way east. The Americans then took control of the area, including this small town.
The rest of the Schuder and Patel relatives remained in East Germany, under Russian control. This would last until 1989 when the "Wall" finally came down, thanks largely, to the efforts of Ronald Reagan and Mikhail Gorbachev. The Reykjavik Summit was the beginning of Russia and the USA working to bringing Germany back together again.
A few months later in September of 1945, I was born in a second floor farmhouse, on the corner of Winter Strasse. A midwife was there and American soldiers were waiting outside, incase any issues came along. I was a Sunday child, an easy delivery and the town was happy to cheer on my arrival. It wasn't until 1993 that I came back to visit the old homestead, still there, in pristine shape, with little change to the community in all those years.
My dad took a job in a local chair factory, but then quickly found a job as a telephone lineman in a town close by. We first moved to another small farm community and then eventually, to the town of Frankenau, where a number of his co-workers lived. Moving seemed to be second nature, as by the time I was seven years old, I had already moved four times, with three more moves coming in quick succession, during our early years in the USA.
Born to run
1945 • It was a very good year
Victory at hand
Great Britain's Daily Telegram
Making the point valid
Marburg's train station destroyed
Munich destroyed
The end of the Holocaust
Happy to get some food. Many others were not as lucky.
The streets are open again
Celebrations all over the world
Peace
The End of World War II and the beginning of a new life.
Run over by a car
(Auto kommt, Seite gehen)
We lived across the street from a lumberyard and sawmill. At that time the main road into town was still dirt. Playing in the front yard of our apartment was ok, but the sawmill seemed a lot more fun for my friend Heidi and some of the other kids close by. I was always told that if a car comes along, you go to the side of the road and walt until it passes.
One day, we all decided to play among some new tree trunks that had come on site, ready to be cut into wood planks. Heidi and the others got a jump on crossing over and then called for me to come. I quickly dashed for the road, not looking or hearing any cars coming. Bang! Just like that I was hit by a car.
Luckily, the car was high enough off the ground and I was in between the tires, so I was underneath the car, but not injured. The driver of the car pulled me out from underneath and continued on his way. I was banished to the apartment for a few days and made to promise I would never cross the road again without first looking both ways. I used to walk down the road into town to pick up fresh bread, so keeping off the road was not an option my parents wanted to consider.
The small farming town of Schreufa
A car similar to what ran me over.
At the lumberyard with my friends (Heidi is in the back on the right). Heidi lived downstairs from us, across from the lumberyard. I didn't see her again until 1993, when I visited Germany for the first time since 1953.
I would never get into trouble, you know.
I loved the chocolate Easter rabbits
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Gypsies used to come around the countryside as some would work carnivals, others looking for jobs. It was not unusual for a wagon or two filled with Gypsies to come down the main road of Schreufa, even in the early 1950's. Although I didn't have blue eyes, I did have blond hair and that seemed to be an attraction to some Gypsies.
On a sunny, summer day, I was outside playing when a band of Gypsies came down the road in one of their wagons. My mom was upstairs doing some laundry, so she was unaware of what was going on outside. A few minutes later, a neighbor came running up the stairs to our apartment and let my mom know that some Gypsies had come by and that I had disappeared.
My mom, all 4-10 of her and a pretty good sprinter during her youth, bolted down the stairs, out the front door and ran as fast as she could down the road after the caravan. Along the way, she called out to a friend who came along with her and the two of them stopped the caravan and found me in one of the wagons.
I have no memory of this, but this was a story told often times as I was growing up. I do remember that my mom tied a rope around my waist that enabled me to go from the front door of the house we lived in no further than the middle of the yard. I was probably the first child to have a leash like a dog to keep me from straying away.
On a sunny, summer day, I was outside playing when a band of Gypsies came down the road in one of their wagons. My mom was upstairs doing some laundry, so she was unaware of what was going on outside. A few minutes later, a neighbor came running up the stairs to our apartment and let my mom know that some Gypsies had come by and that I had disappeared.
My mom, all 4-10 of her and a pretty good sprinter during her youth, bolted down the stairs, out the front door and ran as fast as she could down the road after the caravan. Along the way, she called out to a friend who came along with her and the two of them stopped the caravan and found me in one of the wagons.
I have no memory of this, but this was a story told often times as I was growing up. I do remember that my mom tied a rope around my waist that enabled me to go from the front door of the house we lived in no further than the middle of the yard. I was probably the first child to have a leash like a dog to keep me from straying away.
