From School to War: Growing Up in Hitler’s Germany (Contemporary Nonfiction)

by Wolf Dettbarn

  One night, as we took a break from dancing, Jemma told me about the constraints on single, young American women. “Women in America are still supposed to get married and have children. Many work now, but they do so mainly to provide an extra income for the family. They are not expected to have careers.”

  “I have so many restrictions on me, so this trip was a wonderful chance to get away,” she continued. “I feel like I can be myself for the first time because usually I have to do what my mother wants. I sometimes live in terror of her berating me for doing or saying the wrong thing. She wants me to behave well and have the right social graces, so I can make a good match.”

  “It seems much more relaxed in Germany,” I said. “At least the women I know are comfortable to be who they are.”

  Over the few weeks of our voyage, I was impressed by how friendly all the Americans were, even though our countries had been at war a few years earlier. Now the war seemed like a fading memory for me, although some people and groups still felt lingering anger because of the way the war had affected them and their families.

  To be helpful, the Americans recommended restaurants and theaters in New York and cautioned me about areas to avoid. Many of the passengers were Jewish, and some of their warnings were based on their experiences of discrimination. One man warned me, “Be careful about some of the German people in New York who are connected to the German Bund. It’s an American pro-Nazi group that was active before the war. You want to stay away from them.”

  An American woman who overheard our conversation came over to me and explained, “When you meet these German people, you will find they haven’t changed one iota. They still have their opinions about the inferiority of the Jews, Gypsies, and other minority groups. Their only regret is that the Nazis lost the war. We assume you don’t feel the same way.”

  “No, I don’t,” I said. “The Nazis tried to pass off their theories of racial purity as having a scientific basis. This is nonsense, as any scientist I know personally would agree to. I never supported their views about a master race, and I certainly wouldn’t want to be friends with someone who feels that way, either German or American.”

  In fact, the more people I met from different backgrounds, the more ridiculous this theory of racial purity seemed. I wondered how so many people, who had often known people of other races and had even been friends with them, could swallow this hateful propaganda.

  Reassured by my anti-Nazi views, the American tourists made further suggestions about where I should go when I arrived in New York. “Go to the Russian Tea Room,” one said. “They have all kinds of teas made with different herbs and spices and they have wonderful Russian bakery goods.”

  “You should go to Carnegie Hall to see the ballet and opera. And go to the theaters on Broadway to see the latest plays,” another suggested.

  “I certainly will,” I said, and later I followed their suggestions and much enjoyed these experiences.

  At the end of the trip, the American tourists gave me their addresses and phone numbers and invited me to visit once I was settled, though I soon lost track of them after my arrival as is often the case with holiday companions. They become like a fast family while you are on the trip, but afterwards you disappear into your own lives again and don’t feel a need to reach out to each other since the voyage together is over.

  After the ship docked, we said our good-byes, and I never saw Jemma or the other Americans again. Since we had different paths once we got to America, there was no reason to keep up the connection.

  After we docked in the New York harbor, I looked around in the first-class exit area for one of my future colleagues, Anne Marie Weber, who was supposed to meet me there. Where was she? Here I was alone, knowing no one in the city and unsure how to get to the International House, where I would be staying near Columbia. But the one person who was going to meet me and help me get situated wasn’t around.

  Not knowing what else to do, I thought it best to wait for a while in case Anne Marie was running late, or maybe she was lost at the harbor, since the arrival area was a scene of chaos. As I looked around, I saw people running in every direction, bumping into each other without even saying “excuse me” and moving on. The scene reminded me of the confusion that I saw when the war ended and people excitedly raced around, not sure where to go, knowing only that they were free. Then I thought about a woman in the Basel railway station who crashed into me during the morning rush hour and immediately began saying “excuse me” in six languages, until she found the German language that I spoke. How different the people in New York were from the ultra-polite woman in Basel!

