December 6

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Today we have a letter from Helene in Vienna to her children in San Francisco. They are about to experience the first holiday season separated from one another. 

Vienna, 8, Dec. 1939

My favorite children!

This is the 4th Clipper letter that I am writing to you, still hoping to get a direct answer from you. The eventful week continued. I wrote you in letter #3 that Olga fulfilled my request and sent it as soon as she received my card. The next day I received a second letter from her as an attachment that said it was undeliverable even though the address was exactly right. As a corpus delicti I would have liked to send it to you, but I’m afraid that letters with enclosures are harder to get through the censors. You can probably tell how I feel about this. I don't feel good about asking Olga to take on such expenses a second time, especially because I don't have the ability to pay her back right now and will hardly be able to do that from the allowed 10 reichsmark. So there is nothing left to do but put a smile on your face and wait until the post office decides to deliver the letters that have arrived.

In the meantime, it has become winter in Vienna, with snow, frostbite and other accessories. We don't have much to spend on food. We are lucky that we do have a card that allows us to buy clothing – our neighbors and acquaintances were not issued one – and I have already gotten the sewing materials I need. A hank of embroidery thread, blue cotton wool and a universal-colored darning wool. We can also buy vegetables nearby. I’m not used to going out, as you can maybe tell from the following incident. I go downstairs, intending to go shopping, taking the garbage can to empty at same time so that I only have to go out once and discover I forgot my grocery card. Annoyed at my forgetfulness, I put a hat on – the weather that day was too tempting – to make a little detour. When I wanted to buy something without coupons, I realized that instead of my shopping bag, I had the empty garbage bin hanging over my arm. Papa latest eloquence when we go out is: “Helene, did you remember the garbage pail?” The fact that I am just writing about garbage reflects my mental state and should not surprise you, given my current, exclusive occupation and the milieu in which we live. Papa, who used to bring home something of a spiritual atmosphere from his professional life, no longer throws clients out on his own initiative and for his own private enjoyment, but because he has to and that is less fun for him. Spiritually, we have gone to self-sufficiency, and my letters are a small example! How many minus points would I my jokes get now? Fortunately, I don't feel like it anymore.

Its Christmas in 14 days and I will to the extent possible think about you and hope you have a happy holiday. If you think about how nice it used to be, don’t be sad. You will spend these holidays under completely different circumstances - certainly very nice - and think that we will always be united in thoughts.

Papa is about to leave and I will get him to take this letter to the post office. Warm greetings to all of you. Many, many kisses

Mutti

[written upside down at top of letter:] All the best, Jo!

As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, my translation efforts began with the typewritten letters, because they were easy to decipher. Roslyn translated the letter we see today in March 2018 and the letter written on December 2, 1939 in November 2019.

Life is becoming increasingly challenging in Vienna. The balmy days of a few days before have given way to the chill of winter. Food and essentials are rationed and there appears no rhyme or reason as to who gets the valuable coupons and ration books. Their focus is on survival and not on the rich intellectual and cultural life they had before the war. Helene is distracted due to the absence of her children, as well as by the unfamiliar and unkind world her beloved Vienna has become. It sounds like Vitali is no longer allowed to see clients in their shop. It was something he enjoyed doing and he brought comfort to many people’s lives – but apparently he also enjoyed not helping people he didn’t like!

Below is a photo of Helene’s daughter Eva — we can imagine Helene sitting in Eva’s place working with the valuable materials they bought with their ration book.

December 5

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Today we have another early letter from Helene in Vienna, at a time when she and Vitali were confident that they would soon be following their children to San Francisco.

Vienna 5 December 1939

My dear children! An eventful week has just passed for me. We got mail 2 days in a row, but unfortunately not from you. Olga N acknowledged my card which I wrote on November 23, yesterday. It of course reached her late as seems obligatory. She told me that she sent a message to you immediately upon receiving it on the 30th of November. The second letter was from Mila and Nervi [?] and we found out that Robert is Ayrshire. He is feeling well and glad to hear the same about you and Paul. I am happy at least to receive good news from all of you in indirectly. And as an unkillable optimist, I believe that one or the other of the letters written will reach you.

Otherwise, it is fairly quiet in Seidlgasse. Yesterday it was a very lovely springlike day. Papa called to invite me to take an evening walk. We walked first through the dark streets and then we came to the Red Tower movie house. There was a shoot ‘em up film being shown and since it was about the construction of the Pacific-Railway, we went in. Harry would be very surprised because we don’t like things about shooting anymore. But at the end, when the train in its current form rushed across the movie screen, my heart stopped for just a few seconds at the thought that my children were just recently sitting in such a monster of steel and iron. Really, a lot of what has happened to you is so problematic for me and my imagination is certainly quite different from what it was.

The truth is that I feel old as the hills and I feel like a hen would feel if she were hatching duck eggs and I am clucking. When the young ones go to the water and happily swim away from her for the first time, she probably can’t believe her eyes in that situation. But I’m an intelligent hen, and even if I do cluck sometimes, I am happy to know that you are with people who are good and noble.

Please kids, be detailed in your reports, write me about each and every thing, and you may imagine that your letters will reach me someday and that I will be informed by letter about everything. I know it’s a lot to ask in such a completely different environment from where you’ve been before, but I think it’s justified.

After 9 in the morning, the whole day is pretty uninteresting to me. There are just so many minutes until the next time I get mail and a lot of what has happened is really not that essential to me.

What I also want to tell you is please don’t get mad if I mention something that is kind of obvious -- don’t forget to write to Olga. First, it is possible for me to get news and besides it is as somebody once said that you only recognize the value of a person except on the worst days. Olga invited me to spend some time with her before we say good-bye to Seidlgasse forever.  I wasn’t wrong about Hedy either. She arrived at my birthday with a piece of butter which her parents had given her so she’d have something to eat on her trip. Touching, isn’t it? In these days, we are doubly thankful for proof that humanity still exists.

For statistical reasons, I am mentioning that this is the 3rd Clipper letter which I have sent. The others don’t count.

To all the dear ones, many, many greetings and to each one of you, thank you very much.

Many, many kisses
Mutti

After just a few weeks’ separation, Helene realizes that mail is unreliable and asks Eva and Harry to write to friends and relatives in the hope that news about her children will reach her through their letters. Helene mentioned her friend Olga in several Vienna letters, including one in which we learned that her last name was Nussbaum. I did a quick search on Ancestry and found a physician named Olga Nussbaum who was born in Vienna and was a year younger than Helene. She was living in England by 1941, moved to Los Angeles in 1948, and returned to Vienna a few years later. She may be the correct Olga, but who knows?  

Cecil B. DeMille directed a movie that came out in 1939 entitled Union Pacific — perhaps that is the film that Helene and Vitali saw. The trailer would strike terror in anyone considering a cross-country train trip, such as the one Helene’s children had taken just six weeks earlier.

Piecing together my family’s story has not been altogether straightforward. My mother had some letters and papers, her brother had others, and some were originally in their cousin Paul Zerzawy’s possession and ultimately were kept and organized separately. In 2006, I discovered the 1945-1946 letters written by Helene from Istanbul. I could read the few that were in English, and from those I learned more detail about my grandmother’s wartime experience. I made copies for Harry, thinking he’d like to see old letters from his mother, having no idea about the hundreds of letters he had stashed away. After Harry’s death in 2017, I didn’t know which of the letters were worth translating, so my translator friend Roslyn and I began with the typed letters, which were easier to decipher. Thus, Roslyn didn’t translate the first letters Helene wrote by hand to her children until after she had translated most of the later Vienna letters.  