It was 1950 and I was would be 5 at the end of September, when I began to help my mom in her garden, located directly behind the house where we lived on the second floor.
The town of Schreufa, with its dirt road through the center of town, had a butcher, a baker and a lumberyard that I can still remember. I also recall a Barber Shop, but don't know if that was a fact or not. It was a sleepy little town still recovering from World War 2.
The garden had a wooden fence with a gate. That gate was always closed so as to keep wandering animals out of the garden plots, in particular, geese and goats.
I was not good at closing the gate, but I learned quickly that if I didn't close it properly, I was in for it, not from my mom, but from the goose and the billy goat.
I remember following my mom into the garden to pick some peas, totally forgetting about the gate. Pretty soon, here comes the goose, hissing and snapping her head forwards and back.
All of a sudden, she darts right for me. I turn to run and get pecked in the behind, hard enough that I let out a scream. At that same instance, a small billygoat, named Willi, with protruding tiny horns came running at me and, bam, right in the stomach with his head. I started crying and trying to get behind my mom for safety, only to find her laughing at the scene. It took some time before I enjoyed gardening again.
The town of Schreufa, with its dirt road through the center of town, had a butcher, a baker and a lumberyard that I can still remember. I also recall a Barber Shop, but don't know if that was a fact or not. It was a sleepy little town still recovering from World War 2.
The garden had a wooden fence with a gate. That gate was always closed so as to keep wandering animals out of the garden plots, in particular, geese and goats.
I was not good at closing the gate, but I learned quickly that if I didn't close it properly, I was in for it, not from my mom, but from the goose and the billy goat.
I remember following my mom into the garden to pick some peas, totally forgetting about the gate. Pretty soon, here comes the goose, hissing and snapping her head forwards and back.
All of a sudden, she darts right for me. I turn to run and get pecked in the behind, hard enough that I let out a scream. At that same instance, a small billygoat, named Willi, with protruding tiny horns came running at me and, bam, right in the stomach with his head. I started crying and trying to get behind my mom for safety, only to find her laughing at the scene. It took some time before I enjoyed gardening again.
My maternal grandparents lived in the very small town of Mittenwalde, which is about 20 south of Berlin, near Königs Wusterhausen.
One Christmas when I was 4 or 5 years old, my parents and I took one of those old pre-war trains from Schreufa to Berlin. Each passenger compartment had an entry door with a handle on it.
This trip was exciting for me as it was my first time on a train and my first time visiting my grandparents (also my only time). I remember my mom and dad sitting on a bench on one side of the train compartment while I decided to walk around a little and look out the window of the door. I had to stand on my toes and lean into the door to look out when the door started to open outward. My mom, being attentive, noticed the door opening and quickly jumped over to grab me just before I would fall out of the train to a certain death. My mom ended up with a badly cut hand, as she had opened up a glass vial to take a pill and in her effort in grabbing me, crushed the vial and the glass splinters cut her hand.
We eventually arrived in Mittenwalde’s Bahnhof (train station), that still exists to this day. My grandparents lived in a one room flat on the second floor where there was no central heat. I still remember feeling ice on the inside wall as I lay in bed and listened to a crystal radio made by my grandfather.
I recall spending some fun time with my grandfather, going sleighing down a hill, but when I went back to Mittenwalde to look for that hill, I could not find it. On Christmas Eve, Santa showed up to give out presents. I don’t remember what I got but I was very excited to meet Der Weinachtsmann, who I learned years later was my grandfather dressed up.
One Christmas when I was 4 or 5 years old, my parents and I took one of those old pre-war trains from Schreufa to Berlin. Each passenger compartment had an entry door with a handle on it.
This trip was exciting for me as it was my first time on a train and my first time visiting my grandparents (also my only time). I remember my mom and dad sitting on a bench on one side of the train compartment while I decided to walk around a little and look out the window of the door. I had to stand on my toes and lean into the door to look out when the door started to open outward. My mom, being attentive, noticed the door opening and quickly jumped over to grab me just before I would fall out of the train to a certain death. My mom ended up with a badly cut hand, as she had opened up a glass vial to take a pill and in her effort in grabbing me, crushed the vial and the glass splinters cut her hand.
We eventually arrived in Mittenwalde’s Bahnhof (train station), that still exists to this day. My grandparents lived in a one room flat on the second floor where there was no central heat. I still remember feeling ice on the inside wall as I lay in bed and listened to a crystal radio made by my grandfather.