  As I waited, I glanced at my watch from time to time and grew increasingly concerned about where Anna was since she was now over thirty minutes late! Unfortunately, as I later discovered, she was waiting for me at the second-class exit area. Who would expect a young scientist to travel first class? Ironically, I had traveled first class compliments of the German government, who wanted to encourage German-American cooperation. But no one told me about the change until I got on the ship, so I had no way to let Anna know of the change in plans, and I didn’t think to go to the second-class exit after I got off the ship. I figured Anna would be where I got off as I expected.

  After an hour, I gave up waiting near the first-class exit. Though lost and confused, I followed the signs that said “ground transportation,” and eventually I found my way through hundreds of people dragging their bags or walking with porters who rolled their bags along on large flatbed carts. My bag felt heavier than ever, tired as I was from the long trip and the long wait after that, but I made my way to the taxi queue.

  As I walked, a strong wind blew a flying newspaper toward me like a bullet then wrapped it around my legs. As I struggled to pull off the paper, a passerby said, “Welcome to New York! You may not be on the front page of the paper, but the front page is on you!”

  I laughed and took this exchange as a positive sign that I had come to a friendly place, despite the blustery wind. I walked over to the first driver in the line of taxis waiting for passengers and asked in my halting English, “Do you know the way to the International House on Riverside Drive?”

  He grinned and replied, “I shaw do,” with a thick New York accent. “Hop in.” I got into the backseat, pulled in my suitcase beside me, and off we went to my new home.

  As we drove along from the docks through Lower Manhattan and the East Side, I noticed the endlessly honking horns and the cab drivers shouting expletives to each other through open windows. A little later, as we drove along Sixth Avenue on the West Side of Manhattan, I saw a variety of people I had never seen before—people from African American, Asian, Hispanic, and other ethnic groups. Many people wore blue jeans and other work attire, and I occasionally noticed what I assumed was a gang member wearing a black leather jacket and ducktail hairdo.

  After that, as we drove from Fourteenth to Forty-second Street and I saw different types of people weaving in and out of the huge sidewalk to sidewalk crowd, I thought, “There must be every nationality in the world on these streets. It’s a real mix of people.” To me, the scene truly reflected the term “melting pot,” which I heard used to describe New York by the many people I met in Germany and on the boat with the Americans. Now I saw individuals with different backgrounds melting together everywhere I looked. At that point in history, Germany was still a pretty homogeneous country, so I was fascinated by the diversity of the crowds.

  Several minutes later, as we headed up the West Side along Eighth Avenue, I noticed dirty streets filled with litter and gangs of youths dressed in jeans and sweatshirts hanging out on street corners. They stood around in tight-knit circles like they owned these streets and connecting corners. It seemed like they were having a strategy session, after which they walked off quickly with a sense of purpose. For block after block, I saw them walking around like a scene from West Side Story.

  Soon we left the grim streets behind and drove along the parkway near
the Hudson River on the Upper West Side near Columbia. It was a very different area from the rough streets near the harbor and downtown. It was quiet and clean, had wide roads, and faced the Hudson River and New Jersey Palisades. A thin strip of forest on a bluff overlooking the Hudson followed the river for about a mile, and I imagined scenes from the history books about the early days in New York and that Indians might still roam these forests, carrying their bows and spears as they hunted game.

  Then, as we drove further along Riverside Drive, we passed a mix of prewar apartment buildings, made of light-brown bricks with stone moldings. Strange boxlike contraptions hung from the windows, and later I learned they were air conditioners because the summers in New York get very hot. I also saw elegant two- and three-story brownstones that were townhouses for wealthy families.

  After we continued up Riverside Drive for another half mile, we arrived at International House, commonly known as I-House, where I would be staying with several hundred other students and faculty members from all over the world.

  I said my good-byes to the taxi driver and checked in at the desk. Since I was hesitant to speak English, a friendly German man came to my rescue. He saw me struggling at the desk to say who I was and he came up to me. “Let me help you,” he said. “I heard you speaking and I’m from Germany myself. I’m Wolfgang Saxon.”

