First Post-WWII Letters to America: Opa to Ida July 1946

Translated by Philip Graupner


(1946.07.16 Opa to Ida...translation)

Schlangenbad, 16 July 1946

My dear Ida!

I take it for granted that you have received my letter and now know where we live. Not that it makes much difference in Schlangenbad if you write my name instead of August Dauer. The letter will still come to me; the street name is really insignificant where there are only about 70 households.
But now to you. Since I don't know how long a letter takes and your birthday is getting close, I wish in this manner to bring warmest best wishes to you for your cradle festival. May you be around for a long time for your family and hopefully it is granted me the chance to see you again. I had almost given up, for with our food one doesn't have much resistence to whatever comes along. I was very ill for 8 weeks and didn't believe that I would ever recover. I still am not completely over it and am very weak. One would now need to eat something nutritious but it isn't available. The doctor prescribed extra rations for me 4 weeks ago but I haven't seen anything yet. With 2 lbs.= 1000 gr. of bread a week it will take quite a while before I am really back on my feet again.
Mother and I intended to pick a lot of berries in the woods this year so that we had at least some preserves for our bread during the winter but then I got sick. Mother went one more time to pick raspberries but then got such a bad foot that she could no longer walk, so now we shall just have to see how we will get by. Carl wrote to us that he had sent a package but so far nothing has arrived. You shouldn't wonder about our stationery, that is no longer available, or only in limited amounts. It doesn't matter really, as long as we have something to write on.
Yes Ida, Mother and I no longer thought that we would have to live through such hard times again but we will have to make it through if we want to forget the ill-fated Hitler years. This will be difficult and will take a long time, for the wounds are deep and if nutrition was better, we would succeed. To be sure, Paul lost everything too, but he is still young and will rise up again eventually. It is different for us. We will probably have to make do with the few things we were able to save. Anna and Adolf too, have to set themselves low and would certainly not complain if they hadn't lost Rudi in the last minutes. Still, there is hardly any family in Germany that came through the war without some trace. Therefore, heads up and rebuild, for then we can probably also eat more and better. And now Ida, once again very hearty birthday wishes and many greetings to you , your husband and the 3 boys.

Father

First Post-WWII Letters to America: Opa to Ida 1946

Translated by Philip Graupner

(1946.05.13 Opa to Ida...translation)

Schlangenbad, 13 May, 1946

Dear Ida and Willard!
Now that we can write directly to each other again, I will write once myself. I already wrote a letter to Hermann and hopefully it arrived there safely, or better said, that it will arrive there.
Yes Ida, we have hard times behind us and the worst is yet to come. Worst of all is the hunger but we can't complain because we deserve it; for this war didn't have to be fought and now the whole German folk will be held responsible for it. This last war can't be compared to that of '14 - '18, of which you three may still have a memory. It was much more radical and for that reason much more drastic for each individual. There are likely very few families in Germany that escaped without loss; either family members that were lost on the battlefield or their homes were bombed, or both. Our home in Mülheim is now only a pile of ruins and we lost almost everything, or what survived is badly damaged. I can't say how long we will stay in Schlangenbad but we will most likely be sent back to our home places, i.e. to Mülheim - Ruhr. I would already be back there if I could only find an apartment, even it were only three rooms. Yes, most people are happy to live in one room with 4 - 5 persons, or in some cases, more. But as I said, the worst is our nutrition. Until now it wasn't so bad but now starvation begins too. It must be acknowledged that America is making a great effort to prevent a famine. Will it be successful? To that end, America is allowing packages to be sent to family members here now, as you probably already know. This will be of great benefit to many German families, since almost every 5th. family has one or more relatives in America which could help them.
Hermann and Karl have already written. Karl also sent a photo of his 3 boys, which Else Jr. has taken possession of. Hermann's family has grown enormously. The Graupner name increases in America while it seems to be dying out in German, i.e. my line...the name won't disappear, there are too many.
I was often reproached, that I allowed you to go to America and I often worried about that but today I am pleased that you didn't have to experience this war in Germany. Karl and Hermann would perhaps no longer be alive, for they would have been among the first to be drafted. Germany is now at the bottom and won't so easily raise itself back up again and the final days of our lives will be terrible and all because of our big industrialists and the Junkers in combination with an adventurer. But, it is too late to complain about that. Now we must hold our heads up and work hard so that we are respected in the world again. The consolation that at least the three of you didn't have to live through this misery a second time will be a help to me. I am old and can no longer do much; still I don't wish to stand on the sidelines during reconstruction; it will take a long time until Germany is respected again and until at least some of the ruins are replaced with new buildings. One won't recognize many cities for a number of old familiar corners no longer exist. Until then, many a drop of water will flow down the Ruhr and the Rhine rivers.
With these observations, I would like to close my first post-war letter with the request to send greetings to Hermann and Karl and their families. Warm greetings to you, Willard and the boys.

Your Father.

First Post-WWII Letters To America: Oma to Ida 1946

Translated by Philip Graupner

(1946.07.18 Oma to Ida...translation)

18 July, 1946

My dear, dear Ida and Family,

Your birthday is once again near and I congratulate you for that and wish you the best, especially good health for you and your family. My dear Ida, I believe that you are now the same age as I was when you left. All the things that you have experienced in the past years; good and bad! You were seriously ill once, your dear Willard was so sick once and your dear little boy was very sick but with God's help, everyone got well again. I am happy for that and I have always been pleased that you found a good husband. August and Elsa always told us that Willard was very good to you. So you will have experienced much joy and beauty during those years. It was certainly God's guidance that you had to go so far away then. There was a time when I would have been very happy if you, or at least one of you, would have come back again. Today I see that it was good so, as it was destined to be. We also had some wonderful times in those years but also horror. But the dear Lord allowed us to survive that too. We have been living in Schlangenbad since 1943 (we were bombed out in the night of 22 June). Here too, at least during the last year, we were very frightened but thank God, nothing happened. So, we have been living here for 3 years already and in this quiet village have completely forgotten fear and terror, in part because there are no ruins here. Perhaps you know all of that already. Hanni has perhaps told you everything, since she usually writes in detail. It is very nice here in Schlangenbad during the summer. It lies in a narrow valley with the forest growing right up to the houses. Karl knows the place. In the past years, Father and I were often in the woods to gather firewood and hunt for berries and mushrooms and I liked to gather pinecones. This year it didn't work out; as Father already wrote. He was sick for a long time and now I have a hard time walking. God willing, that will soon be better and we'll make up for lost time. However, we are over the hill and the sun is going down. Hopefully, we'll have some more beautiful summer days, until now it has always been cool and rainy.

Now we are all here together. Elsa lives across from us; we can look in each other's windows. Paul lives 10 minutes from us. Only Anna had to leave at the beginning of July to move to Augsburg. Whether it will stay this way is very uncertain. Everything here is so uncertain; one doesn't know what will come next. We will have to wait and see. But enough of that for today.

Once again I wish you the best for your birthday and send very warm greetings to you, Willard and the 3 boys.
Your Mother and Grandmother

(1946.07.18 Oma an Ida)

18.7.46

Meine liebe, liebe Ida u. Fam.

