Cafe Rittershaus

Monday, December 21, 2009

A Fine Winter Hat

It isn't so surprising to get compliments from friends and relatives, but, when complete strangers take note and actually make a point to walk up to a person and pay a compliment, even if it is only for a hat, that is very special.

From the first time I saw it at a hotel boutique in NYC, I loved this hat and what's more--it fit my head! I have a big head and very thick hair, so when I try on hats, 99% just sit atop my head. I didn't know what to call it, so looked it up. Wikepedia lists about a hundred different kinds of hats. My $40 one-of-a-kind find is a green and pink, small brim variation of the "Gatsby" or "newsboy" hat with colorful floral cloth remnants and some shiny sequins appliquéd all over the front.

At this point in my life (and I only will admit to being 59), I don't get many compliments. This is mostly because, being retired, I don't do much that is noteworthy and most days I no longer fuss with my appearance. Usually, I just blend into the background and wear a hat to keep my head warm. However, ever since I put it on, there hasn't been a day go by without at least one person (and often more) coming up to me and complimenting the hat!

I'm astonished every time it happens. I've never owned anything in my life that engendered so many compliments. Most of these compliments are by other women, but there have also been "looks" from some men that I couldn't otherwise explain! This morning, it was a mom and her tweenage son. Go figure! This afternoon, as I left Starbucks with my coffee, there was a middle aged gentleman sitting on a bench outside with an unlit cigarette in his hand. As I approached, he asked me if I had a match...I shook my head and said no. Then he asked if I had a lighter; I explained that I no longer smoked. He thanked me anyway and called me a "beautiful lady", giving me "the look" and a smile in the process. Goodness gracious! It's been years!

Well, he may have said it out of habit, or because he's near-sighted, or maybe he'd had a few drinks. But I think it was the hat. He, and the hat, made my day! I wonder what tomorrow might bring? I know I'll wear the hat and I might just fuss with my appearance a bit.

Friday, March 21, 2008

As immigrants in the US, we didn't have much money. So as a child, “going out” usually meant that my parents and I went for walks in the park or window shopping “upstreet” in Wilkinsburg. On warm, sunny, Sunday afternoons in later years, my parents and I sometimes drove with friends to the new Greater Pittsburgh Airport to walk around and watch planes take off and land. But after an hour or two my mother would inevitably start talking about wanting (needing) a cup of coffee (Who knew back then that caffeine was addictive?) and with a smile say, "It's time to go to Café Rittershaus!"

We all knew, of course, that this meant driving home for homemade (of course) Kaffee und Kuchen (coffee and cake), and lively conversation- in which, even at a young age, I was encouraged to participate. But often Emma (and sometimes Wilhelm) would tell stories of the old days: growing up after the turn of the century, the war years, emmigrating, starting all over in a new country! Oh, how I loved those afternoons and I loved those stories.

So now I invite you to sit down at your own Cafe Rittershaus with a cup of coffee and a piece of cake and read some stories about the most amazing woman I have known--Herta Emma Rittershaus Weissig. It may take me a while to write and post them all... as she lived a long and interesting life!

The Original Lili Marleen

Lili Marleen

Vor der Kaserne
Vor dem großen Tor
Stand eine Laterne
Und steht heute noch davor!
Steht da und kann es nicht verstehn,
Was wieder mal bei uns geschehn
-Wie einst Lili Marleen
-Wie einst Lili Marleen!

Geht es noch um Ehre
Oder nur um Macht?
Was hat uns mit einmal
Um den Verstand gebracht?
Wie wir's auch wenden,
Wie wir's auch drehn
Wir werden vor dem Richter stehn
-Dereinst, Lili Marleen
-Dereinst, Lili Marleen!

Wer birgt die Toten
Verweht im Wüstensand?
Wer zählt die Opfer
Am ölverseuchten Strand?
Sag, wieviel Leid muss noch geschehn,
Bis wir den Wahn,
den Irrsinn sehn?
O Gott, Lili Marleen!
O Gott, Lili Marleen!

Aus dem stillen Räume
-aus der Erde GrundHebt
mich wie im Traume
Dein todesbleicher Mund!
Eh sich die späten Nebel drehn,
Lass Krieg und Hass zu Ende gehen –
Noch heut, Lili Marleen!