I recall spending some fun time with my grandfather, going sleighing down a hill, but when I went back to Mittenwalde to look for that hill, I could not find it. On Christmas Eve, Santa showed up to give out presents. I don’t remember what I got but I was very excited to meet Der Weinachtsmann, who I learned years later was my grandfather dressed up.
I don’t remember when we moved from Schreufa to Frankenau, a town a bit larger at 1330 residents, but it was sometime prior to my sister being born in September of 1952. The flat we lived in was in the center of town, on the second floor. There was no central heat, just a big stove in the middle of each room. My bedroom was always cold, as I remember having a large, feather blanket to keep me warm at night. There was no indoor plumbing, and going to the bathroom out in the courtyard was always an adventure. Everyone knew when I was using the outhouse, as I would whistle going and coming back into the house.
My dad had solidified his position with the local electric provider, a job that was quite dangerous as one of his co-workers was electrocuted while working on a power line. Going out in ice storms and snow storms during the winter was no picnic.
I was very excited when my sister was born, as my parents bought this really fancy carriage for her. It had fenders and hubcaps, I recall and I could run with it very fast. Monica loved the trips, laughing as we zoomed up and down the town streets.
In the summer before leaving for America, a group of us would go out into the fields and climb hay wagons, riding up on top as they came back to town. We also played tag on top, jumping around trying not to get caught. One time I jumped right off the edge and landed down on the ground, hitting the deck so hard, I hit my chin really hard.
One of my friends screamed about blood running from my chin and it was when I put my hand up to may face I realized I had opened a huge cut on the bottom of my chin. My mom took me to a doctor who cleaned it out and put a bandaid on it, no stitches.
A few weeks later, I could feel some throbbing where I had hit my chin, but I didn’t think much about it. My mother was usually quite busy with my sister, so she didn’t see any issues as well. One night, I was dreaming and rolled off the bed, fell on the floor and cut open my chin again. This time there was a huge amount of puss all over the floor from the cut, which had gotten pretty infected. I was very fortunate that I took that second fall and opened the wound a second time to drain it out.
I started school in Frankenau and liked it very much, but don’t remember anything about going there. I do have a class photo. Around 2003 I received a copy of that photo in the mail with a letter from a former classmate, Doris, who was now living near Chicago. We reconnected and continue to keep in touch to this day.
In 1993, my brother and I went back to visit friends in Frankenau, walking all over town and through the town gardens just outside the town limits. It was the first time back since leaving in 1953.
The population of Schreufa during my living there was about 550 people, while Frankenau had about 1330. When we moved to Paterson, NJ, the population there was 139,000. Talk about culture shock.
My dad had solidified his position with the local electric provider, a job that was quite dangerous as one of his co-workers was electrocuted while working on a power line. Going out in ice storms and snow storms during the winter was no picnic.
I was very excited when my sister was born, as my parents bought this really fancy carriage for her. It had fenders and hubcaps, I recall and I could run with it very fast. Monica loved the trips, laughing as we zoomed up and down the town streets.
In the summer before leaving for America, a group of us would go out into the fields and climb hay wagons, riding up on top as they came back to town. We also played tag on top, jumping around trying not to get caught. One time I jumped right off the edge and landed down on the ground, hitting the deck so hard, I hit my chin really hard.
One of my friends screamed about blood running from my chin and it was when I put my hand up to may face I realized I had opened a huge cut on the bottom of my chin. My mom took me to a doctor who cleaned it out and put a bandaid on it, no stitches.
A few weeks later, I could feel some throbbing where I had hit my chin, but I didn’t think much about it. My mother was usually quite busy with my sister, so she didn’t see any issues as well. One night, I was dreaming and rolled off the bed, fell on the floor and cut open my chin again. This time there was a huge amount of puss all over the floor from the cut, which had gotten pretty infected. I was very fortunate that I took that second fall and opened the wound a second time to drain it out.
I started school in Frankenau and liked it very much, but don’t remember anything about going there. I do have a class photo. Around 2003 I received a copy of that photo in the mail with a letter from a former classmate, Doris, who was now living near Chicago. We reconnected and continue to keep in touch to this day.
In 1993, my brother and I went back to visit friends in Frankenau, walking all over town and through the town gardens just outside the town limits. It was the first time back since leaving in 1953.
The population of Schreufa during my living there was about 550 people, while Frankenau had about 1330. When we moved to Paterson, NJ, the population there was 139,000. Talk about culture shock.
