It turned out to be one of the most enjoyable summers we ever spent. Somehow Papá was able to have our two folding boats, which we had on the island of Veruda, shipped to this island. We made little excursions with them on the lake, but we had to be back in time for rehearsals. Papá also hired bicycles for us so we could ride through the island and discover all the interesting relics, which remained untouched, from ancient Viking times. There again I had time to make sketches.
In the main house, we heard international news being broadcast on the radio. One day we heard the shocking news that Hitler had directed his blitzkrieg into Poland. From then on, at least one member of our family was always listening. Hedwig actually kept a diary of these newscasts. After that our Swedish manager got nervous that he might have to join the army, so he canceled several of the concerts he had arranged. Our last concert was held in Karlskruna, Norway, after which we were to cross the ocean again for a second tour in the United States under the management of Charlie Wagner.
In all of the European countries where we gave concerts, our performances were two hours long with one intermission. We sang serious sacred music, sixteenth-and seventeenth-century madrigals in English, Italian, and German in the first part of the program; folk songs made up the second part. The response from the audiences was overwhelming—standing ovations and people streaming backstage after the concerts to tell us how much they loved the performance. The reviews were written by people who understood music, and what they wrote was beyond our expectations. They praised our performances in even the smallest details. Now, after more than sixty years, I am overwhelmed by the high praise given to us by the music critics who wrote for the newspapers. These reviews were excellent, without exception, in every country: Austria, France, Belgium, Sweden, and Norway.
After one of our concerts in a small town in a thirteenth-century Swedish church, the pastor came out of the church as we were leaving to embrace Father Wasner. He thanked him, in tears, for the wonderful music he had just heard.
From Oslo we left on the Bergensfjord, a troop ship that had been transformed for passengers and was the last ship that left Norway to take refugees to the United States. Since Charlie Wagner was late in getting our tickets, we were fortunate to be assigned the last available cabins, located on the lowest deck of the ship. This meant a smoother voyage since the lower deck rolled the least. There were just enough cabins for our family as well as one for Father Wasner and one for Martha, a former classmate of Maria, who would take care of Johannes, the baby.
When we arrived in New York harbor on October 7, 1939, after an uneventful crossing, one of the customs officials became suspicious of a harmless remark that Mother made to him about wanting to stay in the United States forever. Rupert was allowed to leave the ship because he had acquired an immigration visa. The rest of us, however, had only six-month visitors’ visas, and we were taken to Ellis Island. At that time it was still a large detention facility for foreigners in the harbor of New York. The customs officials boarded ships arriving from overseas, detained any suspicious person or group of people, and took them to Ellis Island. Documents were scrutinized and personalities assessed. A doctor was on hand to separate the healthy from the sick and to detect any contagious diseases. These officials had a grave responsibility, which they took seriously. Having dealt with criminals and swindlers, they had an attitude toward newcomers that was stern, strict, and professional. They fired a list of direct and unexpected questions at the newcomers. If people did not answer to their satisfaction, they had the authority to take these individuals into custody.
When Mother indicated that she would like to stay forever in America, our whole family became suspect in the eyes of the customs authorities. So, while they checked on our credentials, we were detained for several days on Ellis Island. It was quite an experience for us who had never seen a detention camp from the inside.
We were led into a narrow corridor, which looked like it needed a good cleaning and a coat of paint. In fact, the facility in general needed remodeling. The whole place was dismal. The faces of the officials and wardens were taciturn, and we could not detect even a hidden smile or the smallest sign of compassion. Everything was done in a cold and serious manner. Any conversation was strictly to the point. At a special hearing, Mother answered all their questions truthfully, but at the end of a two-hour inquisition, the official told her, “We don’t believe you.”
After signing in, we were led into the big hall where all the detainees had to spend their daytime hours. There were several groups of people huddled together. Some were just sitting on the floor, some on the benches doing nothing. Near us we saw a group of Oriental people, obviously a family, who combed each other’s hair and looked for lice. No one talked. We were not permitted to talk to our “fellow prisoners” about our case, but we did entertain them with our music.
The dining hall was large with long tables arranged in rows. The room looked like a waiting room of a train station at the beginning of the twentieth century. The walls were empty of any art to lift the spirits. The food was served on large tin plates. Possibly those plates had seen the faces of the first immigrants.
Our table was next to a table occupied by a group of young Chinese boys. They had already spent two years on Ellis Island, not being allowed to enter the United States. They filed into the dining room as fast as they could, sat down, took the salt and pepper shakers, and showered their portion of rice with the only spice available to enhance their daily rations. They did not look downcast, but they were obviously very hungry.
After lunch we were allowed to go out into the yard for a half hour. A warden accompanied and counted us, going out and coming in. Even though we were restricted to certain areas, there were no cells or bars, as in a real prison. We were allowed to walk freely without handcuffs.