Translation

In front of the barracks,
in front of the big gate
stood a lantern
that is still there today!
Stands there and yet can’t understand
what is happening to us again –
As once did Lili Marleen!
As once did Lili Marleen!

Is it still about honor
or just about power?
What is it that all at once
made us lose our minds?
No matter how we twist it
how we spin it
we’ll eventually stand before the Judge –
Some day, Lili Marleen!
Some day, Lili Marleen!

Who’ll bury the dead
blown away in the desert sand?
Who’ll count the victims
on the oil-contaminated beach?
Tell me, how much suffering must still happen,
before we see the frenzy, the madness of it all?
Oh God, Lili Marleen!
Oh God, Lili Marleen!

From the silent rooms-
from the grave
Your deathly pale mouth
lifts me as in a dream!
Before the swirling fog clears,
let war and hate come to an end –
Today, Lili Marleen!
\Translation by Thekla Fall

The original Lili Marleen poem (above) was written in German in 1915 by Hans Leib just before he was to enter WWI as a German soldier. In 1938, the poem was set to music by Norbert Schultze, but somewhere along the way, the lyrics changed drastically. The revised version (not the one above) became very popular. A very different version was sung by both American and German troops during WWII.

Cafe Rittershaus

1945
Emma pulled up her legs, scrunching herself together against the wall at the rear of the cattle car, trying to disappear behind the sea of heads all around. It wasn’t hard to do, for although she was tall, her gaunt body didn’t take up much space. She wished that the train would start moving. After the noise and hustle at the station, it was amazingly quiet inside the car and it was making her nervous; few people spoke and most avoided eye contact. She glanced at the bald headed woman seated on the floor next to her. She was emaciated and was shivering with the cold. With barely a thought, Emma opened up the blanket she was carrying and, with a questioning look and an outstretched hand, offered to share it with her. The woman stared back at her and, with a barely perceptible nod, accepted. As the woman stretched out her hand to reach for the blanket, Emma saw the number on the woman’s arm. Emma looked away quickly, it was too painful.

Just then the train jolted forward and slowly started moving. Near the front of the car a child began to cry and Emma fought back the tears that were welling up inside. Her heart pounded with fear. Her mind was racing. She had little money and worse yet, no papers. The Russians would be at the border. How was she going get across—alone—without authorization to leave? What would they do to her if she got caught? And what she if made it? She didn’t know those people in Hessen—and where was Wilhelm? Would he make it out of Russia? Emma had left nearly everything and everyone behind on a leap of faith that she would see him again. She took a deep breath and decided not to think about it. It was best to just take it one step at a time. And it was a good first step—she was leaving Berlin and the war behind. But her mind kept jumping: What’s going to happen? Don’t think about it. It will work out, somehow. Don’t think …just breathe.

1905-1932
Emma was born shortly after the turn of the century in Duisburg, Germany, the first child of the well-to-do Rittershaus family. Her sister, Ilse, was born five years later. The family had an “Upstairs, Downstairs” lifestyle (they lived upstairs) with a home that befitted their social milieu. It was a spacious house in with a much loved “wintergarten”—a large, sunny, plant-filled, room, which in a word, connoted elegance, wealth, and status. The solid furnishings and décor of the house would have rendered it dark and heavy if it weren’t for the exquisite white lace curtains covering the nearly floor-to-ceiling windows in every room.

In the hallway, the large grandfather clock beat the rhythm of an orderly home, where meals were always served on time and family members were fully dressed when they appeared at the table. Everyone contributed to the daily routine with well-defined chores and activities. The family Rittershaus had found the formula for seemingly close-knit relationships and generally happy, purposeful lives.

Emma’s parents certainly exuded all that was proper. Her father, Emil, had worked his way up to be vice president of his company by the time he was 27. Her mother, Johanna, could have been a founding member of upper class Victorian sensibility. Her household ran like the proverbial well-made machine. While some might find such a life stifling, the family thrived. The girls enjoyed the luxury of many private lessons: singing, piano, acting, tennis. Music was Emma’s forte. She loved the piano and spent increasingly more time in daily practice. Her soprano voice, while small, was melodious and always on pitch.