Wieder einmal naht dein Geburtstag! Ich gratuliere Dir herzlich dazu und wünsche Dir das Allerbesten, vor allen Dingen Gesundheit für Dich und Deine liebe Fam. Meine liebe Ida, ich glaube Du bist jetzt in dem Alter, als ich war, wie Du fort gegangen bist. Was habt Ihr nicht alles in der vergangenen Zeit erlebt. Gutes und Schweres. Du hast ein gar mal schwere Krankheit überstanden, Dein lieber Willard war ein mal so schwer krank, Dein liebes Bübchen war schwer Krank, aber mit Gottes Hilfe ist alles wieder gut geworden. Dessen bin ich froh, schon darüber war ich immer froh, daß Du einen guten Mann bekommen hast. August u. Else haben immer erzählt, daß Willard sehr gut zu Dir sei. So wirst Du im Laufe der Jahre auch manche Freude und manches Schöne erlebt haben. Und es war wohl Gottes Fügung, Daß Ihr damals so weit fort musstet. Es gab eine Zeit, da wäre ich sehr froh gewesen, wenn Ihr oder wenigstens eins von Euch wieder hier gewesen wäret. Heute sehe ich daß es gut so war, als wie es die Vorsehung bestimmt hatte. Wir haben ja in der Zeit auch noch schöne Jahre und zuletzt furchtbar Schweres erlebt. Aber der liebe Gott hat uns auch diese überleben lassen. Wir sind seit Juni 43 (am 22 Juni nachts sind wir ausgebombt worden) in Schlangenbad. Wir haben ja auch hier, wenigstens das letzte Jahr, viel Angst ausgestanden, aber, Gott sei Dank' ist hier nichts passiert. So wohnen wir nun schon 3 Jahre hier und haben in dem ruhigen Ort Angst und Schrecken ganz vergessen, zumal man hier keine Trümmer sieht. Aber das wirst Du vielleicht alles schon wissen. Die Hanni hat Dir bestimmt geschrieben und sie schreibt immer recht ausfürlich. Hier in Schlangenbad ist es im Sommer sehr schön. Es liegt in einem engen Tal und der Wald tritt bis an die Fesnter heran. Karl kennt es ja. In den vergangenen Jahren bin ich mit Vater viel im Wald gewesen. Wir haben Holz geholt, Beeren u. Pìlze gesucht, auch Tannenzapfen habe ich gern geholt. Dies Jahr will es nicht recht klappen, mit in den Wald gehen. Wie Vater schon schrieb, war er eine Zeit lang krank und jetzt bin ich schlecht zu Fuß, wills Gott, wird das bald wieder besser, dann holen wir nach. Aber wir sind schon über den Berg hinweg und die Sonne geht wieder abwärts. Hoffendlich bekommen wir noch schöne Sommertage, bis jetzt war es hier außer einigen warmen Tagen recht kühl und viel regnerisch.

Jetzt sind wir hier schön beisammen. Elsa wohnt uns gegenüber, wir können einander in die Fenster sehen, zehn Minuten von uns wohnt Paul, nur Anna ist seit Anfang Juli von hier weg nach Augsburg gezogen. Ob es nun immer so blieben wird, ist noch sehr fraglich, es ist hier alles noch so ungewiß, man weiß nicht, was noch werden soll. Also werden wir abwarten müssen. Doch für heute genug.

Ich wünsche Dir nochmal alles Gute zum Geburtstag und grüße Dich, Willard und die 3 Buben recht herzlich.

Eure Mutter u. Großmutter.

Memories of Oma: Jerry Liepert

by Jerry Liepert

OK Jim, you asked for it!

I was stationed at Camp Polk, LA when Oma and Hanni arrived in Spencer. My mother (Ida) took the bus to Spencer for a few days that week. Her letter to me after seeing her Mother (after 29 years) described her experience: "We talked and talked and talked and my jaws are so tired from all our talk."

[Gathering of members of the Herman Graupner Family at the Willard Liepert Farm on the occasion of the vist of Oma Graupner and Hanni Graupner and our cousin Else Dauer (Eichstedt), who had newly arrived from Schlangenbad in 1952. Ida may have taken the photo, but the photo shows Oma (Anna Glaser Graupner), her son Hermann, granddaughter Else Dauer, and daughter Johanna (Hanni) Graupner, positioned in the row below Jerry Liepert and his father, Willard.]

Of course I first met Oma when I came home on leave and picked up Oma and Hanni in Spencer. Of course Ida had a full round of people for them to meet, not the least of which were the Wendels. I believe it was Luella Wendel (an Ida best friend) who introduced them to the card game canasta. They loved it and took decks of cards with them back to Schlangenbad. (They were still playing canasta when I got to Schlangenbad in 1952-53.)

One of the incidents that occurred involved everyone around the supper table one evening. I believe Ida had made a chocolate cake for dessert with rich chocolate frosting. Will kept the frosting on his plate, saving "the best to last." Chappy kept teasing him by threatening to take that frosting. Mom told Will to get the coffee pot from the kitchen, but he procrastinated because he worried that Chappy would get that frosting. Finally Willard thundered for him to get the coffee pot. Will then quickly went back to his plate, spit on the frosting, and then got the coffee.

Now comes that part that involves Oma. As Will took the coffee pot around the table to refill cups, he came to Oma. Motioning to ask her if she would like some, she responded something like "Ja, schütte noch ein bisschen drin." (Yes, pour a bit in.) Will, about 10 years old at the time, was shocked, turned to Dad and said "Did you hear what Oma said?" Everyone at the table found it necessary to stare at our plates withholding a laugh while poor Oma had no idea what caused it all. Hanni may have explained it later.

My best memories of Oma in Schlangenbad were those times that I came on a three day pass. When everyone else went to work, I would meet Oma and we would walk up to the cemetery and visit Opa's grave. On the way back we would stop at the Metzger and get some well trimmed pork chops. Oma made dinner for me; hot from the stove on to my plate. Then she would take the daily paper (Wiesbaden Kurier) and read a column to me. Then I was expected to read it back to her. Occasionally she would correct my pronunciation. (Actually, if one knows the German alphabet, the language is quite phonetic. I do believe that one might read a sentence reasonably correct without really knowing the meaning!)

If I were in Schlangenbad on a Sunday, I would usually go to church with Oma. She was proud that I could sing from the hymnal! Think about it, slow word progression, and I probably did not know exactly what I was singing! On Sunday, we usually had afternoon coffee with Oma. (Coffee was not still not readily available and very expensive on the economy. My ration always went to Oma.)*

*It is probably important here to point out that Germany at that time was still under occupation although non-fraternization had long been forgotten. GIs were still paid in script (to keep the dollar away from the Germans) and we had ration cards that allowed us to buy up to a carton of cigarettes and one pound of coffee per week. The official dollar to DM ration was $1 = DM 4.30 but the black market rate paid at least 5DM to a dollar of script. Not long after arriving in Germany, a sudden edict cancelled all leaves and passes. A day later we were told to turn in all ofld script and receive a new script - dollar for dollar. There were many Germans stuck with the old script they had acquired which now was no longer valid.

I spent Christmas leave in Schlangenbad in 1952. Erika spent the day decorating the tree. Christmas eve services with Oma. Christmas eve the "Christkind kommt," and we celebrated at the Dauers. Somewhere I have a photo of Oma who put all of the pretty ribbons and bows around her neck! Of course Onkel August made a Feuerzangbowle. On Christmas morning it seemed that everyone in Schlangebad "visited" each others homes for a Christmas greeting, some goodies, a glass of punch, etc. Of course we too made the rounds.

In 1960 when Judy and I took the first group of Muskego High School kids to the Rheingau, we lived in Schlangenbad. Tante Elsa and Erika had come to Rhein/Main to meet us. When the kids were finally allocated to homes that evening, Tante Elsa told us that Oma has been "cooking coffee" since 2 o'clock in anticipation of our arrival. Oma gave Judy a couple figurines to take home. Years later (1976)Tante Anna & Onkel Adolf visited us in San Antonio. Tante Anna saw the figurines and said: Oh, Mother had some just like that, but they did not survive the war! When I protested that they came from Oma, Tante Anna said: "No, they can't be the same because one of them was broken and repaired with heavy paper glued inside." And then we examined and found the repair!