The dormitories for men and for women were upstairs. The lights were left on all night, and a warden checked several times at night to see if every person was in bed. Papá, Father Wasner, and Werner had to sleep in the men’s dormitory. Mother, the baby, and we girls were assigned a dormitory together. No other person was with us. Mother asked if we could have permission to sleep with the lights turned off. Because of the baby, the request was granted by the authorities. Having the lights off was a great relief. We were sorry for Papá, Father Wasner, and Werner, however, who could not enjoy this comfort.
Rupert worked tirelessly to get help to free us. After three and a half days of not knowing if we would be sent back to Southampton, our entire group was released through the help of kind American friends we had met the year before, who vouched for us. The occasion was joyful! Even those refugees left behind joined together to cheer and applaud selflessly. Although our days on Ellis Island were very humiliating, especially for Mother who had caused our detention, we received great publicity by being detained there. Our manager did not mind that a bit!
At the end of our second tour, Hitler’s blitzkrieg in Europe was already in full swing. One country after another fell under Hitler’s steamroller, and refugees from those countries had permission to remain in the United States. After our last concert tour with Charlie Wagner, we were fortunate to be accepted by Columbia Concerts under the management of Freddy Schang.
A wonderful surprise awaited us one day after our return from this tour. Mr. and Mrs. Drinker, who owned a beautiful estate in Merion, Pennsylvania, and who had heard us sing, offered us a temporary home across the street from their home. They knew that we had no place to stay in the off-season, and when Mr. Drinker’s mother, who had lived in the house, died during this concert tour, they thought of us.
Mr. Drinker was an attorney and a music lover who directed his own choir of music lovers. He added a small concert hall to his house in order to accommodate his singers. There they gathered for evenings of music making of the highest quality. With great enthusiasm Mr. Drinker conducted chorales and cantatas by Johann Sebastian Bach and other composers of that period. He was so fascinated with B
ach’s music that he decided to translate all of Bach’s cantatas into English.
Since he did not speak German, Mr. Drinker must have used a dictionary for his translations, which would have been rather difficult and slow going. Out of nowhere, so to speak, came a group of people who sang Bach’s music and whose conductor could speak both languages—and these people had no place to stay.
Mr. Drinker proposed a deal to us: we could live free of charge in the now vacant house he owned if Father Wasner would help him with the translation during our off-season, and if we would come over occasionally to sing for his choir. At that point, two musicians found each other, and our family did not have to worry about where we would live. Coincidence? Hardly!
On the Road as the Trapp Family Singers
In 1940, Columbia Concerts, Inc., of New York took over the job of managing our singing tours. Freddy Schang became our personal manager; he guided and shepherded us for the next sixteen years. After our audition, Freddy had numerous suggestions. First, he said we needed to change our name from Trapp Choir to Trapp Family Singers. He thought that the new name would have more audience appeal and would better characterize us as a family, not just a group of singers. We agreed enthusiastically to the change. Choir was too limited and sounded too serious.
His next suggestion did not fare so well. Freddy had the audacity to suggest that we, the ladies in the family, wear high-heeled shoes on stage! We all protested, and Mother was emphatic on the matter. “Our children were not brought up to wear high heels, and they cannot walk in them. What we wear is part of our native dress. Also, high heels are bad for the feet!” were her arguments. Freddy gave in. We were allowed to wear our own shoes on stage.
Freddy’s next request concerned our appearance on stage. Our dresses were fine, but our faces were too pale. Freddy convinced us that we needed to put on makeup, so we used a minimal amount before we went on stage. He had no complaints about the attire of the men in our group.
In our minds, his last request was the strangest of all. He wanted us to smile on stage! How absurd, we thought. We had given concerts all over Western Europe without cracking a smile on stage—concerts in prestigious concert halls that lasted two hours. We had received standing ovations in France, Belgium, Italy, and the Scandinavian countries without smiling.
Freddy had even more to say. He thought our concerts were too long and too serious, and they lacked contact with the audience. He told us that American audiences want “light, happy music.”
It was up to us to adjust to Freddy’s requests. Father Wasner went to the Music Library in New York to find “lighter, happier music” for our concerts. I am glad that Freddy did not find out that we knew many Austrian folk dances. He might have asked us to dance on stage too.
After all these changes had been made to Freddy’s satisfaction, and we promised to try to smile, he booked us as the Trapp Family Singers for a tour of 107 concerts over an eight-month period. Again we got into the blue bus with our new name written on it. Under our new management, Rudi was our driver.
The concert season ran from October to Christmas and from January until after Easter. Freddy Schang booked us from coast to coast with local groups, known as Community Concerts Associations, and we gave concerts all across the United States and Canada. We performed in the grandest concert halls of large cities: Jordan Hall, Boston; Orchestra Hall, Chicago; Masonic Auditorium, Detroit; and Town Hall, New York City, to name a few. We also sang in smaller cities where the people were hungry for music. For those concerts, we performed in high school auditoriums, movie theaters, churches, and colleges. In Washington, D.C., we sang in an outdoor amphitheater to thousands of people.