All in all, it was a wonderful life. They were a young close-knit family that had the means to enjoy the finer things: the symphony, the theater, family trips to the shore. While she lived through World War I, Emma never spoke much about it in later years. Most likely, at age ten, she was too young to fully understand much of what was happening and she probably didn’t have much access to information. She later recalled overhearing the worried conversations, talk of food rationing, and concerns about loved ones. But in later life, the memories of this first war were far eclipsed by memories of the second. For most of her early youth, Emma’s life seemed to be something that was predictable and shapeable. Emma fully expected to grow up, get married, have children, and continue with her music, all the while living in the luxury to which she was accustomed.

But then life delivered a major blow, Emma’ father suddenly suffered severe kidney failure and died while still in his thirties. Emma was eleven. It was a difficult first lesson for Emma that life was not as predictable as it had seemed. Johanna was devastated and worried. Their savings wouldn’t last very long, given their lifestyle. She had no other means of support. She remarried within a couple of years. Her new husband, Richard, was a courtroom judge who later sat on the Oberlandesgericht (Westfalen?? state supreme court) in Hamm. Although he was extremely intelligent, Richard saw the world in black and white. He was good to both girls and encouraged their studies, but he could also be difficult. Emma learned quickly that she had to watch what she said or it might later be held against her. There was no sense in trying to finesse or get around issues; his words would cut to the core as skillfully as a surgeon’s knife. His ego demanded precision and the need to be right. But his career was flourishing and so did their lifestyle.

By the time the sisters were in their teens, the sounds floating through the open windows of their sandstone must have amused passersby: Emma on the piano three, four hours each day—at times accompanying herself in song, Ilse practicing projecting her theater voice by loudly and clearly enunciating a variety of nonsensical speech sounds or rehearsing long monologs from the favorite play of the day, and their German Shepherd, Lux (pronounced “looks”), dutifully howling along.

Lux was very intelligent and was often called upon to locate and retrieve missing household articles. His skill in doing this was well-known. One evening, several of Emil’s business associates were invited for dinner. It was a very formal affair; the gentlemen were dressed in their Victorian best, buttoned up suit coats and ties. Each course was elegantly served by one of the family’s uniformed servants. The guests greatly admired the beautiful dog and wanted to see him in action. It was decided that he should fetch Johanna’s huge household key ring. Unfortunately, no one remembered that the key ring had been placed high on a dresser in the bedroom. Lux was unable to reach it. Apparently he didn’t want to show up empty “mouthed”, so he proudly strutted into the dining room carrying his mistress’ somewhat large underpants. The men had great difficulty stifling their laughter and Johanna, who had turned absolutely crimson with embarrassment, hurriedly shooed Lux out of the room! Forever after, the story was told and retold by family members with great amusement, always concluding with a philosophical, “It can happen in the best of families”!

The sisters grew to be very striking. Emma was slender and very tall and, at 5’9”, she towered over all of the girls in her school. Emma’s blond hair was exceedingly thick and curly and, as was required at the time, she wore it long, nearly to her waist. It was a chore to maintain and weighed her down. She hated it. Ilse had straight black hair. Not fair!

The two sisters couldn’t have been more different. Perhaps that had to do with their five year age difference and the quickly changing times—the more strict Victorian Zeitgeist giving way to the roaring twenties mentality. For the most part, Emma liked the Victorian lifestyle. She liked the traditions and routines; they let her know where she was in the scheme of things. Ilse, on the other hand, chafed at the rules and frequently broke them. She thought Emma was old fashioned and much too straight laced.

Emma wasn’t a complete pushover; she managed to defy convention and her mother from time to time and claim some independence along the way. With the coming of the 20’s came shorter skirts and major changes in hairstyles. By the time short hair was introduced to Duisburg, Emma was more than ready to have her hair chopped off.

She made the hair appointment without telling anyone in the family. But as the hair started piling up on the floor, she panicked, dreading a major confrontation with her mother. By the time she reached home, her mother had already heard the news! Someone had seen Emma at the beauty shop and had gone straight to the house to warn them. Upon opening the front door, Emma heard her mother say, “Well, come on up so we can see what you look like!” Emma summoned her courage to walk up the steps to the landing. She heard her mother’s stern voice saying, “Turn around!” With a pounding heart, Emma turned, slowly. Then, much to her surprise, she heard her mother say, “It looks good. It suits you.” Johanna had understood, perhaps because she had the same difficult, thick hair.