By the time we arrived with a group in 1963, Oma and Hanni and Anna and Adolf had moved into the new house in Bärstadt. (Judy and I lived in Niederwalluf.) At the farewell party for the 1963 group, I had managed to have Oma, Tante Elsa and Onkel August present. They seated Oma in the front row next to the Landrat of the Rheingaukreis. When it was my turn to speak, of course I introduced my guests, but Oma was special and I took special pains to get it right! "Und es gibt noch eine die ich vorstellen möchte; meine Oma, die Mutter meiner Mutter. Vielleicht ist sie stolz auf ihren Enkel, aber gewiss nicht annähend so stolz als ich auf sie bin."

Indeed, there are more memories, but this should do for now. Jerry

Anna Selma Glaser Graupner (1879 - 1968)

Anna Selma Glaser Graupner

(28 April 1879 - 25 April 1968)

Sadly, today is the 40th Anniversary of Oma's death; she lived but two days from her 90th birthday. When we grew up there was hardly a space between the names Oma-and-Hanni; they were inseparably fixed in our minds as our supremely dear Oma Anna und Tante Hanni. I had hoped to see Oma once again when I made my first trip to Germany in June 1968, but even as my plans were made, she passed away just months before I arrived.

Philip was still in Germany when I visited; living in the Dachzimmer of Oma, Hanni, and Tante Anna's house in Barstadt. One day, Tante Hanni told me the story (I hope I can remember) of Oma's passing and subsequent funeral, in which she was simply washed, dressed in her night gown, her wood coffin placed in the living room so that family and neighbors could pay their respects. The next day, a farmer came with a wagon and led a procession up the mountain to the little stone chapel in the Taunus forest; then, after a service, her coffin was lowered into the family plot, next to her husband, Carl Hermann Graupner.

Anna was born to Carl Friedrich and Selma Auguste Glaser in Marienthal, Sachsen. She was the oldest of 13 children, three of whom died as infants. Her surviving siblings included: Arno, Max Karl, Ernst Wilhelm, Klara (Wiedemann), Emil Karl, Ella (Wagner), Kurt, Paula (Pilz), and Alfred. She married (Carl) Hermann Graupner on 9 June 1900; they moved to the Ruhrgebiet in western Germany where Hermann was employed in the coal mining industry; they had seven children: Anna, Ida (Liepert), Elsa (Dauer), Hermann, Carl, Paul, and Johanna, four of whom emigrated to the United States, with Elsa returning to Germany.

Because Anna's death and birth days are so close together, and because several of you have known Oma intimately--especially having known her in your young adult lives, I am hoping that you will be able to tell your story of Oma. I will add Hanni's accounts, photos, etc. and I'm hoping Helga, Jerry, Philip, and others can share both personal connections and possibly some excerpts of old letters.

Vielen Dank,

jim

Centenary of Carl Paul Graupner (1908 - 2008)

The Centenary of Carl Paul Graupner’s Birth
26 March 1908 – 3 September 1996
by Philip Graupner

Carl Paul Gaupner was the second son and the fifth of seven children born to Anna (Gläser) and C. Hermann Graupner. He was born in a small town near Saarbrücken, Germany. Called Spittel then, it is now known as L’Hopital and lies on the French side of the French-German border. His father, a coal-mine administrator/engineer, worked in mines in Spittel and Freimengen (now Freyming, France) for about five years (1907-1911) before returning to the Ruhr region (specifically Dortmund and Oberhausen) where Carl and his siblings grew up and went to school.

C.Hermann Graupner Family, 1923, Carl, Hanni, Anna (mother), Elsa, Ida, Hermann Jr., C. Hermann (father), Anna and Paul.

World War I (1914-1918) started when Carl was six years old. These were very difficult years for Germans. His father was called up for military duty and was gone for two years. There was very little to eat. His older sister Elsa was sent to work on a farm near the Dutch border. When Carl was nine, he signed up to work on a farm several hundred miles away in Pomerania without telling his parents about it until the night before the train was scheduled to depart. He landed on a large farm being run by the women of the family because the farmer had been drafted into the army. A Russian prisoner-of-war handled the horses and did the heavy field work. Carl’s job was to take the cows to pasture in the morning and watch them until the boys of the family got home from school in the early afternoon. Then he either helped the women or would hang out with the Russian and the horses. He enjoyed these two months so much that he decided then that he wanted to be a farmer.
This dream became a reality a few years after the end of the war with the help of a first cousin to Carl’s father. One of the Grandmother Graupner’s sisters had immigrated to the USA in the 1870s and her children were living near DePere, Wisconsin. One of them, Frank Boser, had a farm and offered to sponsor someone in the family that wanted to come to the United States. C. Hermann couldn’t very well leave his large family and job, so Carl and his older sister Ida decided to come to America. They had to wait a while because of the quotas. It was a time of great political and financial turmoil in Germany. The Rhineland area, where they lived, was occupied by French and Belgian soldiers in an effort to force the Germans to make reparation payments for the war. In retribution, there were work stoppages and sabotage. Money became worthless. Ida was able to get on the German quota but Carl had to get on the French quota, something he was able to do because the town he was born in had became part of France after the Germans lost the war. They left Germany from Cuxhaven on the German liner, Albert Ballin, in September 1923. Carl was fifteen years old. Ida was twentyone.
Carl Graupner, age 14 (passport photo)

Ida and Carl arrived in New York after about 10 days and went through immigration procedures on Ellis Island without any problems. They were put onto an immigrant train to Chicago. From there they took the train to DePere. Ida found work as a maid very quickly and Carl helped Frank Boser with farm chores but was sent to the local school because he couldn’t speak any English. He took a seat in the sixth grade but made no progress until his Irish teacher brought along a children’s book in English that he had been familiar with in Germany. He rapidly made progress then. In the summer he took a job as a hired-man for a farmer with cancer. The man died and Carl helped the farmer’s brother and wife with the work until the widow sold the farm. He worked for a number of other farmers in the area and saved enough money to pay Frank back for the passage.
In 1925, his sister Elsa and his brother Hermann also immigrated to Wisconsin, their passage being paid for by a farmer in Morrison Township, Hugo Lemke, who wanted Hermann to help on his farm. Ida had moved to Milwaukee and lived with one of Frank’s sisters and Elsa followed her there to find work as a maid.
At the beginning of 1926 Carl started working on the Malchine farm near Waterford, Wisconsin. This was a large, prosperous farm and the family treated him like their son. In the ten years that he worked for them, he acquired many friends, some related to the Malchine family and others that were members of the Norway Lutheran Church outside Waterford. He took a lot of photos during this time.


Ida and Elsa both met their future husbands while in Milwaukee. Ida married Willard Liepert in June 1928 and moved to his parent’s farm near Kewaskum, Wisconsin. Elsa and August Dauer traveled back to Germany after Ida and Willard’s wedding and married in Schlangenbad in September 1928.
Carl traveled back to Germany to visit his parents and siblings just before Christmas in 1932. Once again, he did not tell his parents that he was making the trip but fortunately reconsidered and sent them a telegram from the ship....again the Albert Ballin. His parents were living then in Mülheim a.d.Ruhr where his mother had opened a little grocery store. His father was retired. Only his little sister Hanni was still living at home. His younger brother Paul was at engineering school in Idstein. After celebrating Christmas together, Carl and his father traveled to visit aunts, uncles and cousins from the Graupner and Gläser families in Saxony, many of whom he met for the first time. He came back to the USA on the Deutschland and arrived in New York just in time to celebrate the end of Prohibition.





