After working at the hospital, I had to return to the Friedrich Wilhelm Schule in order to finish my Abitur, and I had to take classes in order to prepare. Being back in school felt a little strange since I was where I had begun my gymnasium studies years before. It was like going back in time, as if the intervening years of war hadn’t happened, for here we were in classrooms with some of the same male and female teachers, and even some of the same students, though several teachers had died in the war. Now the teachers treated us just as they had before. They maintained the same high standards as before the war, and they did not cut us any slack because we were veterans. As before, we studied English, German, Latin, history, math, and science for eight hours a day.
What made the situation interesting was that the students ranged from seventeen to twenty-six years old, and they included returning soldiers since none of the Abiturs taken during the war were recognized, though normally students took this exam soon after graduating from a gymnasium.
This mixture of ages caused some problems. One issue was that the school didn’t allow smoking, but all of the older students were used to smoking, so they threatened to quit unless they could smoke. They felt this prohibition especially unfair. After all, they had been fighting for Germany—as well as smoking—for the last six or seven years. Finally, the school administration agreed that the smokers could smoke, though only in the schoolyard, which was an acceptable compromise for the older students, and so they stayed at school.
I soon became close with a small group of students, many of whom I had known before the war. Since none of us smoked, we avoided the smokers. These were the same boys my brother and I had run wild with through the forests near Eschwege, and with whom we had canoed in the river Werra. Some of the boys had been with Hansi when he was killed, and they had wheeled him through town in the wagon, though none had served in the military. Now here we were back together, and they seemed much as they had before the war.
There were also girls in the school, all of them much more sophisticated than the boys in knowing the social niceties and everyday etiquette. Several of them came over to my friends and me, as we were standing in the hall chatting, and one said, “We’d like to teach you to dance.” Of course we said yes, eager to learn. And eager to be close to the girls.
A few nights later, my friends and I danced to gramophone music in an old, abandoned restaurant, and we were delighted to hold a girl in our arms. Since we were new to dancing, the girls outshone us, and we stomped on a lot of toes. But they were very patient with us, and I admired their patience with us clumsy, awkward young men.
Finally, the day of the Abitur test arrived. When I entered the large classroom to take the test, I saw benches and tables in rows, and a teacher was there to monitor. After the test began, he walked between the benches to make sure no one talked or shared information. The test was all essay style except for the math section. The teachers first handed out a German language and literature test that had a special emphasis on poetry. After we turned in our answers, the next tests covered history, English, Latin, math, and science. Afterward, we faced a nerve-wracking wait of several weeks for the test results. Would I pass, which would mean I could go to university? Or, if I failed anything, I would have to repeat those classes. I also feared the shame of facing my mother, who would berate me for not being good enough.
Since the Abitur tests were quite rigorous, several of my friends did not pass one or more sections and had to take a course and another test on that subject. Fortunately, I was successful. My mother received the positive results in the mail and praised me with little fanfare since she had expected no less. She simply said, “You passed. Very good.” If I had failed, I’m sure she would have reacted with anger, perhaps even with insults that I had blackened the family name.
Once I knew I had passed, I applied to several medical schools. For each application, I had to take another battery of tests, mainly in science and math, which were given by the medical faculties. I had no way to prepare for these tests, since students had no idea what would be on them. But just in case, I went through a book of medical procedures and worked on solving some new types of math problems, which helped me feel more prepared and less fearful.
Still, I was very anxious when I went to take the tests. It had been a long time since I had taken so many tests on one day, and I feared not passing. After all, going to medical school had been my goal since childhood, and I would be devastated if I did not pass now. The night before the tests I was especially nervous. I spent the evening pacing, and after I went to bed I spent the night tossing and turning, sleeping only fitfully, since all I could think of was the specter of the test ahead.
The following morning, we filed into a classroom at the medical school to take the tests and sat down in one of the long rows of seats. After a few minutes, an assistant handed out the test booklets. Though the tests were unsupervised, I can’t imagine that anyone would have dared to cheat. Had anyone been caught, it would have been the end of his medical school acceptance and medical career.
After I took the tests, I spent a nerve-wracking week worrying. Would I get in? Would the administrators turn me down? And if they said no, why?
While I was back at the gymnasium, I stayed with my family—my mother, my grandmother, Tante Lotte, cousin Lutz, and my two-year-old cousin Barbara, since my father was still in a prison camp in Germany, and they had been allowed to return to our apartment. They all tried to allay my fears by pointing out my past success in taking tests. “You’ve always done well at school,” my mother said, as we sat around the dining room table over dinner. “So don’t worry. You’ll do fine.” Tante Lotte nodded in agreement.
Though I told them, “Thank you for your support,” their encouragement didn’t assuage my anxiety. I was still nervous, feeling my fate was in the hands of a few administrators reading the tests, and I worried what they would decide, so the wait was excruciating. I was so worried I could barely eat.