December 3

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Today’s letter is from G.I. Harry Lowell at the California Desert Training Center to Helene’s cousin Bertha and her husband George Schiller in San Francisco.

December 1, 1943

Dear Bertha and George,

Despite my resolution to start writing more letters more often, I haven’t written to you since I saw you last. Yesterday was pay-day in joy of which I decided to catch up with my correspondence.

As I write this letter I trust that you, George, are in tip-top shape now and that you, Bertha, are working overtime in your victory garden.

I am still doing the same routine work, driving from one edge of the desert to the other.

Right now I am parked between Palm Springs and Cabazon, alongside a cool mountain, taking a little rest from a trip. We, another fellow and myself, were sent out in two trucks to deliver camouflage nets to a little place we’d never been to nor had we ever heard of it. Not even the M.P.s could give us any information; we were given just a superficial description of its possible location – somewhere around such and such mountain, maybe. Well, it was night and time to stop driving, but we decided to get to the place that night come what may. As this is maneuver area we encountered troops who were trying to work their night problems; we’d stop and ask them about the place we were looking for. They couldn’t tell us, but they asked us where they were because they got lost. I got a kick out of the majors’, captains’, and lieutenants’ helplessness and confusion. Those men were supposed to be competent leaders of a large number of soldiers! What a joke! After hours of driving we finally found our destination, though.

We had a few severe sandstorms during the last three weeks. I tell you, sandstorms aren’t pleasant at all. We had quite a time chasing after our clothes which were blown out of our tents. Otherwise the desert is in its beauty at present; it’s quite different during the winter months than during the summer.

We are all getting more anxious every day to get across to do something instead of wasting our time around here. Well, I guess we’ll have to be patient and wait until our turn comes.

I must move on so I close now, hoping that you both are well.

Yours sincerely,
Harry

As you can see from the map below, Cabazon is about 20 miles from Palm Springs. Although Highway 10 was paved, the surroundings were desert wilderness and their assignment would have been more challenging and time-consuming than mere distance would indicate.

Between this letter and the one Harry wrote to Hilda and Nathan Firestone on November 30th, we get a good feel for Harry’s life in the army – both the beauty and discomfort of the desert, the various personalities of army personnel (particularly officers), the sometimes seemingly pointless or incomprehensible assignments, and the unknown of what the future holds.

December 2

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In yesterday’s post, we saw a letter from Helene written in 1939. She has begun typing and numbering her letters. Over the course of a year, she has sent her children at least 61 letters from Vienna to San Francisco.

Clipper #61

Vienna, 2 December 1940

My dear children! Harry expressed joy in his last letter that we had not completely lost our sense of humor. I really lost it in the last few weeks, but I found it again yesterday when the letters that were on their way which had been taking their own sweet time, almost as if to say they were apologizing for having taken so long, did finally arrive. First #11 came from November 13th and that didn’t come as a surprise to me, because I heard from everywhere that letters from America were arriving in series. Since I considered letters #8, 9, and 10 to be lost, my joy about getting #11 was a bit clouded because the rest had gotten lost. I was even happier that I got letter #8 with the next post (it didn’t have a number on it, but it appeared to be a continuation of a letter I already had). My sense of humor that I had found again was in somersaults because I was expecting letters 9 & 10 and I was happy about that. Harry’s quarter report card was bursting with A’s and B’s and that really fills me with colossal maternal pride which I multiply by 2 because I am sure Everl’s report will soon be coming out. Don’t let your little brother tell you any different – go ahead and write when you want, because then nothing more will bother me. There’s not much new to report here. Across from Harry’s old kindergarten, in the house where my hairdresser was, there are large offices and several men who work there have already been into our store but they didn’t find what they were looking for. Just one of them had any luck. In the window display, there was a postcard which he was interested in and he ended up buying the entire stock (10 cards). Recently at breakfast, I noticed that the little pebble I thought I had found in my bread was actually one of my teeth and I had to have a Richmond crown made. I assure you that Dr. Uxi really wasn’t at fault. Have you ever heard of or read about crazy moths? Neither have I, but apparently there is such a thing and I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Papa left his summer suit, which he had still been wearing every day until quite recently, hanging in the front room for a few days. I got his permission to put it away for hibernation. Who can describe my horror when I found out that a hungry moth had eaten holes in it in the middle of November. The hussy had – there is no doubt about it – lost her mind. When it’s more than 27 degrees, the moths lose their minds. There is a certain threshold – the “moth horizon” – another one of those false things you learn in school – that moths cannot do any damage after August and there’s no point in killing the little male moths because those don’t really do any real damage, it’s just the female moths that prefer to lay their eggs on the most beautiful and newest wool items they find, which then serve as food for the moth eggs. Maybe I thought one of these damned female moths was a man and I didn’t kill it and the damned disguised woman, thinking it was the month of May, decided that Father’s suit was a good place to lay eggs and sought it out for that purpose. That she had gone crazy is not just evident from the fact that she was laying eggs in November, but fortunately also from the fact that she had found the oldest piece of clothing, even though it was hanging right next to my new jumper. I just noticed that the typewriter, despite the fact that there was a new ribbon, is not behaving and I am going to stop until Papa can come home and fix the problem.

So, until we write again [word play on the traditional – “auf Wiedersehen”/goodbye].

Helen

The original was not legible so I am sending a copy.

The postscript on this letter explains why so many of Helene’s letters look like they were carbon copies – indeed they were. Although the original page may have been difficult to read, the strike of the keyboard keys made the words on the copies legible.

We saw a copy of Harry’s Fall 1940 report card from Mission High School in the October 28th post.

The Richmond crown was introduced in 1878 and is still used today.

Although Helene was probably writing many more letters to her children than they were writing to her, they were more prolific than their numbering system made it look. We have seen many letters over the year when Helene begs them to number their letters so she would have an idea of how many were not making it to their destination.

December 1

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Today we see one of the first letters Helene wrote from Vienna after her children had left for America. At this point, Eva and Harry had been in San Francisco for about six weeks. 18-year old Eva was living with Helene’s cousin Bertha and her husband George Schiller; 15-year old Harry was with Helene’s cousin’s daughter Hilda and her husband Nathan Firestone. On the front page, she writes in German to her children, and on the back in English to the Firestones. Because the Schillers and Firestones did not live in the same neighborhood, Eva and Harry attended different high schools.

Vienna, Dec 1, 1939

My dear children, I am going to ignore the fact that I haven’t gotten any letters and I am going to write anyway, hoping that one letter or the other will reach its intended goal. The most important thing this week: Beppo wrote that we should not think that he is just sitting there with his hands in his lap. He’s doing everything he can and is asking just that we have a little bit of patience. Fortune’s brother is not allowed to work at all. As soon as I know more details, I will let you know. You know Vitali only by name, right? There’s nothing new here. Except for Jo and Paula, I don’t really see anybody because of the ... blackouts. We spend the evening writing or playing Tric-Trac. In our thoughts we are always with you, every minute. What time is it in America, and we are imagining: “I wonder what the kids are doing now.” We would love to know how you’re doing and if you have gotten used to it and how you spend your time. Eventually the post will come and we will no longer have this insecurity. Unfortunately, I cannot write anything more right now. Otherwise, the letter will be too heavy.