Carl continued to work on the Malchine farm until Christmas 1935. Willard Liepert suffered a ruptured appendix and Ida wasn’t able to do the farm-work alone, so Carl went to help out. He was there through the winter which was noted for its record snowfall. In the summer, a friend from Watertown, Harold Beck, talked him into seeking work at the brass works in Burlington, Wisconsin and sharing a room with him in town. Carl’s job was polishing faucets. It was piece-work and frustrating until he got the hang of it. Harold introduced Carl to St. John’s Lutheran Church, where both sang in the choir. Another member of the choir was Gertrude Boock, St John’s elementary school teacher. They started dating and on 8 August 1939 were married in Spencer, Wisconsin, the home of her parents.


l-r: Margret Boock, Carl and Gertrude, Donald Alaxson, Erna Byer, Russel Johnson, Marian Oelrich Boock, Norbert Boock, Carol Gieseke

Carl started working as a delivery man for the Kellogg’s Dairy, later Pet Milk. He delivered ice-cream and dairy products to stores in the cities along the north shore to Chicago.
Their first two children, Kenneth (1941) and Philip (1942) arrived while they still lived in a little rental apartment in Burlington but in 1943 they bought a little cottage on Brown’s Lake outside of Burlington. James (1944), John (1946) and Cathryn (1948) were all born while they lived in the little two-bedroom cottage. The house was charming but small. When Pet Milk was sold and closed toward the end of 1948, Carl decided to follow his dream of having his own farm. They looked for a farm in the Burlington/Waterford area near their many friends without finding anything. Gertrude’s father owned an eighty-acre farm in Spencer, Wisconsin that was rented out. Carl and Gertrude decided to move there and just after Christmas 1948 moved to Spencer. The farm was very run down. The house didn’t have a bathroom. The money that they got from the sale of the cottage was soon spent on machinery, cattle and fertilizer. On the plus side however, Gertrude’s parents and her brother’s family also lived in town.
Carl and Ida invited their mother and youngest sister, Hanni, to come to America for a visit in 1951. Although ties to their family in Germany had been disrupted during World War II, letters started going across the ocean again in 1945, first sent by American soldiers and airmen that were stationed in Schlangenbad where the Dauers lived and also the parents, after being bombed out in 1943, and brother Paul and his family after being deported from their home in Austria in 1945. The post-war years were once again hunger-years for the Germans. The American families sent many packages of food and clothing to help the German families out. This recreated a closeness that might otherwise have been lost. Oma and Hanni’s nine-month visit in 1951 – 52 was a very significant event for the three American Graupner-families. The two would visit each of the families in turn; the Lieperts in Kewaskum, the Hermann Graupners in Bonduel and the Carl Graupners in Spencer.
Carl’s farm got off to a slow start because the place was so run down. Little by little, with much hard work and a willingness to keep abreast of good farming practices, his herd increased and improved. The farm was increased in size until it was almost 160 acres. His children provided grunt labor, although Kenneth and John contributed much more than the others by taking an active interest in farming and making improvements in the efficiency of running the farm. The most significant change came with the purchase of some purebred calves at an auction which were the foundation of what later was one of the record milk-producing herds in the Spencer area. Carl was a very successful farmer.
In 1970, at age 62, Carl sold his cows. His youngest boy, Charles (b.1951), had graduated from high school and was going to college. It was too much work for one person. Gertrude was teaching school and could supplement their income if necessary. He continued to raise crops and heifers. Toward the end of his life, he rented the farmland out to a young farmer.
Over half of Carl’s life was spent on the farm in Spencer. They were quiet years, filled with the everyday of work, raising a large family, active membership in Trinity Lutheran Church in Spencer, bowling and card games with the neighbors. Some of the highpoints were the 1951- 52 visit of his mother and sister, the 1964 trip to Germany with Gertrude, Cathy and Chuck to celebrate their Silver-Wedding Anniversary, many other trips to Germany with Gertrude to reconnect with the cousins and their families in West and East Germany, as well as to do sight-seeing in other countries. They also made several trips with Norbert and Marion Boock to Canada and places in the USA. In the 70s, they bought land along the Elk River west of Phillips, Wisconsin and built a small cottage but it never became a real home away from home, especially after most of the trees were felled in an unusual windstorm. Although they visited their children’s young families frequently, the farm house in Spencer increasingly became the gathering point for children, grandchildren and other visitors.
In August of 1989, Carl and Gertrude celebrated their Golden Wedding Anniversary with a large gathering in Spencer.


Golden Wedding, 1989...front: Jenna, Christopher, Anna, Peter, Erik, Erin w. photo of Lisa, Lauren. 2nd row: Scott, Kathy, Eunice, Judy, James with Emily, Kristine, Brittany, Deborah with Jeffrey, Brian. Back row: John, Kenneth, Philip, Carl and Gertrude, Edward, Cathryn, Charles.

Carl and Gertrude were always genuinely interested in their family histories. Even though Germany had been divided after WWII and there was very little contact with the cousins living in the GDR, Carl and Gertrude visited East Germany before the “wall” came down in 1989. They visited there again several times after 1989, the last time with Hanni Graupner and Jamie Langston. They established a bridge which in recent years has resulted in a couple of family reunions, unfortunately too late for Carl to enjoy.
Cancer ended Carl’s life on September 3, 1996. The first round of the disease was brought under control through chemotherapy and he enjoyed a good year, making trips with Gertrude to visit the Lieperts in Texas and in 1995 to Germany to visit his sisters, even making it to Saxony to visit his cousins. When the cancer returned, in spite of months of treatments, it put an end to the life of this wonderful man. He is buried in the Spencer cemetery in a plot that he and Gertrude bought for themselves. Nearby are the graves of Norbert and Marian Boock and many of their former friends and neighbors.

(Note: This history of Carl Graupner's life is based on several taped interviews that James Graupner made with Carl and Gertrude in July 1971, August 1983 and July 1996.)

Twin Cities Art Scene: Michael Schmidt and Erin Busby

Second cousins Michael Schmidt and Erin Busby both have debuts this week. Erin Busby (Elinor) opens in Sense and Sensibility today through April 26th at the Black Forest Inn on East 26th Street in Minneapolis. St. Paul artist, Michael Schmidt, opens a series of art exhibits in a variety of venues throughout the month of April.

The descriptor in today's St. Paul Pioneer Press, "Weekend Life: Best of the Week" 2E, 4 April 2008, exclaims: "Wait a minute. A dramatization of an English novel being staged in a German restaurant in Minneapolis? If you can wrap your brain around that, consider taking in Cromulent Shakespeare Company's version of Jane Austen's "Sense and Sensibility," that classic tale of romance, witty banter and tenderness."


Michael Schmidt opened a series of showings at various art venues in St. Paul and Minneapolis, last evening, with an opening at his studio in the Northrup King Building, Suite 423. Hundreds of artists open their studios to the public during First Thursdays in the Arts District, 1500 Jackson St. NE, Minneapolis [not far from where the Wiethoffs, Petersons, and Schmidts lived a hundred years ago].

Other art exhibits in April include a viewing of Michael's recent paintings in oil, opening on Saturday, April 12, at the salongeorge, 856 Raymond Ave., St. Paul, from 6-9 pm.

The Mezzolago Art Gallery will hold its spring art sale featuring Minnesota artists in Minneapolis, April 25-27 (visit http://www.mezzolago.com/).

The Saint Paul Art Crawl, featuring hundreds of artists and galleries throughout the city, will take place April 25,26,27. Michael's work can be seen at the Rossmore Building, 7th Floor
9th and Robert Street, Saint Paul (visit http://www.artcrawl.org/).

Finally, Michael invites art lovers to enjoy art and the Twin Cities' best Neapolitan Pizza at Pizza Nea, 306 East Hennepin, Minneapolis (visit http://www.pizzanea.com/).

Jerry Liepert's Cattleboat Trip to Europe: 1946-47

A FARM BOY’S PERSONAL REFLECTIONS OF THE
UNITED NATIONS RELIEF AND REHABILITATION (UNRRA)
CATTLEBOAT TRIPS TO EUROPE

SEPTEMBER 1946 - JANUARY 1947

BY GERALD LIEPERT
[Edited by Jamie Liepert Langston]


Where to begin?