Finally, a couple of weeks later, the post arrived containing a fat envelope from one of the medical schools, the University of Göttingen. I knew at once that the administrators’ decision would be enclosed. I opened the letter nervously, feeling I was holding my whole future in my hands.
Carefully, I slit open the envelope, feeling as though I were wielding a scalpel in an operation. At last, I pulled out the letter and opened it. As I read the letter, it announced, “Congratulations. You have been admitted by the medical faculty of the University of Göttingen.”
I felt like cheering with excitement. First, I kissed the letter. Then I grabbed my baby cousin Barbara, who had toddled into the room, and kissed her in joy. I was in! I had been accepted! Even better, the acceptance was from one of my most-favored schools, located in Göttingen, a town famous for its sausages as well as its university. It is featured in Heinrich Heine’s book The Harz Reise, which means A Trip through the Harz Mountains.
I was especially glad that I could go to the University of Göttingen because of its long-standing reputation for excellence. Established in 1737 and located in lower Saxony, it was known for the sciences, particularly physics and medicine. The school had had forty-seven Nobel Laureates on its faculty, and it had a reputation as an innovator in medicine.
The university was also known for its charitable contributions since its hospital catered to the poor and destitute, and it established one of the first maternity, or lying-in, hospitals in Germany in 1751, which existed until 1830. Before this maternity hospital was established, all women had their babies at home. But the terrible living conditions of the poor were not conducive to the health of the mother or baby. So the school used the poor women as teaching tools whereby the medical students could observe deliveries and infant care in exchange for caring for the mothers. This approach is much like today’s teaching hospitals, where medical students observe deliveries and the general treatment of patients.
Yet despite its stellar reputation for over two hundred years, th
e University of Göttingen had a particularly ignominious event due to an order by the Nazi leaders in 1933. At this time, the Nazis were cracking down on what they called “Jewish physics”—the scientific discoveries made by some Jewish physicists, including Albert Einstein. Since the Nazis had targeted the Jews as an inferior race that was polluting the superior Aryan stock, they didn’t want any Jews teaching in their schools and “polluting” students with their decadent ideas. As a result, the Nazis dismissed some of the most world-famous scientists, physicists, and mathematicians in what was later called “The Great Purge.” Among those ousted were Max Born, Victor Goldschmidt, James Franck, Eugene Wigner, Leo Szilard, Edward Teller, Emmy Noether, and Richard Courant. The mathematics department never regained its former glory, and most of the Jewish scientists fled to the United States, Canada, or the United Kingdom, which all benefited from their brilliant contributions to scientific progress. Then, in an act that shocks the conscience today, German professors from other universities gladly stepped up to occupy the positions vacated by the Jewish professors. They used the purge to advance their own interests at the expense of the purged professors, who in some cases had been their friends.
At least after the war, some departments at Göttingen returned to their former greatness, and the whole university moved toward regaining its former glory. The British helped this effort along as they were occupying the area. Göttingen was the first university they re-opened, and now they supervised the school’s administration. I felt extremely lucky to be admitted, especially since I did well enough on my exams to receive a scholarship that paid my tuition.
After I arrived in Göttingen, I bought a bike so I could ride back and forth like most other students, from my residence to the campus and from building to building. As an urban university, the school had no main campus around an administration building. Rather, the school consisted of a cluster of buildings that housed the different departments.
Working My Way through Medical School
Even though I had a scholarship for my tuition, I still had to make money for other expenses at the university, so I took a job working for the railroad during the summer and term holidays. Though I was the only student working there, I soon became friends with several of the older workers, who showed me the ropes. It was hard, backbreaking work since we worked on the rail beds, carrying iron rails, placing them on the rail beds, and hammering them into place. At least the work paid well.
At night, the other workers and I slept in a sleeper car that was stopped on the tracks and had a toilet and a shower. We stayed there until the morning, when a locomotive arrived. It pulled up in front of our car, linked to it, and pulled it with us in it to the next workstation. Then we worked on the rails as we did each day. In the evening, we got back in the sleeping car to relax, sleep, and get ready for the next day. Fortunately, the railroad officials provided us with hot meals, which included traditional German fare such as sausages and potatoes. Though it was simple food, any food was wonderful after the privation of the war years, especially those in the prison camp.
I also earned money by donating blood at the local hospital, for which the hospital officials paid me in food—a pound of butter, twenty eggs, and half a pound of coffee. I gave the coffee to my mother and I sold the other goods on the black market in town. To sell them, I set up a table with our butter and eggs at the marketplace, which was filled with rows of vendors on either side of the street offering various types of produce, handmade items, and farm equipment.
The market was located in the same site as the old marketplace dating back to the Middle Ages and was surrounded by medieval buildings. The area had always been used as a market, with farmers coming from around the area to sell their wares. As throngs of townspeople walked through the streets, I called out to them, “Fresh eggs and butter for sale,” and found several dozen buyers eager to buy. When they approached me I showed them my little bags of tobacco.