Greetings and kisses to all the dear ones from us.

Many many kisses
Mutti

Vienna, Dec 1, 1939

Dear Hilda and dear Nathan,

Nearly 5 weeks Harry is in your home and I hope you will not have much trouble with him. In my thoughts I am in your circle, I listen to your talks, doing my works mechanical and counting the days which we are obliged to be here. With all my heart I wish to know how you are and I hope the children will bring life in your house, but perhaps it is that which you don’t want, perhaps you are wanting silence. Please in this case excuse them. Youth is aloud and vivid, but they are intelligent enough to respect your customs and will surely being endeavored not to disturb you so much. Excuse my bad English. It is very difficult for me to concentrate and to express my thoughts in a language which I can use no practice.

Please give my best greetings and wishes to all our relatives.

In love and gratitude I am

yours truly
Helen

This is one of the few letters from 1939-1941 that Helene wrote by hand. Soon she would begin typing her letters, in the hope that they would be more legible for the censors and therefore might make it to their destination. She signs her letter “Mutti” (“Mom”). In most future letters to her children, she signs her name. I think Helene’s question about knowing Vitali by name is to let Eva and Harry know how hard he is working to get them to America – how “vitally” he is working on their behalf.

In the letter to Hilda on the back, Helene acknowledges that her English isn’t great, attributing it to the stressful situation and lack of practice. By the time she wrote from Istanbul in 1946, she was far more fluent. As I wrote in an early post, I believe that she worked on improving her English while at Ravensbrück.

November 30

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Today we have a letter from G.I. Harry Lowell to Hilda Firestone on Desert Training Center stationery in southern California.

November 30, 1943

Dear Hilda,

Today is pay day – the most joyful day of the month; it’s so joyful, indeed that I decided to write a whole batch of letters.

In contrast to what I thought of the desert during the hot summer months, I say now that the desert during winter is most enjoyable. The days are cool and sunny and the nights are very cold which makes one sleep very well. (of course, I have to be most careful not to knock my toes against any hard object early in the morning, lest they break off.) But it is rather nice now; and just when I get to like it here we are told that we may leave soon. Incidentally, my new mailing address is:
Pvt. H.L.
3352nd QM Truck Company
APO 181, c/o Postmaster
Los Angeles
I went to Yuma last week. On our way back we camped by Salton Sea, a nice salty lake near Mecca. The next morning I took a swim – alone, as my four [?] companies didn’t like cold water in the morning. When I got out of the water I was met by some major who had been watching me from a nearby cabin. Well, the old boy was furious and threatened to call the M.P.s to run me in for indecent exposure; he finally settled down and let me go with just a warning. How was I to know that anybody around there, especially pot-bellied majors, are in the habit of getting up before eight-thirty in the morning?

How are you getting along with your work? I guess you’re quite busy writing Christmas cards, too.

What is the civilian outlook on the situation of the war and the possibilities of its termination in the near future? The opinion among the soldiers is very mixed, partly due to the fact that some read only the funnies or the sports page; some of them are seriously interested in the events, but quite a few don’t give a darn and pick up news items from the “well-informed,” misinterpret them, and start showing off their knowledge during occasional evening talks in the tents. It’s great fun and I have learned to keep still and just listen to the “latrine politicians.” Paul would just love it, I bet.

Well, that’s all I have to say for the moment.
Give my regards to your father and Paul and everybody else.

Yours sincerely,
Harry

P.S. Many thanks for sending me the copy of Albert Elkins’ speech.

A quick search came up with no information on Albert Elkins.

Harry lived with Hilda and Nathan Firestone when he came to San Francisco in 1939. They served as his guardians until he graduated from high school in 1941. Nathan died in September 1943, which is why the letter is written to only Hilda. We read about Hilda’s grief in a letter she wrote to Helene in 1946.

I am in awe of young Harry’s wisdom in this letter. Already, he was a keen observer of human nature – he wrote this letter before his 20th birthday. His words remind us that there is nothing new under the sun.

November 26

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Today we have a letter from Fritz and Hanne Orlik in Haifa to Paul Zerzawy’s address in New York City. Fritz’s mother was Paul’s father’s third wife, whom he married in 1921, after both boys were adults and out of the house.

26 November 1939
Haifa

Dear Paul!

Despite the fact that we haven’t received any answer from you from our letter of September, I wanted to write to you again assuming that my card may have gotten lost.  

Since we arrived here, which was on September 12, we have not heard from you nor from Mama and Robert. A few days ago, Robert sent us a letter. But that was 14 days ago. You can imagine what it’s like when you’re in a foreign country and you have lost all connections. So, we do ask you to write and give us a sign of life soon. You certainly hear from Mama. What is she doing? Whether Leisl and Leo and Mariana are with her?

Unfortunately, we don’t have much to report. We don’t have work yet. I have decided to do temporary kind of work. At the moment I am working for a manufacturer of rag dolls. But this is not really returning any profit to me. I suppose that I can find some foreign companies to work with. At the moment, however, there’s no hope for that. Are you able to send me something from America? My friend Leo Zwicker is the representative of a hollow glass factory.

Other than that, we are doing quite well with our health, but Hanna is quite scared and is having trouble getting used to being here.

Mama wrote to us in August that you are able to earn your keep, which we’re very happy about, and we want to congratulate you on. We hope that you continue to be well and that your beginnings there weren’t too marred by the vicissitudes of travel. I lost 21 kilograms but I have managed to make up 3-1/2 of those.

Dear Paul! Write soon! And many greetings from your Fritz.

[in different handwriting] Sincere greetings, let us hear from you soon. Your Hanne

In this letter, Fritz refers to an earlier letter that we saw in the September 19th post. The September letter had been written in English and today’s in German (which was indicated on the envelope). Fritz got the idea from a letter his mother that Paul is successful in New York and living the American dream. Unfortunately, that was far from the truth, and no doubt frustrating to and embarrassing for Paul. Paul had been unable to find his footing, while many others (including his aunt Helene and her children) needed his assistance. Unbeknownst to Fritz, at this time Paul had given up hope of making his way in New York and has gone west to San Francisco to join his cousins Eva and Harry, hoping to be more successful there. His host in New York, Arthur Schiller, would have forwarded the letter to his parents in San Francisco, Bertha and George Schiller, with whom Eva was staying.

According to a website that defines terms used in the glass industry,  “Hollow ware” is made “generally of soda-lime glass, but also of crystal, lead crystal and special glasses, hollow ware includes a wide variety of containers and receptacles: container glass (bottles, jars, medical and packaging glass), tableware (drinking glasses, bowls, etc.), construction hollow ware (glass building blocks, etc.), medico-technical glassware (laboratory equipment, tubing, etc.) and lighting glass (lamps, bulbs, etc.).”