I reached my 17th birthday on May 8, 1946 and graduated from Kewaskum High School[i] a week later with something less than a stellar academic performance. Within days of graduation, I began work in the shipping department of the Kewaskum Utensil Company – although we were not allowed to work on the machines until age 18. Oh yes, starting pay was 60¢ per hour.

During this rather hectic late May and early June of 1946, I still belonged to the Youth Group of the Evangelical Reformed Church[ii] of a three-church parish: Boltonville, Beechwood, and Silver Creek. One Sunday evening, several friends from Boltonville and I attended a Youth Meeting at the Silver Creek church. At that meeting, Reverend Meiller presented a request from the United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Agency (UNRRA) seeking farm boys to handle livestock being shipped to war-torn Europe.

Apparently the program was established to replace livestock that had been killed or butchered during and as a result of the WWII. Hundreds of people in Europe were faced with starvation after the war. In fact, the winter of 1946-1947 was especially difficult, because it was extremely cold. The Rhine River actually froze over the first time in almost a century, and food and fuel were in very short supply. UNNRRA initially employed ordinary merchant seamen to care for the animals en route with disastrous results. We were told that more than half of each cargo load on those ships was lost because of a lack of knowledge in working with animals. Almost all cattle were two-year old heifers in calf and many of the horses were unbroken westerns with mares carrying foals. Sheep and goats were likewise carrying lambs and kids, although I only dealt with horses and cows.

Many churches and civic organizations were involved in finding, donating and buying animals for the program. UNNRRA approached the Church of the Brethren with a request for farm boys to care for the animals en route. I suspect that the Brethren contacted many religious denominations, especially in rural areas. Several at our youth meeting took the "request for more information" home, but as I recall, only two of us, Delmar Schroeder from Silver Creek and I, sent them in. A response came quickly with a letter of urgency.

By early July my paperwork was ready except for my parents signature, a requirement for anyone under 18. My mother was disposed to sign, but my father very negative. "He has never been away from the farm, he knows nothing about the world, he is too young, etc., etc., etc." One evening after chores, both parents were at the kitchen table. My Mom was reading a book and knitting, and Dad was reading the paper. I took the paper to Mom first. She signed and pushed it across the table to my Dad. He looked up from his paper with, "Do you really want to let him do this?”" My mother, in her own quiet way responded, "Let him learn how other people have to live." That comment is still as fresh in my mind, as if it were said yesterday. It also echoed many times later in life and influenced many future decisions.) Dad signed.

- 1 -

By late July 1946, I had received my first raise of 2-½ cents per hour at the utensil company. We still lived on the Liepert homestead, and I was expected to do the milking and help around the farm for my room and board. In early August, I received word of acceptance into the program and some of the details. We would care for a specific number of animals on the trip over – feed, water, etc. and then clean and disinfect the entire ship on the return voyage. The longshoremen in Europe would take animals, excess feed and even the manure off the ship. We would be paid $150 upon completion of each trip (regardless of how long the round trip was); and given free room and board aboard ship. We would also have access to the ship stores while on board. But our roundtrip travel from home to Newport News, Virginia and any expenses before assignment to a ship would be at our own expense. Within another week, I received a telegram to report to the Brethren Service Committee Office on Pier X in Newport News, VA by the end of August. By this time, Delmar Schroeder had decided not to accept assignment because he was still in high school, even though he had also been approved.

With my roundtrip train ticket from West Bend to Newport News and $25 in my pocket, my adventure began in late August 1946. Mom had packed a shoe box full of lunch (eating in the dining car was much too expensive), because I would be en route at least two days. My first transfer came in Chicago from Chicago & Northwestern to the Pennsylvania station. I had been told to “take the parmalee” by the station agent in West Bend, but I really didn’t know what that was and was too timid to ask. It turned out to be something like a stretch limo that traveled between the various train depots and was paid for by the railroads. (A taxi was an expense I couldn't afford.) The next train went from Chicago to Cincinnati where the station didn't change but I had to transfer to the Chesapeake and Ohio (Sleep like a kitten) Railroad. I arrived in Newport News in late afternoon on the second day of travel and took a taxi from the station in hopes of arriving at Pier X before closing. No such luck. I then asked the cab driver where I might stay and he took me to the Hotel Warwick, probably the only hotel in town at that time (I thought the taxi fare was exorbitant, but it probably was less than $1.50.) Tired and hungry, I paid $2 for a room and went to the dining room. I remember thinking that everything on the menu was too expensive, but by then it was dark, and I had no idea where I might find an affordable restaurant. (This was in all probability the first time I had ever eaten in a restaurant.) I did have something to eat, but it was obvious that my $25 was dwindling fast.

Early the next morning I checked out of the hotel and walked to Pier X (about 2 miles) with my bag, assuming that I would be assigned to a ship that day. Not so! I was presented with paperwork to take to the Coast Guard station in Norfolk, VA (via ferry) and have them issue my seaman’s papers. (I still have my card.) The Brethren Service Office called us "sea going cowboys," (something at least a bit romantic), but the Merchant Marine papers called us “cattlemen.” On the bus to the ferry, I met a young black man about my age, Charles Peeks from Ohio, who was also going to Norfolk for papers. This was my first experience around blacks and “blacks to the back of the bus.” I did not know that I was not supposed to be back there with him, and so I trudged right on after him. He very smoothly solved the problem by sitting in the most forward seat of the black section and had me sit in the rear most seat of the white section. He was obviously much wiser to the ways of the world than me.

Returning to Pier X that afternoon we were notified of a possible maritime strike to begin the next day -- September 1, 1946. We would, therefore, not be assigned, board, or load a ship until the strike was settled. We were sent to the Catholic Maritime Club where we could get a clean bunk, clean sheets and a shower for 50¢ per night. After bus and ferry fares and something to eat, my finances were already reaching a critical stage. The next morning we learned that the strike was in effect, but we were to report to the office every morning for instructions. We would also be paid and additional $2.50 per day for as long as the strike lasted. (Those who went home received nothing for their efforts.) I wrote home for money and my parents wired another $25, which I am sure was a burden they did not need. I stayed at the Catholic Maritime Club for another night or two and then teamed up with another cattleman from Iowa, Johnny Vogel. We rented a room for $7.00 per week ($3.50 each) in a private home and began looking for some kind of work. I lucked out almost immediately, working 14 hours per day (6AM-8PM) as a bus boy in a restaurant for $8 per week and my meals. I lasted only 1-½ weeks, when they learned that I would leave when the maritime strike ended, or so they said. If the truth were known, I probably ate too much and drank too much orange juice – a delicacy for me. For the rest of the month, we had coffee and doughnuts at the USO in the morning and Johnny found an "all you can eat for 75¢" home-style place for our second meal of the day. Of course we managed to report at least once each day to the office on Pier X. (A point of interest here: These were the days when every public restroom proclaimed that "KILROY WAS HERE.” There often were other epithets, but none exceeded “Kilroy.”)

Late in September, I was assigned to the Clarksville Victory Ship destined for Bremen, Germany. Before I could take my gear aboard and write that news to my mother, the Clarksville blew a boiler and would be out of service for several weeks. I just couldn't wait any longer for a ship, so when they offered a slot on the Pierre Victory going to Danzig (Gdansk, Poland), I took it. (I had about $15 and some change in my pocket, when I finally boarded that ship in early October 1946, and would not receive any pay until we returned to the USA in early November.) I did write a letter home before we sailed.

As I recall, we had a total load of 1170 horses. I worked a mid-ships hold on the day shift – 7AM to 9PM. (Only two people circulated through all of the holds and reported to the bridge hourly from 9PM to 7AM.) Horses had to be on their feet for the entire trip, although they seldom lie down for more than 20-30 minutes anyway. On board ship, however, the motion of the ocean will eventually kill them, if they are down for an extended period of time, because horses are incapable of vomiting. Thus, ill or not, horses that attempted to lie down had to be put into a sling and lifted with a block and tackle. This is something of a process, when horses on each side are spooked and wild. Horses were haltered and tied to their feed and water manger, but there were no individual stalls. I still carry a scar on my back from a horse that lifted me right off the deck. His teeth went right through my leather jacket.