Technically, my sales were illegal. Only stores or legitimate stall owners were supposed to sell goods. But the extreme shortages led people to buy or sell anything they could on the black market, and these transactions were so widespread that the police turned a blind eye. The police also understood that many of the townspeople, including their own families, were involved in the market, since we were all struggling to survive during those very difficult times.
The most important goods were cigarettes, especially Chesterfields, which were readily available since the American soldiers often passed them out. Just like in the prisons, the cigarettes were easily taken out of the package and sold individually. Since few people had much cash, they became the currency with which many things were bought and sold. My little cousin Lutz, an enterprising child, collected cigarette butts, favoring butts from American cigarettes. He carefully opened the cigarette paper and emptied the tobacco into small bags. These he gave to me, and I sold them along with the butter and eggs.
Another source of income for me was helping people go home to the eastern zone, which was under Russian occupation. The people seeking to go home were Germans who had been prisoners or had ended up on the western side of the border for some other reason. Now that Germany was split in two, their hometowns, as well as their families, were located in the eastern zone, and they wanted to rejoin their families. None of them were Jews since all the Jews in Germany had fled or been murdered except for a few hundred who remained in the displaced persons camps.
Since Eschwege was a small city, the residents readily passed information on to one another about who could help people cross the border. Once I became one of these helpers, people wanting to cross to East Germany contacted me and paid me a sizeable amount of money in advance. After I took them across, they went on themselves since they knew where to go.
Until they reached the crossing point, it could be a dangerous journey. We had to travel through the forest, locate safe places to cross, and above all avoid the East German sentries who were suspicious of anyone crossing into their zone. The sentries thought those entering from West Germany might be Western spies and were ready to shoot on sight. Since the border was in the same forest where I had played as a child and participated in war games in the Hitler Youth, I knew my way through it. So I easily found places where one could safely cross from the west. These crossing points were just a path through the trees and looked much like the rest of the forest unless a sentry was posted on the other side. But after some reconnaissance trips through the forest, the other helpers and I soon learned where the sentries were most likely to be so we could avoid them and arrange a safe passage.
Yet another source of money was producing a strong alcoholic drink made from sugar beets. I worked with some chemistry students who created the concoction. I gathered the beets and herbs from the side of the fields where they had been abandoned after the harvest. Then I met the students in the lab where they brewed the drink and put it in bottles. After that I offered the drink for sale on the black market for good money, though I kept this illegal brew under the table on which I displayed our butter and eggs. The buyers had to know what to ask for, and once they asked, I would bring out the bottles with the brew. Though the taste was pretty awful, I improved it with honey and herbs, and eager customers wanted to drink it because of its powerful buzz. “We like it because it makes us feel good,” one buyer told me before he walked off with a bottle.
Eventually, I was able to spend less time working because my mother received my father’s pension, which covered her expenses in living with her mother, sister, and sister’s two young children. In addition, my mother was able to help me with my university expenses, so I no longer had to work during school holidays. Instead, I could spend the holidays working on my studies.
Housing Problems and Cold Weather
A big problem when I arrived in Göttingen was finding housing, which was in short supply all over Germany and especially in university towns due to the destruction from the war. Many cities still had large areas with bombe
d-out craters where the houses used to be, so many people who were now homeless moved to Göttingen since it had not been bombed. Making it even more difficult to find housing, the university had no housing service, so we had to go door to door to ask people if they had a spare room. This approach frequently worked, as people were desperate for some income. Some students occasionally found lodging by going to the city’s housing department.
Luckily, I found a room through a friend of my father’s in a three-story stone house with five bedrooms, which was rented by an elderly couple who lived there with their son and his wife. When I appeared at their door, I handed them a letter of introduction from my mother, telling them, “This letter is from my mother, since my father is in a prison camp in Russia. I’m going to be a student at the medical school, and my mother asks if you have a room for me.” The letter went on to say that my mother could pay the couple a decent compensation for the room.
After reading the letter, the couple, who had been teachers in Hanover and had moved to Göttingen after the war, motioned for me to follow them. They led me upstairs to a large attic, with a floor made of planks, and a sloped ceiling. “This is what we have to rent,” the husband told me, pointing around the room.
Though the attic was unfinished, and it felt like I would be camping in an empty house, I told them, “That’ll be perfect.” Of course, they moved a bed into the attic for me.
Later, after I moved in, the couple took good care of me, besides renting me a room. Sometimes after lectures I came home to find a steaming bowl of oatmeal in my room, which meant the couple wanted to play cards, usually Skat, a three-player game developed in nineteenth-century Germany in which players seek to take tricks. We gathered around the dining room table to play, and I especially enjoyed playing the game because it was warmer in the dining room than in my attic garret.
From School to War: Growing Up in Hitler’s Germany (Contemporary Nonfiction) Page 16