I don’t know when Fritz died, but according to geni.com, Hanne died in Berlin in 1964. Since they weren’t happy or successful in Haifa, I imagine they eagerly returned to Europe after the war, despite all that had happened. This appears to have been fairly common – most of the prisoners who ended up with my grandmother in Istanbul wanted to return home to their pre-war countries, despite having been sent by their homeland to the death camps. After all they experienced, how did they (re)build a life anywhere? There are several memos in the JDC archives that advise the representative of the Joint to urge the released prisoners to consider another destination.

November 20

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Harry was in a prolific letter-writing mood in November 1944. Today’s letter to his sister Eva in San Francisco was written the day after the letter to the Schillers which we saw yesterday.

New Guinea
20 November 1944

Beloved Sister,

I am writing this letter with one eye only, the other being glued to the lovely portrait of yours that lies before me; believe me it is a great morale booster in addition to being a very pretty sight. (At least one of us is goodlooking, even if it isn’t I. I hope you found out by now that I am in a rather flattering mood and that I am not doing that for nothing; knowing me as you do you’ll have gathered that I want something in return for my compliments. I am going to list things that I want at the end of this letter so that you don’t get annoyed before you even have read the letter.) Seriously, I think it is a darn good likeness of yourself – a very pretty one at that (whistle).

I received all your griping letters in which you. called me all these nice names in reference to my correspondence habits; I cannot say that I blame you for that. After all, you are one of my most faithful correspondents, and I should be ashamed of myself for carrying on the way I do. Your weak brother again asks your forgiveness. I’ll try to make this a long letter to make up for the ones I didn’t write.

By now you have probably gotten my last letter I wrote to you. It was the first one I wrote from this new APO (503). Please let me know whether you received it, because its contents was very important; if you didn’t get it I’ll have to repeat what I have written.

I sent Julia two negatives of snapshots taken of me here and I told her to give them to you as soon as she got her prints made. I’d appreciate it if you had about five of each printed for me so that you can send them to me in one of your letters; (I want to send them to some people I know and I can’t get any prints here.) and as long as you have prints made, get enough to distribute them to anybody that cares to have some. While I am on the subject of snapshots I want to mention that if you want more you’ll have to send some films (that’s gold in New Guinea); I know it is pretty hard to get film in the States but you may be able to acquire some through some black market channels. A friend of mine has a camera I can use; the size of the film required for that camera is 6-20. Whenever you are able to get ahold of that size film, just forward it to me – it will be very much appreciated*.

I was just interrupted by a bunch of fellows and was treated to a bottle of beer, so from here on my letter may sound a bit corny in spotsh, yesh.  Twenty-four bottles used to be sufficient for me, but no more; whenever I sight a bunch of guys drinking beer I rush over and stick around until some good soul offers me a swallow of that nectar; in the event that there are no suckers in the crowd, I walk up to the first man, slap him on the back, take the bottle out of his hand, say “hello, old boy”, take a double swig, and return it to him accompanied with another slap on the back. (Above is quoted from my latest book “How to influence people and take advantage of their Beer.”) You know the old trick cigarette smokers use to smoke someone else’s cigarettes, don’t you? I apply such a trick to beer.

I just had a most hair-raising experience. One of those crazy grasshoppers hopped on my nose and got slapped to death by me; the blow divided the beast into two fractions: one, a lonely sinewy leg, and two, the dead remainder of the grasshopper which dropped to the floor. The lonely leg fell on the typewriter keys; when I was about to pick it up and throw after the dead body, it jumped into the air as if the body had been with it still. I either witnessed a remarkable natural phenomenon or I’d better cut out drinking beer. (This episode reminds me of the poem “The Knee” we read in school, remember?)

So you are one of the ten remaining “old maids” of your graduating class, eh? And you intend to be a bachelor girl, tsk, tsk. Don’t forget, men will be scarce after this war; you still got your pick – it  may be too late some day. By the way, who is your current beau? (How does that song go “Pick roses in Spring while they bloom, for in Fall they wilt away”, or something like it?)

What did you think of my postwar plans? Aren’t they great, though? If you have any suggestions, send them in.

How is your job getting along? Have you received any more raises in salary? I sincerely hope that you haven’t been contemplating again on joining the Army Nurse Corps; anyway, the war will be over soon (maybe). Furthermore I stated another reason in my last lesson and I think you will agree with me on that matter.

What is Paul doing these days? Have you or anyone heard from Robert lately? I was surprised to learn that Ursula’s parents gave up their unique collection of snakes and lizards; what are they collecting now? Spiders?

Well, this is going to be my last page for tonight; I’ll dedicate it to the purpose of annoying you by making a few requests. By the way, I want you to know that I appreciate very much whatever trouble you go to for me. (Editor’s note) (Wasn’t’ that a delicious piece of beautiful sentence structure?)

To begin with, don’t forget those films. Secondly I want some film, furthermore I could use some more film. (You see, film is really on my mind)

When I started this letter I had a lot of stuff in my head that I wanted you to get for me and now cannot remember anything but the film. It’ll have to wait until I remember the things I wanted, I guess. I will elt you know in my next letter (which will be forghcoming sooner than you will expect). Until then, I remain your loving brother and chief pinup boy,

Harry.

 P.S. Say hello to everybody
P.P.S. Enclosed is a cartoon you might enjoy.

I believe the portrait Harry refers to is the one we saw in the September 12th post.

It appears Harry is referring to a poem called “The Knee” (Das Knie) by Christian Morgenstern. I didn’t find a poem about roses with the words Harry recalls. Perhaps he meant the poem by Robert Herrick that begins: “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.” That poem certainly is in keeping with what he is telling his sister.

We read about Harry’s postwar plans in the October 27th post – he intends to live a life of full time work and study, while taking advantage of the G.I. Bill.

As I read Harry’s gratitude for his sister’s faithful correspondence, I thought about how my mother must have felt during these years. After leaving their parents behind in Vienna, Eva and Harry began their new lives in San Francisco, expecting Helene and Vitali to soon join them. Over the next few, the only thing Eva could do was write to her parents regularly so they knew they were loved and not forgotten. Correspondence became impossible in late 1941 after the U.S. joined the war. Eva and Harry knew nothing about how their parents were faring and could do nothing to help. After Harry enlisted, Eva was completely alone – her parents and brother miles and continents away. It must have been a relief to be able to write letters again, and she poured herself into that duty, happy to send her brother whatever he wanted or needed.

November 19

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Today we have a letter written by G.I. Harry Lowell stationed in New Guinea to his relatives Bertha and George Schiller in San Francisco. When Harry and Eva arrived in the U.S., Eva lived with the Schillers while completing high school.

New Guinea
November 19, 1944

Dear Bertha and George,

I received your last letter and was very glad to learn that you are on the way to recovery, George; when I get back I expect you to be in tip-top shape. As a matter of fact you will be well long before I return because I have a feeling that I’ll be away for quite a while yet.

I very much appreciated the package of lettuce seeds that you enclosed in your letter. I haven’t planted any lettuce yet for I want to wait until I get somewhat settled. I guess you know that I have moved since you last heard from me; the climate is a bit different here from that of the last location. It doesn’t rain as much here. I have already seen a lot of vegetable gardens in this area and judging from the appearance they seemed to be very satisfactory. I ate a New Guinea grown green pepper and found it absolutely tasteless although it looked like an ad in a seed catalogue. Well, pretty soon I’ll be working on my own experiments; I hope they will be successful because I miss my fresh vegetables and salads very much. I’d even give half a month’s beer ration for a big platter of fresh, crisp lettuce and tomato salad, and that’s saying a lot because beer is of great value over here.