The sisters did well in school; along with the typical German, math, and science classes they studied two foreign languages, English and French. French was easy, but Emma didn’t like English—she thought English spelling made no sense at all. After high school, Emma’s parents sent her to finishing school. She was taught to run a household, plan menus and parties, take care of household accounts, and how to conduct herself in society. She started dreaming of being a concert pianist, so she continued with lessons and daily practice. Five years later, sister Ilse wanted to be an actress but payment for acting lessons was denied. There was a dramatic shift in thinking in those five years. Ilse was required to study something with a more guaranteed income. After a great deal of melodrama, she acquiesced and chose to go to pharmacy school.

Throughout her youth, Emma’s best friend was Ruth. Whenever she talked about their friendship, Emma would say they were, “ein Herz, eine Seele” (one heart, one soul). They had had a similar upbringing and shared the same interests. If someone saw one girl, they knew the other wouldn’t be far off.

As teenagers and young adults, the two friends attended nearly every play at the Duisburg Stadt Theater. (Years later, Emma could still recite the inscription high on the theater walls.) After a performance, the two often waited for the actors to appear at the stage door. They knew the actors by name and, of course, swooned over their favorites. But the girls had to be careful, even as they got older. Once, when Emma was nineteen, she and her mother were walking home from an event when a young man crossed the street and said hello to Emma—to which Emma murmured a quick “Hello!” in reply. Her mother promptly turned to her and smacked her cheek, saying, “You shouldn’t speak to people like that!” (She meant people below their social class.)

It was an exciting time to grow up, a time that brought the first few motor cars. As demand grew for more coal and steel, new factories and commercial buildings sprung up throughout the area. The Ruhr river region became a highly industrialized area. Emma and Ruth were among the first in Duisburg to get into one of those new fangled airplanes for a flight around the city. Emma’s cousin, Wilhelm, dared them to ride along in the sidecar of his motorcycle. Emma and Ruth didn’t have to be asked twice; they took turns riding along. He was a hellion on wheels who ended up in traction for a year. (But luckily the accident happened when no one was in the sidecar.) It is doubtful that Johanna knew of these adventures.

When they were in their 20’s, Ruth met and fell madly in love with a young man who was deemed unsuitable by her parents. They were planning to marry despite her parent’s objections. One day, Ruth’s mother cornered Emma and begged her to intercede saying, “You’re the only person Ruth will listen to. Please make her understand that this marriage won’t be good for her.” Against her better judgment, Emma did as she was asked. It wasn’t easy but she talked Ruth out of marrying the young man. But the cost of success was high. Ruth never spoke to her again. Emma was devastated; she never really did get over the loss of her best friend.

Cousin Wilhelm’s family owned Café Rittershaus in Mülheim Ruhr near Duisburg. They served the best coffee in delicate china (because it tastes better that way) and meals on crisp white table linens. The café offered freshly baked butter cream cakes, fruit tortes, cookies, all kinds of crusty/soft bread, and had limited lunch and dinner menus. The shaded outside patio (complete with violin player on some evenings) invited alfresco dining throughout the summer months. It was a genteel place to meet friends or have a meal with the family. Wilhelm’s mother was Tante (aunt) Emma, for whom Emma was named. Tante Emma was a trusted and guiding force in Emma’s early life, especially with the death of Johanna, from cancer. Emma had lost both her parents and her very best friend by the age of 27!

Unmarried, birthparents dead, Emma found herself unprepared to go out into the world. Tante Emma advised her to do what she had been brought up to do, to run her stepfather Richard’s household. Of course Richard was agreeable; he had little interest in domestic affairs. So Emma took the familiar tasks in hand; she knew the routine. Her only real challenge would be the formal evenings. Richard was well known and considered it important to his career to socialize. So Emma was determined that her first dinner party should be especially noteworthy. It was to be a small affair for 10 of the town’s elite, 12 in all. She took special pains with all of the preparations. All the silver was polished and the house was cleaned from top to bottom several days before the event. Flowers were ordered and a special menu was prepared.