From the beginning, American audiences were appreciative of our concerts, congratulating us in letters or after the performances. In towns and cities, small and large, the critics gave us the most generous reviews. The following excerpts were taken from a mid-1940s souvenir booklet that did not give dates or names of publications:
One can scarcely imagine singing more touching than that of the Trapps. They are harmonious, very quiet, straightforward, and wholly united. They don’t go in for theatrical pathos or vocal effect. They sing the music and the words as sincerely as they might recite the Lord’s Prayer.
New York City, New York
A performance by the Trapps is a unique experience. It is an adventure in music mingled with an adventure in personalities. It begins with music and musicianship of the first order of integrity. Then there is the great appeal of the musicians themselves.
Toledo, Ohio
The beauty of the music recreated by the pure flute-like voices carried one far from the passions and sorrows of the world. It seemed that Fra Angelico angels had come to life.
Louisville, Kentucky
When the Family had completed singing, so taken aback was the audience that a full 30 seconds elapsed before it broke into applause…. Then the hall was filled with thunderous acclaim.
Houston, Texas
They possess a feeling for material, a craftsman’s pride in their skill to do it, and a profound musicianship: in the artist’s sense; a feeling for music akin to that of the peasant weaver or embroiderer—a desire to create with the materials in which they work the most exquisite fabric possible. And that is precisely what they do.
St. Louis, Missouri
A typical day on tour started with a 9:00 a.m. departure from the hotel. We often had hundreds of miles to travel in one day on the bus. En route, we noticed that Rudi didn’t stop immediately when we needed a rest break. He just kept driving, sometimes for a whole hour, much to our distress! Otherwise he was most helpful to a group of greenhorns from Austria. Rudi was not as well educated and polished as Mr. Tallerie, but by that time we knew a lot more about the United States of America.
Rudi was a good-natured man and an experienced driver. His driving skills were sorely tried on several occasions, however. On our way to Mt. Rushmore, Rudi was not sure he would be able to take the bus up the narrow, winding mountain road, but he was willing to try. Up and up he drove until we came to a tunnel. The bus was too high to fit through, so he could not continue. Papá told us to leave the bus, and Rudi backed down the narrow road to a place where he could turn around. After we reboarded the bus, he then drove us back to the little town where we found taxis to drive us back up the road right to the famous site. After all that effort, the sculptures of the four presidents were shrouded in thick fog. We could not see even the smallest detail of the giant portraits in stone. We stood in silence, disappointed that after all we did to get to this national monument, the presidents were hiding their faces. We said a short prayer.
Then to our amazement, the fog suddenly parted, and all the presidents were clearly visible. We could hardly believe our eyes. It was as if a curtain had been drawn back. The sun came out, highlighting the sculptures. It was like being in a show in an outdoor theater with a magnificent setting of rocks and pine forests. For a moment, we stood there, taking it all in. Then slowly the curtain closed, and the four presidents disappeared behind their shroud. All the effort to get there was worthwhile. In the meantime, Rudi had a little snooze in the bus at the foot of the mountain and vowed never again to try something of which he was not quite sure.
Another adventure was in Missouri where the roads are long and straight and the terrain is flat. There were few gas stations along the highway, so Rudi was driving as fast as possible. The roads were paved, but woe if anyone hit a soft shoulder. One day it happened to us! The bus suddenly went off the road and landed in the thick, sticky Missouri mud. Our bus was stuck deep in a muddy field beside the road. Rudi was frantic. He stepped on the gas, and the whole bus shook from right to left, like a ship on the high seas. We sat there with pale faces. No one said a word, but we wondered if Rudi would be able to pull the bus out of this mess. After a few anxious moments, which seemed like an eternity, the bus was back on the road, thanks to our excellent driver. Everyone sighed with relief.
Shortly after our first plunge into the Missouri mud, it happened again. This time, however, Rudi could not move the bus even one inch. It had sunk too deeply into the mud. A kind farmer came to our rescue with a team of sturdy farm horses. He had most likely rescued other cars before us. I thought, Perhaps this is just part of life in Missouri.
On the earlier tours, we had other challenges. We had to be extremely economical, so when we stopped at diners or cheap eating places, each of us could spend only twenty-five cents for lunch and thirty-five cents for dinner. If we had a long drive to the next concert town, we could not afford time for a lunch break and would have to eat at “Mitzi’s Diner” on our bus. That was lunch bought, prepared, and served by our sister Maria, whose nickname was Mitzi. The family is eternally grateful to her for this sacrificial service!
Usually around 5:00 p.m., we arrived at the hotel. We checked in and went to our rooms. Everything was well organized, including the designation of each one’s roommate. Then we ate at the hotel dining room or at a more economical cafeteria nearby. After dinner our driver took the concert luggage and two members of the family to the concert hall. There the instruments were unpacked: the spinet, the recorders, and Werner’s viola da gamba. They needed to be at room temperature before being played. Two sets of concert costumes were unpacked and ironed. The rest of the family followed. We dressed, made up, and prepared to go on stage.
Memories Before and After the Sound of Music Page 16