I thank you for having reminded Eva to send that picture; she finally sent it; I think your encouragement and mine at last made her send it. (It took more than encouragement, didn’t it?) It is a very nice picture, don’t you think? (After all, she is my sister.)

In regards to news or exciting events there is nothing of interest to report; my morale is yet the same although I get homesick spells once in a while. During these spells I mope around like a lovesick Hereford bull and talk only when absolutely necessary; incidentally, the spells do not occur but once a month So you see, I am not in such bad shape yet. I wonder if I will be just as cheerful two years from now when I am still over here. (Don’t you think I have a rather optimistic outlook on life?)

Well folks, I hope this letter will find you both well and happy and I also hope that I’ll see you soon.

Fondly,
Harry.

P.S. Say hello to all for me, please.
P.P.S. You’ll find my new address on the envelope.

In the August 7 post, Harry bemoaned the lack of vegetables and asked Bertha and George to send seeds. He also asked them to nag his sister to send a photo. Harry may have kept carbon copies of his letters – he certainly has a vivid memory of that previous letter. There are references to cattle in each letter as well as wonderful cartoon self-portraits. My mother Eva saved all of Harry’s war letters and also had those he sent to Hilda and Nathan Firestone. However, I found Harry’s letters to Bertha and George Schiller in Harry’s papers.  

Harry’s appetite appears to have been influenced by the years he spent in California – I don’t imagine that lettuce and tomato salads were common in Vienna.

Included with this letter was the cartoon below:

November 14

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Today’s letter from Helene in Vienna to her children in San Francisco follows the one we saw on November 10. The previous letter was numbered #59 and this one is 59a - perhaps they were sent in the same envelope.

Vienna, 14 November 1940

My little bunnies!

We have California in Vienna. It is 27 degrees or more in the sun and in November -- isn’t that amazing? We have to thank God that we have not yet forgotten how to be happy. Papa invited me to take a walk and since around here there wasn’t any salt to be found (that is table salt, not the Attic salt, of which we have plenty). We went to Köberl & Pientock. We could’ve bumped into anybody on Kärntnerstrasse - it was so teeming with people and soldiers. The moon does not take the people walking around into account and doesn’t rise in the sky until we don’t need it anymore. In the dark, it is hard to do business, especially when the window coverings have been lowered even before it got dark and the doors which are just as dark are difficult to find. So, we went on to the next streetcar stop and sank down tiredly into two seats that we were lucky to find. Was it the spring-like temperature or perhaps the human spawning which we took part in without even wanting to; in any case we were exhausted as if we had taken a hike all the way to the Rax. I thought of a school song: Everything is so pregnant outside (pardon, it supposed to be splendid) and I’m doing so well, etc, etc. We came home and I had a feeling there would be a letter from you. That was not the case but I knew it’s likely one will come tomorrow. So, what is this masquerade about all this spring, when that which means spring for us is not to be found?

So Harry discovered the teacher from the forest school in Alpl in California? i met him many gray years ago, during an even grayer, rainy summer in his home town in the Semmering area and I learned to love him. While I am not usually that crazy about dialect poetry, I read his vivid descriptions with great pleasure, maybe just because my interactions with shepherd boys (the shepherd boy of Pinkenkogel was my special friend) and of the rural population near Steinhaus were always very pleasant.

I just opened up the window in the next room to let in some of the delicious evening air and I am quite fascinated by the splendor of the stars in the sky, which looks almost like the summer. Jupiter and Saturn seem to be glowing pretty brightly rather than the other planets. The constellation of these two is said to be only like this every few centuries. Papa told me very proudly that this exact situation happened in 1648 with those two planets coming so close to the earth. He says he still remembers it quite well.

Your father is coming with scissors to cut off a piece of the paper, because he thought he might have to pay more postage if the paper were bigger and he can’t stand that. So please don’t worry about the operation the paper just underwent because I really don’t have anything important to say.

I kiss you, Paul and the rest of the family and I remain your

Helen

A few thoughts and notes on today’s letter:

·      Although I could not find information about the business, I found a telephone book listing for Köberl & Pientock. It was about a mile walk from their home on Seidlgasse.
·      The Free Dictionary has a definition for “Attic wit”: “A shrewd, cutting, or subtle humor or wit. Also referred to as ‘Attic salt.’ He lays on the Attic wit a bit too often for my taste; I can never tell when he's being serious.”
·      Helene makes a pun of an old folksong called Drauss' ist alles so prächtig. My grandmother wasn’t the only one to play with the lyrics — I found a COVID-inspired version of the song which makes me long to be fluent in German.
·      Alpl is a ski resort about 75 miles southwest of Vienna, in the region of Styria. Not far away are Stemmering and Pinkenkogel:


·      It is interesting to see what a small world it was, even then – so many of the people they knew in Vienna made their way to California – like opera singers (see October 30th post) and alpine resort instructors! Helene mentioned the Semmering area in the August 20th post.

Helene was a woman ahead of her time. She had an insatiable curiosity and longed to be a published author. She was not eager to marry, living happily as a single woman in Vienna, earning her own way working at a stationery store and spending her free time in the cafes reading newspapers and having conversations with other well-read friends. When I was growing up, my mother said that Helene always wanted children, but wasn’t certain she wanted to be married. Apparently, she had a fantasy of getting pregnant with some man in the country and raising the child on her own, but met Vitali and changed her mind. I wonder whether she was thinking fondly of the shepherd boys of her youth?

November 12

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The Value of a Translator

I found the letters we see today in the same box where Harry kept his memorabilia from his and Eva’s trip to America on the Rex (see October 9 post) in October 1939. Not knowing German, I tried to understand why a woman (a baroness, no less!) had sent an outline of her hand to Harry or Eva. I assumed she was someone they had met on the ship. We learned earlier that their relatives in Istanbul had decided that Eva needed to learn a trade that would be useful for someone emigrating to the U.S. – she learned to make silk flowers (see May 30th post). In the 1990s, my mother made outlines of everyone in the family’s hand shape with the intention of making each of us a pair of leather gloves (unfortunately, she never got around to making them). When I saw the drawing on today’s letter, I assumed the baroness was commissioning my mother to make her a pair of gloves because they had discussed it on the ship. How wrong I was!!

After Harry died in January 2017, I began going through many boxes of papers, photos, and letters. There was no organization, so each box or envelope contained a surprise. By April 2017, I was overwhelmed by the number of letters and documents I had in German. I had no idea what most of them said or whether they were important. I needed a translator and was at a loss to find one. The final straw was finding a box of letters that I thought was filled with Helene’s correspondence – I was so happy to think I had been given a window into my grandmother’s world. Imagine my disappointment when half the box was filled with a smaller box containing the Zerzawy brothers’ World War I correspondence! At that point, I still thought of them as distant and unimportant relatives.

