My dad immigrated to this country from Bochum, Germany in 1937, he was 13 years old. He spoke no English, and he came alone. He had an uncle here who didn’t care very much for or about him, but his uncle’s wife, my father’s Aunt, was instrumental in his immigration process. I’m not sure of the details of how, because my dad never spoke about any of this and the information from my mother didn’t contain the details. Anyway, it was my Great Aunt’s intention to help the rest of the family immigrate here to escape the Nazis, but tragically, she died before she could achieve that goal. My father’s uncle either didn’t know how to proceed or didn’t care to… either way, a 13-year-old boy in a new country, had absolutely no way to help his own family immigrate.
I’m not sure when dad became a citizen, but he was enrolled in school right away and had to learn English before they would allow him into his proper grade with kids his own age. He learned the language fast, and did exceptionally well in all subjects, but especially mathematics. He also had to work at his uncle’s restaurant, which he hated.
My dad was anxious to join the army as soon as possible once the US entered the war, his main goal to find his family. He was 17 or 18 years of age and he did become a Sargent, though I’m not sure when. He was among the first soldiers to open the camps, and I cannot imagine the pure horror of what he and the others saw.
One of the only things he had left of our family was a small little photo-wallet which he’d brought here with him as a child and now it’s all I’ve got left of part of my family. Pictures mean so much when that’s all you have. I never looked much like my mother’s side of the family, but I look at these pictures and know these are my kin. And my grandfather strikes such a dashing pose, I look at that face and feel I know him. because I see some part of my soul reflected back at me.
I wish my dad had lived long enough to be able to talk about this stuff, I know it would have helped us… but he died at 55, and I was young, not far enough along in my own growth to be able to just come right out and ask him about anything (still terrified of him, I was). Ah well…
When Bill went to CeBit in Germany a couple of years ago he took a side trip to Bochum. Some “side” trip — it was an entire day — almost 4 hours of driving each way — even though I told him not to go, that it was too far out of his way. He went for me, because he knew how much it would mean to me… I cannot… I cannot put into words… how much the pictures of Bochum mean to me. I just am so lucky to have such love in my life, truly lucky I am.