On the big day as the guests entered the dining room they were dazzled by the display of lights, the array of flowers, and the gleaming tableware. But when they reached their seats they were astounded to see half-filled wine glasses standing on edge at a nearly 90 degree angle to the table at each place setting. The glasses were leaning over with no additional visible means of support. Emma held her breath, hoping that no one would bump the table. With a twinkle in her eye and a happy smile on her face she challenged the guests to pick up their glasses and duplicate the feat. They tried throughout the dinner but were unsuccessful. (Luckily, Emma had had the foresight to serve white wine as there was some spillage!) The guests looked at her in wonder but Emma wouldn’t tell them her secret until much later after they had finished dessert. Emma was delighted! Her little stunt was a huge success and had set the tone for a lively evening. (Her secret? She had poured a small mound of salt under the tablecloth where each glass was to go. With a steady hand, a sturdy table, and enough salt, the glasses will stay on edge.)

Thereafter Emma settled into her role as head of the household staff while her sister, Ilse, finished pharmacology studies in Berlin. In the meantime, Ilse seemed to be having the time of her life in Berlin. She was seeing a newspaper theater critic and he was introducing her to the literary and artistic elite of the city. Berlin must have been an amazing place in the late twenties and early thirties; a creative hub that attracted top artists, actors, singers from around the world. The Berlin night life of the twenties became legendary. Books and plays by Berthold Brecht were pushing the envelope with their Marxist ideas. Berlin was home to Kurt Weill, best known as the composer of Mack the Nife. Ilse had started working in a pharmacy, but her heart was still on the stage. She got as close as she could.

During this time Emma continued with her piano studies and had several opportunities to accompany well-known musicians on the Duisburg theater stage; thereby making a name for herself locally. One day, a descendant of Clara Schumann heard her play and waited for her after the concert. She offered to prepare Emma for the solo concert stage. That was heady stuff! What a great opportunity! Unfortunately, Richard refused to pay saying that not only would those lessons be too expensive, but he actually thought it was time to stop the lessons altogether.

What a disappointment! All those years of practice, to come this close and then have to stop. Not only that, but Richard had started seeing a fine, new lady! Emma saw the writing on the wall. If he remarried where would that leave her? She was nearly 27 so she certainly couldn’t expect to stay on supported by two stepparents. Over the years Emma had dated a few gentlemen but there had been no white knight to whisk her away. What she needed was a real job and a place of her own. It was time to stand on her own two feet.

1932 – 1939
The stench of the bedpans was almost enough to make Emma lose her breakfast each morning! She had to get over this and think about the patients, not the bedpans. Getting up at five each morning wasn’t so bad. Emma was a morning person. But the work was strenuous, demanding, and didn’t pay well.

When she thought about it, she comforted herself saying, “I’m in Berlin!”. Emma had found a tiny apartment and a practical nursing job that offered on-the-job training. So before long she was cleaning bedpans, changing bed linens, applying bandages, etc. The hours were long and she was on her feet the entire time. She learned how to wrap people from head to toe in cold compresses to bring down fevers, how to turn and fluff pillows to help patients be more comfortable, and a myriad of uses for vinegar. It was a totally new life and hardly one she could have ever imagined for herself.

Getting used to Berlin was also a challenge. Berliners were always in a hurry. As in most large cities, Berliners seemed driven and focused. Emma remarked in later years that to survive in Berlin, “you have to learn to use your elbows.” She meant that not so much in terms of elbowing others out of the way, but to keep from being pushed aside. She had to learn to stick up for herself. Example??

Emma rarely saw Ilse, she was too busy with her new life. But Emma had no trouble making friends. There was always so much to see and do. Strolling along the famous Linden Allee was amazing, with its fabulous shops and restaurants. On their day off, her new friends were happy to show Emma one of the most famous department stores in all of Europe—Kaufhaus des Westens (KaDeWe). She had ever seen a store so large. The friends went in early in the morning, started on the top floor, and worked their way down—checking out every floor. They ate lunch in the store and looked for bargains. Much of KaDeWe catered to the rich and famous with delicacies and exotic items from around the world. But that was ok; it was still fun to look—even if they couldn’t buy. By the time Emma and her friends left the store in the late afternoon they still hadn’t seen it all.

Ilse laughing and saying that for all their pretensions,,, their mother had been an illegitimate baby.

Sprichworter
Man kann sich die Leute nicht malen
Man muss lernen sich anzupassen
Manchmal muss man die Ellenbogen benutzen (in Berlin)
Komm ich heut’ nicht komm ich morgen
Mal den Teufel nicht an der Wand
Ordnung muss sein...