As I went to sleep that night, my brain was churning with how to move forward. In the middle of the night, I woke up recalling that I had gone to college with a woman who completed a PhD in German. Roslyn and I had connected a few times over the decades, but not recently. The last time we had been in touch, she was a faculty member at a local university. I hit a dead end searching the college directory because she had retired. Not being on Facebook, I asked my husband to search for her through his account. Happily, he found her and we reconnected. That middle-of-the-night aha moment led to almost four years of our working together and to my getting to know my family in a way I could never have imagined.

When we met for the first time in a café in June 2017, I showed Roslyn a few documents to give her a sense of the kinds of things that needed translating. This was months before I found the envelope that was stuffed with almost 100 of the letters Helene wrote from Vienna in 1939-1941. I brought the letter with the drawing on it since it was short and looked easy to read. What a surprise when I discovered its actual contents! 

Mandrake Collector

As you may remember, you have my hand in one of your books.  I now live in America and am slowly making a name for myself as a graphologist, and I am now getting to a place socially where it would be advantageous to use my connections to achieve something positive. I think that in my position as Baroness Hasenauer and graphologist, I could work well with mandrake root if I get enough articles into the newspapers.  Couldn’t we work together? And should we sell them for an expensive price, or “lend” them?  Where could I get mandrake roots to satisfy requests I may get? Maybe you could provide part of your collection. If you need references, maybe the German Consulate here?  May I hope to hear from you soon?

Best Wishes,
Elvira Hasenauer

12 November

Madame.

I have received your letter with the original topography [of the hand]. Unfortunately, I was not able to find your handprints in my collection, which consists of 2997 pairs of hands.  Unless you could tell me in your next letter when you had come to see me.

Regarding your request about mandrake root and our possible collaboration, I would be glad to pursue this suggestion as soon as I arrive in the USA, which has been my plan for some time. I have already submitted [application] to the American Consulate; I would be very grateful if you could use your connections to ensure quick immigration for me and my wife. I would then bring over my mandrake collection, my handprint collection and all related works.  It is an interesting field that would be suitable for both parties.

Included is a brochure containing some of the expert appraisals I have received.  If you wish, I can send you an English translation of this which I am working on.

Sincerely,

There is little easy-to-find information on the Baroness. In a newspaper search, I found an article taken from marriage records about her marriage in the December 8, 1938 edition of Baltimore Evening Sun, and announcements in the Reno Gazette of her subsequent divorce proceedings the following summer. The former stated that she married a 28-year old New York composer named Carlos Muller. She was 33-years old and “identified herself as a countess of Holland, divorced in Austria in 1937. She stated she was a graphologist.”

The Baroness’s letter is undated and the copy of Vitali’s reply does not have a year. I assume the letters were written in 1939, when Vitali got his testimonials translated (see May 22nd post) and was working to get papers so he and Helene could join their children in San Francisco.

Vitali’s handprint and mandrake collections are described in the 1934 newspaper article that we saw in the June 29th post. The Baroness had great confidence in Vitali’s abilities, thinking that the outline of her hand would be sufficient for Vitali to recall their meeting! Below is a photo of Vitali making a handprint in one of his books:

Archived with these letters was a newspaper clipping about an odd-shaped branch (not mandrake). Given that the Baroness mentions newspaper articles, it’s quite possible that she included this with her letter. In preparing today’s post, I did a quick search for “mandrake” in the New York Times, and found very few mentions, most of them before 1930.

November 11

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Although today’s card is addressed to Nathan Firestone, it is written from Helene in Vienna to her son Harry in San Francisco. 

Vienna 11 November 1939

My dear Harry boy! “Waiting” has become our profession since your departure. We fall asleep in the hope of getting mail the next morning, but until today we have only gotten the two telegrams from the USA. But we are not worried. We know that you are so well housed, but we would also like to know if you have gotten used to being there yet. You have seen and experienced so many new and wonderful things, and that makes me happy. We are healthy.

Please make excuses for me with the relatives, because I haven’t written to them yet because it wasn’t possible. I hope you get this card and believe me that no hour goes by in which I do not think of you. 

Kiss, my little Harry, many kisses.

Today’s card was the first that Harry received from his mother after he and Eva arrived in San Francisco a few weeks earlier. We learned about Eva’s and Harry’s trip to the U.S. in the October 9 post. Upon arrival in San Francisco, Harry went to live with Helene’s cousin Hilda Firestone (technically, her first cousin once removed) and her husband Nathan. Eva lived with another cousin, Bertha Schiller and her husband George.

I wrote about finding my grandmother’s letters from Vienna elsewhere on this site. From November 1939 to October 1941, Helene wrote more than 130 letters to her family in San Francisco. I have about 100 of them. Some of the others may never have made it to their destination; some may have gotten lost along the way. As she wrote this first letter to her children, she had no idea they would be separated for years or that the family would never be totally reunited again.

November 10

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Today’s letter is from Helene in Vienna to her children in San Francisco.

Vienna, 10 November 1940

My dear children!

I can confirm that I received your letter #7 from October 24; it’s taking a little longer now. Everl is grumbling because the two hours of work on Sunday is divided up in such a clumsy way. Of course, like everything else, this has its good and bad sides. On a Sunday like that you can read, you can get things organized, and then you can be sure that if your room is inspected you won’t be embarrassed. You can do your correspondence; you can practice the piano. Of course, it would be nice if you could go out and chat a little bit. However, you cannot expect the patients as long as they’re still alive to be made to sleep early in the morning. It is always better to be a nurse than a patient.

Harry’s angry verse is taking on rather a scary form now; I like his prose better and it does not contain any Napa danger. What is making my heart beat faster is your terrible grammar and the incorrect spelling that you use. I assume that you’re learning English as fast as you’re forgetting German. Your German used to be good, so I’m happy you’re learning English. My sadism is so great that I imagine that I am seeing the faces of Professor Locker and Eva’s German professor as I read your letters.

Eva mentioned a phosphorescent substance that she uses to improve her complexion. Do you still have those damned mixed pickles? [pimples] You could really get rid of these childhood maladies. Hopefully the headaches have disappeared? I deliberately never asked because Dr. Ornstein strictly forbade me to ask: “Eva, how’s your head?” For a while, I really blamed myself for being the source of your headaches, because they say “fear begets fear.” Please do not as you usually do ignore this question, please answer me truthfully.  

Harry: tsk tsk, tsk – on the other hand is giving me a headache. In almost every letter I don’t manage to figure out if “Tulli” is an American Indian or “habtschi” in Chinese or a Götz quotation in Japanese. I wanted to ask a few times but then I always forgot. I have decided that it must be American Indian and it seems to be one of the things that impressed you at Lake Tahoe. In any case, I am horrified at the thought that if this continues, I will not understand what my own flesh and blood are writing to me.

Since winter has already arrived (but the weather is very nice), Papa has outfitted me like an Eskimo. In the house, I wear warm pants, but I can’t say that it’s all quiet on the Western Front because Papa has spent the rest of my points on two vests, one of which has arms, and one of which is sleeveless.

Your father just came home and he told me with a big smile, showing me the full shopping bag, that he has spent all of his money on food. He was especially happy that he was able to use all of the week’s bread cards on Knäcke [crispbread]. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crispbread  You probably want to know what that is? Well, I call them “Aryan matzo”. They taste the same, like nothing at all, but they’re smaller and more burnt. You can eat them for hours without being hungry, but also without getting full. They are great as accompaniment music to Tric-Trac and they make you feel like you are closer to the ruminants. Because of our eastern citizenship, I feel closer to a ship of the desert than to the cows here at home.