The trip was pleasant enough, although the north Atlantic is quite cold in October. Occasionally, there were rough seas, but no heavy storms. I did buy an all-wool turtleneck seaman’s sweater for $3.50 in the ships store and a few cartons of cigarettes at 60¢ per carton. Although I smoked intermittently since my 16th birthday, most of these cigarettes would be used for trade in Danzig. (For several years after WWII, cigarettes were more sought after than money in war-torn Europe.) I still have some Polish zolotys received for my cigarettes.

My bunk aboard ship was in a "hooch" on the second deck that had been used by US Navy antiaircraft gun crews during the war. There were at least nine of us in a room no more than 10'x20', with no portholes! The food was reasonably good. We fed and watered the animals at least three times each day. Care had to be taken not to waste drinking water. Each horse had a pail attached to the front of the stall, and we never filled more than half to avoid spilling. We did have a veterinarian on board, but saw him only when we had difficulty with an animal. We were complimented on losing only three of the 1170 animals on the trip over – a record at that time, so we were told.

Arriving in the English Channel on a rather clear day, I recall seeing the famous White Cliffs of Dover and the masts of some ships sunk in shallow water during the war. The North Sea was uneventful. Then came the Kiel Canal (I think it’s called the Kaiser Wilhelm Canal) between the North Sea and Baltic. There we took on a German canal pilot and traversed the canal in daylight hours, because many of those areas were still mined. The canal was wide enough for two ocean going liners to meet, but the ship stayed to the center as much as possible. Children ran along both sides of the canal, and we soon were tossing goodies to them. With a good arm, one could sail the large flat oatmeal cookies made in the galley well onto the shore. We anchored at the end of the canal for the night. Apparently, the Baltic had many mines that had come loose from their moorings, and so we also traversed the Baltic only by day, arriving in Danzig at nightfall. A pilot took us into the harbor the next morning, and we awaited the longshoremen to unload our animals.

Once the unloading began, we were free to request passes into town. The Soviet Army occupied this area, and we were cautioned to avoid any kind of confrontation. Although we saw a few Soviet soldiers, there was no evidence of the "Iron Curtain" which was to fall over all of Europe. I had a pack of Walnettos, small individually wrapped caramel candies, in my pocket. As we disembarked from the ship, a crowd of children was already begging. I threw the Walnettos. Wrong move! We now had a dozen kids following us wherever we went. All begged for cigarettes, tobacco, or candy. Any cigarette butt tossed on the ground was immediately scavenged, tobacco removed and placed into a little tin to be used in a pipe. No, the kids didn't smoke themselves; they sold their hordes to someone who did. (Three cigarettes could buy a loaf of bread on the black market.) We sold some cigarettes for Zolatys[iii] and stopped in some sort of bistro, where I had my first taste of vodka – potato-based liquor served in a small slender glass with lemon flavoring. It had very little taste but was absolutely powerful. By the time we returned to the ship on the first day, there was only one 12-year old boy still following the four of us. We agreed to meet him the next morning at 10AM, after he told us that for a pack of cigarettes he would take us to the battlefield where the Soviets drove the Germans out of the area late in WWII.

The boy was waiting for us, when we came down the gangplank at 945AM. After a few tram transfers, we finally rode to the end of the line and then walked a mile or two. Knowing what I know now, the situation was classic. The Soviets on the high ground to the east, the Germans on the high ground to the west, with low country, almost swamp a mile or more in width down the middle. Very little close-in fighting took place in the central city, which had already been damaged extensively by bombing and artillery fire. Our “tour” was limited to the German side after it had been overrun by the Soviets. Horse drawn caissons – some with skeletons and bits of rotten horsehide still in the traces, partial skeletons in bunkers, a skull inside a helmet, foot bones in rotting socks in foxholes, mortars with ammunition still stacked nearby, etc. etc. The carnage was obvious. Pretty heavy stuff for a 17-year old’s first time away from the farm. One from our group briefly strayed from the path and our 12-year old guide nearly had apoplexy, as only the paths had been cleared of anti-personnel mines. This battlefield trip is another of those experiences that has never been very far from my conscious thoughts.

Our final day in port was somewhat anti-climactic, although we did take a bus to the Polish city of Gydnia. After WWI, Poland was given a corridor to the Baltic Sea, so it could have seaport. Germany had the port of Danzig. Poland built their port of Gydnia just a short distance down the estuary. I do not recall a great amount of interaction with Polish adults on the excursion, but skinny children were everywhere in abundance, mostly begging, in our case from the wealthy Americans.

The return to Newport News went quickly. We did not begin cleaning until we hit the high seas. The ship was empty and the longshoremen had taken off almost every speck of hay, straw and manure. We spent about three days hosing every hold and topside with fire hoses and then disinfected every inch of where the next cargo would be loaded. Thereafter, we could sleep late, eat leisurely and dream about the big payroll we would receive on our return. They did pay off immediately after we disembarked. I received my $150 for the trip and another $75 strike maintenance pay. $225 cash -- no deductions! (I did not earn enough money to file income tax until about 1953.)

But I had started out with the hope of getting to Germany… According to the Brethren Service Office, the next scheduled trip to Germany would be the SS Zona Gale departing Newport News about November 15, 1946. It was now October 28th. Swift calculation of my funds made going back to Wisconsin for two weeks a viable option. Train fare would be less than the cost of hanging around Newport News. I signed on to the Zona Gale and grabbed a train for home. The Brethren Service Office asked me to recruit anyone interested, because many ships were sailing short-handed.

My stay at home was brief. I convinced Delmar Schroeder to come back with me, and Random Lake High School thought that the experience would more than make up for any missed school work. However, what we thought would be a trip of about four weeks, turned out to be almost seven!

Mom wrote to Germany to tell them that I would be on the Zona Gale scheduled to arrive in Bremen on December 2, 1946. It is important here to point out that the German postal system at this time was not yet functional, and all of our correspondence with the relatives in Schlangenbad went through American soldiers stationed there. During and for about six months after the war, there was a strict non-fraternization policy. Soldiers were not allowed to fraternize with the “enemy.” Of course, this policy was virtually impossible to enforce.[iv] By November 1946, however, there were several GIs who received and mailed letters for our German relatives through the military postal system. I believe it was Sergeant George Manwaring from Pennsylvania that was the intermediate between the Dauers, Graupners and my mom about this time. In any event, my mother’s family had at least two weeks notice of my intent to be in Bremen. Mom was pleased, but we were not at all certain that I would actually get to see any of the relatives. Bremen was some distance from Schlangenbad, post-war transportation was difficult, and we expected to have only three or four days in port. I added some more cold weather clothing to my traveling wardrobe, and Delmar and I were off to Newport News.

When we arrived at Pier X on November 15th, the Zona Gale was just pulling into the loading dock. After a trip to Norfolk for his seaman’s papers, we also managed to get Delmar onto the Zone Gale crew. I think we were able to board the ship that night and thus avoid room and board costs for that day. The Zona Gale was an old WWI Liberty ship – slow and cumbersome.[v] We had several hundred horses on board and a heavy load of cargo: grain, canned food, flour, canned goods, etc. – all for UNRRA related distribution. Our quarters were somewhat improved. The Zona Gale had been a troop ship during the war and the dispensary was on the lower deck mid-ships, where the “motion of the ocean” is minimized. Our bunks were in the dispensary, because we carried no medical personnel other than the veterinarian. Unfortunately, our showers on this ship were salt-water. After a shower one looked for a pail of fresh water to rinse the salt from your body! Itch? Oh yes.