Rules to live by
Go outside, get fresh air! Breath
Get daily exercise, walk
Eat liver or organ meat once a week
Eat fish once a week (but not in the summer)
We need to eat fat!
Everything in moderation

Interesting things I found out in doing research:
Kaufhaus des Westens (KaDeWe) is still the largest department store in all of continental Europe with over 60,000 square meters of space and more than 380,000 articles available for purchase. The store attracts 40,000 to 50,000 visitors every day.) (source: Wikepedia) See historical slide show of KaDeWe: http://www.kadewe-berlin.de/100jahre_engl_945.php

Fodor's Review:
“The largest department store in continental Europe, classy Kaufhaus des Westens (KaDeWe) surpasses even London's Harrods and turns 100 in 2007.” http://www.fodors.com/world/europe/germany/berlin/entity_141612.html

The North Sea was once a dry piece of land, allowing travelers to walk across. Thus England was attached to the mainland. The Thames once was a tributary of the Rhine River!
In German, the th sound changed to t around 1900, except for the word Thron… because the king didn’t want his throne to not have the h…
http://culture-h.jp/hatadake-katsuyo-english/hess.pdf

Beginnings
Emma, my mother, once told me that she would have kept at least one of the precious family jewels had she known that someday she would have a daughter. Instead, she sold all of them during the war, piece by piece, at a fraction of their original cost, to buy food, to survive.

Germany after the war -- an unlikely setting for my best Christmas

The holiday season makes many of us nostalgic about the good old days. But 1953 stands out because I wasn't sure if we would have much of a Christmas.

Times were bleak in post-war Germany. I was 6. My parents and I had left relatives behind in small-town Braunfels in the hope that my father would find employment in Hamburg, a large seaport.

Housing was scarce. Even though the war had ended years before, there was still rubble from a bombed-out house across the street from our apartment. Since we weren't native Hamburgers, we had no rights to housing.

My parents and I were lucky to sublet one room of an apartment rented by a somewhat dysfunctional family. They allowed my mother to cook our meals in their kitchen. Our room was small. My mattress was kept under the table.

Engineering jobs were also scarce. My father earned a little money bicycling from house to house to take magazines from one family to the next (people rented, rather than bought them). My mother sometimes sewed, darned socks and cleaned for Herr Kramer, an elderly widower who owned a small house on the outskirts of the city.

There was little money. I often overheard my parents voice concerns as they sought to keep food on the table.

Then something amazing happened: Herr Kramer, an avowed communist and atheist, invited us to celebrate Christmas with him!

He supplied the ingredients and my mother started baking cookies. She was a staunch believer in the power of traditions. So each Sunday afternoon "zum Kaffee" (similar to the British afternoon tea), we celebrated Advent with Herr Kramer, with cookies, ersatz coffee and milk. We recited a short poem, lighted the requisite number of candles on the homemade Advent wreath and sang as many Christmas carols as we could remember.

We went to Herr Kramer's house often. Frequently, my mother, my dad and Herr Kramer would disappear for a time into another room. They told me they were needed as Weihnachtsmann (Father Christmas) helpers. They also kept the curtains drawn on the windows. Of course I tried peeking in but without success.

At last, it was Christmas Eve, the traditional time for the Bescherung (opening of gifts). We ate duck for dinner. As my excitement grew, I could barely eat.

Finally, my mother disappeared into the locked living room to see if the Christkind (Christ child) had been there. She opened the door wide and I was allowed to walk in. The room was dark, lighted by many little candles. In the middle stood the Christmas tree, also lighted with real candles.

Then, as my eyes adjusted, I saw it!

Next to the tree was a doll house. It had a kitchen, a living/dining room, a bedroom and even a storeroom.

My parents and Herr Kramer had made each room from old wooden crates. The little bedroom had a bathroom in one corner that was made from a cigar box. Using cloth remnants, my mother had sewn curtains, bedding, rugs and clothes for a family of dolls. My father had wired the kitchen and living room with a battery pack for lighting.

Herr Kramer, very good with woodwork, had made much of the furniture. He also made the storeroom with two rows of drawers along the back wall (each filled with candy) and two wooden counters in the front.