That’s all for today and Kisses
Helen

How do you like my new signature? [referring to ink blot]

Helene tries to help Eva come to terms with her split shift on Sundays. We learned about Eva’s Sunday hours in the October 29 and October 30 posts.

Like his mother, Harry has been sprinkling words from a variety of languages in his letters. Helene is trying to make sense of them, but unfortunately doesn’t have access to the internet.

Helene makes light of their meager food and clothing rations while filling today’s letter with puns and word play. For example, she mentions Eva’s “mixed pickles.” The word for “pimple” in German is Pickel. She makes a pun about spelling errors and about west/vest. In the September 6 post, there is an explanation of the “Götz quotation.”

November 8

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Today we have a letter from G.I. Harry Lowell on Desert Training Center California stationery to his sister Eva in San Francisco. Harry wrote first page in German, the rest in English. 

November 15, 1943

In German:

Dearest Sister,

I am writing this letter to test my knowledge of the German language. I am afraid that I will not be able to hold an intelligent, grammatically-correct conversation if I should be forced to use my knowledge of the language. With bow and arrow through mountains and valleys comes flying the Elf King… Who rides so late through night and wind. It is the father with his child. He holds the boy child in his arms, he holds him safe, he keeps him warm… Who has built you, you beautiful forest… Elf, never should you ask me, nor worry about where I come from and …

In English:

Say, that’s pretty good for me considering the fact that I haven’t uttered more than two sentences of German for four years!

Please, write me in your next letter whether I deserve an “A+” or not.

I got your letter and was glad to hear of the good job you are holding now.

I’ll be glad when somebody buys you a typewriter, for your writing isn’t getting any better with your age. Are you getting callouses on your fingers or do you suffer from diabetes; that’s the only way I explain the decline of regularity and harmony in your penmanship. (Maybe you ought to cut out night life, eh?) See my lawyer (Rechtsanwalt [correctly recalled word for “lawyer” in German]). I’m getting good.

What have you girls been doing lately in the way of athletics? (I seem to be in an insulting mood today) 

How is the “snake” charming family; I think they are very nice people, indeed. I am glad you are staying with them instead of with any relatives.

You flatter me with your complaint of my talent of “How to Make Friends and Influence People” (Do you want to take a correspondence course in it?)

What’s the dirt, Myrt?

There isn’t much to tell you right now; the same thing goes on every day.

It’s getting quite late now, and I am getting quite sleepy.

Keep injecting and save your money.

Well, good night!

Your one and only brother,
Harry

P.S. Say hello to everyone in your household.

This letter was written a week later than the one we saw in yesterday’s post. In both letters, Harry refers to the fact that Eva is living with the family of a friend from nursing school, rather than with their own family. I don’t know what was so difficult for my mother – it may have been that they had expectations that she was unwilling to meet, both in what she should do and how she should act. Rather than trying to get along and smooth the waters as her brother would have done, her innate honesty likely led her to be direct about her feelings and to make clear her unwillingness to follow their advice. Harry simply would have nodded, smiled, said something charming, and then done whatever he wanted to do.

On the first page of the letter, Harry practices his rusty German. At this point in his training, he does not know where he will be posted and may be thinking his German may come in handy. Harry tries to recall lines from of various songs and poems from their childhood. He begins by quoting the first stanza of a famous Goethe poem Erlkönig - Elf King – based on Erlking, a German fairy tale, which he recalls almost perfectly.

Harry will refer again to the Elf King in a letter he writes two years later (see October 13th post). This story must have been a family favorite.

The line about the forest is from a Mendelssohn song, Wer hat dich, du schöner Wald, with lyrics by Joseph von Eichendorff.

The final snippet is from a duet from Wagner’s Lohengrin.

November 7

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Today we have a letter from G.I. Harry Lowell to his sister Eva in San Francisco. He is in desert training in southern California (see August 16 post).

November 7, 1943

Dear Sister,

Well, I’ve finally decided to write you a letter – after a lot of struggling with myself. This is the first letter I have written since I came back from my furlough.

You’ve probably received that recording from L.A. by now; I don’t think that voice sounds like mine at all, do you? The lady that made the record at the U.S.O. dragged me into her studio, and I couldn’t say no.

How is everything going with you? Did you find a job that suits you yet?

We are having quite a few sandstorms these days; have you ever been in a sandstorm? Most of our tents were blown away or torn; we have to wear goggles to protect our eyes; the food consists of 50% sand; our rifles and trucks are clogged up most of the time, etc. All in all, it’s a mess. We are told that it wouldn’t last much longer. (I hope)

On my trip to the desert I looked all over for snakes, but I didn’t even see a lizard. As for cacti (cactuses? cactusi?), I saw very beautiful ones but wasn’t able to get any because they belonged to a hotel at Palm Springs. Tell Mrs. Koenig (I think that’s her name) I’ll keep looking.

I have been quite disgusted lately; blue is the word. The other day I drove for the salvage depot and saw one of a few examples of inexcusable waste. Brand new test tubes, pill boxes, first aid kits (containing hard-to-get drugs), loads of filter paper, and cases of sodium amytal for injections. All these things had been thrown together with old clothes, storm tents, shoes, and other salvage. I could have killed the officer who was responsible for such an outrageous waste of and unconcern for valuable government property. Grr!

Quite a few of the men in the company are getting soft gums and bad teeth because a stupid bastard of a colonel or general has made up his mind to feed us canned food only. Oh, I am so mad*!@% (Could you send me a set of teeth?)

Well, that’s all for now. Say hello to your household, keep your nose clean, and don’t get into any fights with the family.

As always,
Your favorite brother,
Harry

P.S. How about that picture? What’s your phone number?

I included a photo of a USO recording Harry made in the May 3rd post – I assumed he had made it for her birthday. I have a vague memory of listening to it when I was a child, but can no longer make it work.

In this and other letters, Harry refers to Mrs. Koenig – she was the mother of Eva’s fellow nursing student Ursula Lucks and Eva’s landlady for many years. I remember her as a sweet old lady who took me to the zoo. Earlier this year I searched on Ancestry for more information, and discovered that Margaret Koenig was born in Germany in 1898. Her daughter Ursula Lucks also was born in Germany. Margaret was widowed before coming to the U.S. with Ursula in 1927. According to the 1930 census, she worked as a wrapper in a candy factory (shades of I Love Lucy!). In 1934, she married Ewald Koenig, also an emigré from Germany.

Here is a photo from the late 1940s of Helene, Mrs. Koenig, her husband, daughter, and my parents:

Back row: Helene, Mrs. Koenig’s second husband Ewald Koenig, Ursula Lucks, Eva
Front row: Margarate Koenig, Eva’s husband LP Goldsmith

November 6

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Today we see a copy of the first page of a letter Helene’s nephew Paul Zerzawy wrote to his step-brother Franz Orlik and his wife Hanne in Haifa. Paul’s father Julius married Franz’s mother in 1921, long after Paul and his brother Robert had left home and were living independent lives. Paul arrived in the U.S. in April 1939 and had been trying to make his way in New York City before giving up and joining his young cousins Eva and Harry and other family members in San Francisco. Perhaps he only stayed in New York long enough to make sure Eva and Harry arrived safely by ship and put them on a train to San Francisco (see October 23rd post). In New York, Paul’s mother’s cousin Bertha Schiller’s son Arthur provided advice and assistance. In San Francisco, Bertha and her husband George opened their home to my mother Eva while she finished high school. Upon Paul’s arrival in San Francisco, Bertha and George welcomed Paul too. In the letter he refers to his step-mother as “Mother” and mentions Leo, her brother.