Delmar and I had the hold in the fore deck and about 50 horses to tend. The ocean became a bit rough now and then and we were tossed about, but neither of us ever became seasick. Nor did we lose any animals, but there were several in slings before reaching our destination. There also were stalls on the top deck, closed on three sides, but open facing the hold covers upon which bales of hay were stacked and lashed down. It was not as warm on deck as in the holds, but the animals were out of the wind and spray and not really uncomfortable. Delmar and I worked the day shift from 7AM to 9PM.

The north Atlantic kept getting rougher. And then the ocean struck with a vengeance! It was early morning, perhaps 5AM. The night had been rough, but our bunks were in mid-ships and we had not even tied ourselves in. Apparently the ship had not yet recovered from a deep swell, when the next one hit the forward section of the ship. It washed about 70 horses, most of the baled hay stacked on the hold covers and many of the stalls into the sea. The two cattlemen on night duty were on deck making their way toward mid-ships when it hit. One was nearly washed overboard, saved only by being buried under several bales of hay. Both were very badly hurt – many broken bones, a broken jaw, a broken pelvis, bruises, internal bleeding, etc. The only medical person on board was the purser, who was qualified in first aid and a veterinarian. The storm increased and the Zona Gale was turned into the storm to ride it out. Fortunately, there was a US Navy hospital ship in the area with doctors on board, but the storm was so intense that it was impossible to even consider setting up a breeches buoy for our casualties. The hospital ship was close enough that we could occasionally see its stack through the wind and rain. Even so, the radiotelephone link tended to waver with the storm. I volunteered to stay with one of the casualties, Frank Kern from New York. The doctors on the hospital ship advised the veterinarian on procedures, and the vet taught us. Frank had a broken pelvis and could only urinate with help of a catheter. I learned how to catheterize him, how to inject painkillers (I assume it was morphine), and how to feed a patient with a broken jaw! I suspect that most of our instruments and supplies came from the veterinarian's stocks. In retrospect, one probably does many things at age 17 that one wouldn’t consider doing 50 years later, but necessity is surely a great teacher.

The storm was in full fury for two days and finally abated. A few cattlemen managed to get into the holds to feed and water, but most stayed in mid-ship until it was over. Meals were cold sandwiches carried in our pockets. The animals remaining on deck went without feed or water for at least two days, because of the storm risk. Most of them however, did survive. A decision was made to put into Plymouth, England, where our casualties would have far better facilities for recovery than even the hospital ship could offer. This of course put our arrival in Bremen at December 5th instead of the 1st or 2nd. Both casualties were on the night shift. Delmar and I volunteered to replace them, since they only worked from 9PM to 7AM. There also were fewer horses to be tended than on the day shift, because of those swept overboard. The night shift was required to make a complete round of the ship each hour and then one of us had to report to the bridge every hour on the hour. We took turns doing this.

We arrived in Bremerhaven at night, perhaps 11PM. I watched the German river pilot come up to “Jacobs ladder” and then took him to the Captain’s stateroom next to the bridge. We were soon underway down the river into Bremen. The next hour was my turn to report to the bridge. The Second Mate was on duty, and after my report he said, “Do you know if there is a cattleman named Lippert or Leippert on board?” My response was “I think you are talking about me, Sir!” He looked at my card, and told me, “Go over and see the Kraut, he’s got a message for you.” He pointed to the German pilot. A moment of anxiety about how do I report to a “Kraut” was unnecessary, because he had been watching the Second Mate. He handed me an envelope. The message was short, and I can almost quote it exactly: (In fact, I think I still have it somewhere.)

“We are here in Bremen expecting you. Contact Lykes Brothers Steamship Agency to find out how you can reach us.”

It was signed by Tante Else, but I had no idea who “we” were, but assumed it was Onkel August. Of course, I was excited and I ran down the ladder to share it with Delmar. We still had our shift to work until 7AM, but now I knew that contact had been made and someone had come to see me. And of course I had never met any of my German relatives, nor had anyone from the states been there since 1933 when Uncle Carl had been back for a visit. As morning came, I shared my excitement with one of the regular seamen, who had been in Bremen several times before. He knew that the Lykes Brothers Steamship Agency was just a “few blocks down the quay” and you did not need a pass, because you didn’t leave the docks to get there. I went off duty at 7AM, exactly the time we docked, and Delmar and I set out to find Lykes Brothers. It was not far and we found it easily, but the office did not open until 9AM. We went back to the ship intending to eat breakfast and then return.

As we entered the mess, the cook looked at me and said, "Hey, where have you been? The Purser is looking all over for you.”[vi] I immediately went to his office. There was another gentleman there, when I came in. When the Purser recognized me, the gentleman doffed his Hamburg hat, clicked his heels and said, "Kassel.” He then continued: "I have a Frau Dauer and a Fraulein Graupner waiting at my home to see you.” The "we" in the original message was now identified. (I learned later that Opa had wanted to come but felt he was too old to make the trip. He died in 1949. Onkel August would have come, but was recovering from a severe cold and did not wish to risk pneumonia.)

The Purser handed me a pad of blank passes and told me to type mine. I also requested one for Delmar, which was granted and both were immediately signed. Herr Kassel was offered a cup of coffee, while Delmar and I changed from our work clothes. I do not recall eating breakfast. I do know that the longshoremen were already coming aboard as Herr Kassel, Delmar and I left the ship. The weather was cold, well below freezing. My wool sweater, leather jacket and fur-lined gloves were indeed welcome. We left the dock area via a US Army checkpoint, walked a few blocks to a tram stop. The tram took us several blocks to what must have been a rather upscale housing area.[vii] There was considerable damage to almost all buildings, possibly because they were located so close to the docks which still were more than 50% destroyed. I do remember the holes from strafing in the stucco of many buildings. The Kassel's home was in an apartment complex. Obviously a nice home of several rooms, but just as obviously had not had much recent paint or maintenance. It was perhaps ½ block from the tram stop. We probably arrived there about 9:30AM.

We entered the house and were greeted by Frau Kassel. She ushered us into a room that might have been a sitting room, but also had Herr Kassel's desk and telephone -- one of those old stand jobs that you held the mouthpiece stand in your hand and the receiver to your ear. My German was certainly not proficient enough to understand everything going on around me, but apparently Tante Hanni and Tante Elsa had regularly called Kassel's to find out if the Zona Gale had yet arrived. Until that morning it had not, however, Herr Kassel had left early to check, and not only were we in, but were now at his home. A phone call or two reached them and one could hear and sense their excitement over the phone. It would take 20 minutes or so for them to arrive. There was very little heat in the house and our wool sweaters were indeed necessary.

We remained in the sitting room as Herr Kassel made small talk and translated for his wife. They told us that they had two children, but they were "in the country" with relatives. My emotions were rather neutral until the doorbell rang and a meeting with my mother's sisters was imminent. Both Delmar and I stood when they entered the sitting room, and I think it was Tante Hanni that went to Delmar first. I'm not really sure what we talked about, but I know that there was a lot of looking into faces and eyes. Both took my face in their hands. It was almost a relief when noon approached and Delmar and I left to go back to the ship for the noon meal. We certainly were not going to impose on their meager rations.[viii] We agreed to meet them again at Herr Kassel’s that afternoon. They asked that I seek permission to return to Schlangenbad with them. (One embarrassing incident from that first meeting that I learned about years later. When I sat back on the sofa in the Kassel's sitting room, I leaned my head back against the wall. Those were the days of Vitalis and Brilliantine. Apparently, my greasy hair stained the wallpaper. No one said a word about it to me at the time.)