What my parents couldn't make, they traded for on the black market. Great Uncle Henry had sent a large care package from Pittsburgh. The real coffee that he sent was a sought-after commodity (but a real sacrifice for my mother -- a lifelong coffee aficionado). My parents were able to trade for things such as a small club-foot bathtub, a kitchen stove that heated up with a little candle (unimaginable today) and lamps.

I still have some of the items to this day. The dollhouse was one of the few possessions that we brought to America the following summer. For many years afterward, it would reappear refreshed and restocked each Christmas and my parents would retell the story of our last Christmas in Germany.

My mother would always say that no matter how bad things get, the real challenge in life was for family and friends to make the best of every situation. It was a great lesson -- as well as our best Christmas.

Thekla Fall lives in Mt. Lebanon (thekla.fall@gmail.com). She is retired as curriculum supervisor for world languages at the Pittsburgh Public Schools.
First published on December 26, 2007 at 12:00 am, Pittsburgh Post Gazette

A German family lands in postwar Wilkinsburg

I can still remember standing, at age 7, on the steps of the American Consulate in Hamburg, Germany, in 1954 -- while my parents heatedly debated whether or not to go in. My mother won the debate. So we walked in and forever changed our lives.

Those were difficult times before the start of Germany's "economic wonder." My parents constantly worried about putting food on the table. (How many ways are there to cook potatoes?) My parents had applied to immigrate to the United States soon after the end of the war. At the consulate, we found that not only was our name still on the list, but it was near the top.

Within a few months, my father left Germany to join Great Uncle Henry in Wilkinsburg -- to find work and an apartment. Two months later, with two suitcases and a trunk that contained my handmade dollhouse and featherbed, my mother and I followed.

Uncle Henry had advised my dad to take a temporary job on a farm in Bridgeville while learning English. My mom and I stayed in a tiny furnished apartment in Wilkinsburg.

My dad could only get a ride home every other weekend. My mother, who spoke very little English, was distraught. We were very homesick and my mother often tried to console me by saying that we would go back to Germany in 10 years.

It was summer and so sweltering in our top floor apartment that she kept saying she hoped she could survive that long.

Meanwhile, I wouldn't give up my security blanket (my featherbed comforter) even in 90-degree weather.

My mother shopped at the corner grocery store and was amazed at how many groceries $5 could buy. For the most part we ate well, though we couldn't acquire a taste for all-American Wonder Bread. (My father would leave it out overnight to make it less squishy.)

But I acclimated quickly. I found out that with 500 Coca-Cola bottle caps and a few dollars, I could get a brand-new doll. What an amazing country!

It wasn't long after our arrival that my mother and I made new friends. Our next-door neighbor, who was a teacher, started giving me daily English lessons. When school started, she intervened with the principal of Kelly School to have me placed in second grade, rather than repeat first grade (a good thing).

The same neighbor introduced us to the Mifflin Avenue United Methodist Church. What happened after that was near miraculous! The church took us on -- even though we weren't Methodists. Church members helped us to find a better apartment. Many brought us furniture. The minister gave us a shiny new toaster that we used the next 25 years.

One day a church lady appeared at our door to take me shopping "upstreet" (Penn and Wood streets). She completely outfitted me: red coat, red hat, black patent leather shoes, socks, pretty dress and underwear. I had never had new store-bought clothes before and felt like a princess.

They helped my father get a job in an engineering firm where he went from being a draftsman, to engineer, and later to project engineer.

With that wonderful start, we realized the American Dream of owning our own little home some years later.

We did go back to Germany after 10 years -- but only for a visit.

One of the best days in those early years, however, was the day I skipped school to sit in a courtroom to watch my parents being sworn in as U.S. citizens -- knowing that, as a minor, I would automatically become one as well.

I was so proud. We wanted to be a true part of this amazing country.

We had come to the United States with high hopes for a better life. We found that most Americans have a truly kind and generous spirit, which not only made us feel welcome but also helped us so much.

I hope that we all do what we can to keep that spirit alive.

First published on October 16, 2007 at 12:00 am. Pittsburgh Post Gazette

Thekla Fall lives in Mt. Lebanon (thekla.fall@gmail.com). She is retired as curriculum supervisor for world languages at the Pittsburgh Public Schools.

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