6 November 1939

Dear Fritz, dear Hanne:

Your card was sent to me from Mr. Schiller from New York, I have been in San Francisco just a short time now, staying with Mr. Schiller’s parents. I was happy to see that you are at least in good health. Since I haven’t had any news about you for a very long time, and then contradictory news, I had already begun to worry quite a bit about your fate. Unfortunately, since the war, all connections with Bohemia and Germany have been cut off so that I have had no news at all from Mother nor from Leo nor from any other relatives in Prague or Vienna. I have received some letters from Robert during the war, but I haven’t heard from him in about 4 weeks.

I was very concerned about your wishes about your alleged share of the amount of money I got from Prague. I am not surprised however, because Mother in her last letter made some comments from which I understood that she had some quite false ideas about the nature of this money transfer. I tried to make this clear to her in my reply letter, but I’m not sure whether she got this letter, nor how she may have received the news since as I said, I have had no answer from this letter (to which I sent a number of further letters and cards, as I still regularly write either to Mother or Leo every two weeks). I’m afraid that it wasn’t possible for me to convince her, because I had to write sort of in insinuations because of censorship, and I want to hope that the only reason that there hasn’t been any news from her and from Leo did not have to do with this ill humor and could be blamed on postal issues.

I can write to you without circumlocutions and insinuations. You will then understand me better. I think you must know me well enough to know that if you were due anything, I would send you your part of it without being asked, or I would at least let you know about it, especially the latter because up until now I didn’t have your correct address, only your auxiliary address. Unfortunately, the allegations that you make which probably come from Mother are not correct, but I am convinced that Mother did this in good faith. It’s not true first of all that the money left over that has been sent here is everyone’s common property from the inheritance. And secondly, it is not true that I already am provided for. The first claim is probably a result of an incorrect interpretation of the circumstances. But it is puzzling to me where the second claim comes from, because unfortunately I have not and could not report anything so positive about myself. The best proof of this is that I left New York and moved to San Francisco, which I probably would not have done if I had been able to get any kind of work in New York. I am staying with the family of my sponsor who are taking care of my needs without asking for money, but I cannot take advantage of this hospitality for more than a limited amount of time, and after that I will be at the mercy of the refugee committee if I am not able to find a job, which of course I hope I will.

We have seen parts of this “conversation” earlier in the year – we saw a card from Paul’s step-mother in the February 10th post.  In the letter above, he refers to earlier correspondence like the card saw in the September 19th post.

By the time Paul and Robert’s father Julius married Franz’s mother in 1921, he had been widowed twice – once in 1902 and again in 1910. He was a soldier in World War I. By the end of 1918, only his children Paul and Robert were still living – his son Erich died while a POW in Eastern Siberia, and his two daughters died while in their teens. In his October 3rd letter, Paul muses about the state of their finances and their grandmother’s fate if they cannot afford to keep the family home in Brüx. It must have been very disorienting after the war for Julius to find himself with an empty nest – perhaps no nest at all. It makes sense he would want to marry again. Julius died in January 1939 and it appears from this letter that his step-mother and step-sibling expected a larger share of his estate.

November 5

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The real nightmare begins


Life in Vienna became virtually intolerable for Jews by the late 1930s. Helene and Vitali remained there until late 1943 when Germany arrested Turkish citizens and those of other countries who had been allowed up until that time to remain. If their native countries did not repatriate their citizens, these people were deported to the death camps just as German citizens and those of annexed countries had been.

Despite the humor and affection, Helene’s letters to her children from 1939-1941 give us a vivid picture of the difficult times they lived in – food and heat were in scarce supply. They were not allowed to earn money at the same time as costs skyrocketed. Every attempt to escape Vienna was thwarted by bureaucracy and rule changes. Helene wrote about the times leading up to and including their arrest in the October 15 post. On November 5, 1943, she and Vitali arrived at their respective hells: Ravensbrück and Buchenwald. As we learned in the August 24 post, Vitali did not survive the war.

Germany kept meticulous records and today we see paperwork from Helene and Vitali’s registration into each camp.

November 4

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Helene’s daughter Eva received her license as a Registered Nurse in November 1943, at the age of 22. We saw her nursing degree in the September 22 post. At the time, her 19-year old brother was in the army, being trained before being shipped out. We saw his first letter from the South Pacific in the February 3 post.

In other letters, we’ve seen how Eva dreamed of using her nursing degree to leave San Francisco and see the world. Instead, she stayed home to help her bring her parents to the U.S. should the possibility arise. Eva and Harry have had little word from their parents in Vienna since the U.S. entered the war in 1941. They do not know that Helene and Vitali are about to be deported to concentration camps (see October 15 post).

Eva with her graduating class in 1943.

November 2

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Helene’s son Harry received his Honorable Discharge from the U.S. Army on November 1, 1945 while recuperating from a tropical illness at Mitchell Convalescent Hospital at Camp Lockett in California.

In the October 12th and 13th posts, we saw two letters from Harry while he was at the hospital.

In earlier letters, Harry anticipated being stationed in the South Pacific until well into 1946. He and his sister Eva must have been grateful that he was discharged earlier and now could help get their mother to the U.S. from Istanbul, where she had been stuck for months.

November 1

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In her letter from October 30, Helene mentions that Eva would be receiving a letter from their friend Jo addressed to her and someone named Alf. Today’s letter is addressed to Eva and Alf, but signed by someone named Hans (perhaps Jo’s son?).

1 November ‘40

Dearest Eva and dearest Alf!

It makes me really sad that I haven’t heard anything from you, my dear sweet friends! About you Eva, I know only that you are doing well in school, but I just don’t understand why Alf hasn’t written anything at all!

We are doing about the same. Mama is so old that she makes work for two people and I have to defray all of the expenses myself and I am not making any progress. Everything really is just too much for me. Tingling is also a matter of concern. She has been under a doctor’s care for a while.

If I could see you or just had news, I would be calmer. I don’t understand why I don’t get any mail! I don’t go to the theater much. I heard that Lehman is singing in [San] Francisco. Tempi passati! What are Lia, Peter and Pucki doing and how are they? And how about Mama? Please, please write to me. Harry is surely learning to speak fluent Spanish again! What about the times when we were playing with Pedril, Arche and Noah? Now dearest Eva and Harry, all the best and love and I wish you dear Alf all the best. Greet all the loved ones and please send news.

Your old faithful
Hans

It appears that Helene shared Eva’s letters with Hans who is responding to much of the same news as Helene did in her last few letters – Eva’s studies, Harry studying Spanish, former Viennese singers like Lotte Lehmann now living and performing in the United States. Poor Hans is lonely without his friends who have all fled Vienna. Like Eva and Harry, he too has had to grow up quickly and must care for his ill mother, with little hope in sight for a brighter future.