A brief visit with the Purser at noon garnered the Captain's agreement that I could go for no more than one week. (He himself was off to some other country for a week.) However, such permission was contingent upon permission from the US Army. That afternoon we met at Kassel’s then went to the US Army headquarters to seek travel permission for me. We were pushed off to several officials and at one point almost had an affirmative answer. The main stumbling block was a lack of a passport or military ID card. My seaman's papers were issued by the US Coast Guard, which at that time belonged to the Treasury Department and not the War/Defense Department. The trip to Schlangenbad would have taken me through the British and French zones into the American zone. Had it been only the American zone, I think I would have been allowed. In the end, however, permission was denied. While disappointed, at the same time I was relieved, because I was anxious about the return trip from Schlangenbad to Bremen alone. I went back to the ship and agreed to meet at Herr Kassel’s again the following morning. On the way back, I sold a couple packs of cigarettes to a character who quite literally "lifted" them from me for a whole handful of Reichsmarks. I had no idea what Reichmarks were really worth. No one could buy much with them anyway.

After chow the next morning, Delmar and I energized the galley crew, who gladly packaged most of the edible leftovers. We also had cigarettes in our socks and every pocket. I am sure that Kassel's were aware that they might receive some of the largess by opening their home to us. Even so, we were grateful, and they easily became our way station. . In retrospect, I think that Tante Elsa and Tante Hanni initially stayed in a hotel of very limited accommodations, but after we arrived I believe they stayed at Kassel’s for three or four days, until they went home.

The second day, Tante Hanni and Tante Elsa took us on a sightseeing tour in the city of Bremen. I have often remarked that I do not recall seeing one building entirely intact. We did visit the cathedral and catacombs. I doubt if I understood much of what I was seeing. It must be remembered that I was still a skinny, immature, mostly scared kid with no cosmopolitan outlook whatsoever. Besides, sightseeing is not really exciting when it is cold, both indoors and out! We did notice the GI coffee shop near the cathedral, run for and by the US Army. We learned that our seaman's papers would get us in. Bringing German Nationals in however, was strictly forbidden. They might have better let Tante Elsa and Hanni in when we asked. Delmar and I parked them around the corner in some doorway and went back. We stuffed ourselves and took out as many doughnuts and paper cups of coffees we could get into my pockets and the huge pockets of Delmar's field jacket. We left them in early afternoon and agreed to meet at Kassel’s after we had the evening meal aboard ship.

That night we had steak for dinner. There were many left over steaks, mostly with a lot of fat and gristle. We wrapped a bunch in wax paper and carried them back to the Kassel’s. The steaks were received with so many “ooh’s” and “ahhs” that we were embarrassed to think our leftovers could mean so much. We arrived at Kassel’s while they were still eating. It amazed me to see SPAM (a canned meat) on the table. (Aboard ship we often had SPAM and eggs for breakfast, SPAM and cabbage for a noon meal and even cold SPAM left out for midnight snack. Tante Elsa urged me to "try some, it’s really good." Not on your 1ife, I hated the stuff. But I did learn that it had been part of a food package sent to them by my mom.

I also believe that it was this same afternoon that we came back to the ship and observed an interesting exercise in the ingenuity of some longshoremen. There was considerable cargo in foodstuffs and, in this case, there was a torn bag of flour. Please remember that money itself could not buy food, and rations were very short for the Germans. Three German longshoremen were filling their trouser legs with flour. Apparently they had tubes sewn into the inside of their trousers and could manage to supplement their families diet in this devious and most ingenious manner.

I'm quite certain that the following day was Sunday and both Delmar and I went to a cathedral service with Tante Elsa and Hanni. They planned to return to Schlangenbad the next day. When we left the church, there was a box for an offering. I still had a fistful of Reichmarks in my pocket. They were useless to me, so I contributed. Tante Elsa and Hanni made sure that I regarded it only as play money anyway. That day we also managed to get a phone call through to Onkel August, so I did get to speak to him briefly on the phone. That afternoon, Delmar and I pulled out all the stops in bringing as much largess off the ship as we could. There were nine raw eggs in Delmar's field jacket pocket, a number 10 can of pineapple, and other assorted goodies contributed by the galley crew. We had already given up most of our warm clothes, keeping only our work clothes and something for the train ride home. How did we get all this stuff off the ship? On an earlier day, the Army gate guard was very cold and I gave him my good set of fur-lined gloves. After that we were never checked. My wool turtleneck sweater went back to Schlangenbad and was still being worn by my cousin Erika when I came back to Germany in 1952 with the US Army. Delmar gave up his reindeer sweater and whatever else could be spared. We also gave them several cartons of cigarettes and cigars (as well as some to Herr Kassel) because they were worth far more than money. I should also mention that both women wore slacks, somewhat out of fashion for the times but certainly necessary for the cold weather. They indicated that they were made from dyed US Army blankets.

We met Tante Else and Hanni once more on Monday and had “lunch” of spinach soup[ix] at what must have once been a very nice restaurant. It was my impression that the waiter had helped them when they arrived in Bremen, but at that time I really didn’t understand how. We then accompanied them to the train station. I recall being very uncertain of how to say goodbye and how to extend greetings to people in Schlangenbad who were so close to me and yet virtually unknown. There was also a concern about how I was going to describe all this to my mother. It was again almost a relief when they kissed me goodbye (somewhat to my embarrassment) and we finally parted. We returned to the ship. I may have gone ashore once more with Delmar and some of the other crew, but most of the time I ate, slept and read until we sailed. I think we did take something to Herr Kassel’s as a thank you before we departed.

We sailed sometime in mid-week and were immediately urged to clean and disinfect that part of the ship that had had livestock as cargo. After only two days, we were told that we were putting in to Middlbsborough, England (near Scotland) to take on a load of pig iron for ballast. The unloaded ship was running high out of the water and the North Atlantic was quite rough at this time of year. We were in port at least three days while being loaded. We did see a stage show that featured a black singer, whom I misidentified for years as Ella Fitzgerald. Not long ago, however, I found the theater program from that night that identifies the “Crooning Blackbird – star of stage and radio” as one Adelaide Hall. Quite amazing to us was the option of smoking in the theater during both the movie and stage show. We did get a shot of British fog coming out of the theater that night; it was nearly impossible to see from one streetlight to the next. We stopped in a pub and were fascinated by the manner in which beer was literally “hand-pumped" from kegs. Rather bitter stuff. The toilet? Well, you stepped into the shadows between the buildings and used a trough that emptied into the gutter!

From Middlesborough, the trip became longer because a decision was made to use the “southern route” which skirted the Azores and West Indies. On Christmas Day, we lay on the deck watching the flying fish in the ships wake. This time, we landed in the port of Baltimore on December 30th, 1946. Good old Brethren Service Committee was on hand with our pay, and we hopped a train to D.C. We had several hours before our train left for Cincinnati but not enough time to really see anything. Of course, the weather was cold there, too. I recall arriving in Cincinnati on New Year's eve and leaving sometime that night for Chicago. We ultimately arrived in West Bend on New Year's Day. No one knew for sure when we would arrive, and when I called my parents no one answered. (I think they had gone to church.) Delmar's parents picked us up and dropped me off just before my mom, dad, and brothers returned. That night I described an almost blow by blow account of meeting Tante Elsa and Tante Hanni. Perhaps I would have liked to go again, but now it was time to go back to work at the utensil company and return to my place in the family.
[i] Kewaskum, Wisconsin
[ii] Now the UCC
[iii] Polish currency
[iv] In fact, General Patton even labeled the non-fraternization policy “dumb.”
[v] A WWII Victory ship could cross the Atlantic in about 10 days; a Liberty ship took half again as long!
[vi] The Purser handles most of the administrative business aboard ship, and I had done some typing for him while off-duty. I assumed that he wanted typing help or something.
[vii] River pilots are indeed well paid specialists.
[viii] At that time, their rations included ¼ lb. of butter, ¼ lb. of sugar, ¼ lb. of bread and some fat [when available] per person per week. In fact, Tante Elsa and Hanni brought most of what they had to eat in a basket from Schlangenbad, because no one knew if their ration cards would be good in Bremen.
[ix] Spinach soup was the only item available on the menu without rations.