  Wolfgang, a journalist who is still a close friend, began explaining my situation to the desk clerk, telling him, “This man has just arrived in New York from Germany. A room has been reserved for him.”

  A few minutes later, the clerk handed me a key, and Wolfgang and I headed toward my small ten-by-twelve-foot room with a narrow bed and long bookshelf on the wall. It reminded me of a prison cell except, instead of the room having a toilet and mirror, a bathroom for all the residents on the floor was down the hall.

  “Welcome to New York,” Wolfgang told me. Then he headed to his room several doors away down a long corridor.

  After putting my bag on the bed, I rushed to the window to look out. Below I saw the wide Hudson River flowing by, which reminded me of the Rhine River in Germany. I felt instantly at home and felt I had a million-dollar view of the river.

  Later, poor Anne Marie told David Nachmansohn, the neurologist who invited me to Columbia, that she had been unable to find me at the dock. He laughed, pointed to me, and said, “He’s been here for hours. I think you two were like ships passing in the night.”

  The International House

  The International House was truly international, with both a foreign population and American students, so we had to learn English quickly. Meanwhile, we spoke in multiple languages as we ate together in the cafeteria for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Everyone was proud to talk about where he or she came from and the reason for being in New York.

  It was wonderful to meet people from all over the world. We discussed politics, our jobs, music, and what was happening in the news. Sometimes we had disagreements, such as when a young man from India announced his country’s development of nuclear power. “We just built our first nuclear reactor,” he said, brimming with pride. “That shows how far we have advanced, on a par with other countries with nuclear power.”

  Immediately, I confronted him. “I’ve just come from a country at war for many years. I can’t even stand to hear about nuclear power, particularly in the hands of a country with a recent history of violence.” He glared at me, displeased with my comments. But not wanting to escalate the confrontation, he shrugged his shoulders and walked away.

  Most of the time though, the residents shared friendly, helpful comments with each other. For example, some students and young faculty members in their twenties and thirties, who had been at the I-House for a couple of years, recommended some places for me to visit. “Be sure to visit the Metropolitan Museum and MOMA, the Museum of Modern Art,” one of the older students said. “New York has some wonderful theaters on Broadway,” another student said, listing the names of many theaters.

  Mostly I became friends with other Europeans, since we had much to discuss in the aftermath of the war. We also discussed the Hungarian Uprising of 1956, which displaced a large number of Hungarians all over the world, including to New York. Many residents were afraid of upsetting the Germans at I-House and so did not say much about the war. Naturally, almost everyone had negative impressions about Germany’s role in combat, even one young German who had come to the United States after the war to work in a clothing factory. He pointed out any current incidents in Germany that were reminiscent of the Nazi era, including the rise of neo-Nazi groups or anti-Semitic rhetoric.

  “We have to be watchful,” he observed. “So the Nazis don’t come to power in Germany again.” He also complained about how the events in Germany had permanently scarred him. As he described it, “Americans are usually so friendly to others, but they’re standoffish to me. Though I’m not in Germany anymore, I’m somehow blamed for what happened there. In fact, I was fired from my job when my boss learned I’m from Germany and I felt this was very unjust.”

  Fortunately though, the young German found another job before long, and after that he didn’t complain so much about how the evils of Nazism were following him, although he was not, nor had he ever been, involved in any Nazi activities.

  Many other Germans hoped to put the Nazi past behind them in other ways. For instance, my friend Wolf Saxon was so anxious to distance himself from Germany that he moved permanently to the United States.

  Most of the students at the I-House were subsidized by their governments and had to study very hard to retain the money. Some worked part-time for the delegates from their countries to the UN, where they took visitors on tours and explained their country’s point of view. However, because of the continuing hostility to Germany after the war, there were no German guides. Even so, the students from Germany, like other students, were hopeful that the UN would keep peace in the world.

  One German student expressed this point of view as we sat around the cafeteria for lunch one day. “We need a forum to discuss worldwide issues and conflicts and help to resolve them,” he said. “The UN might vote and agree on resolutions that all countries could follow,” said another student. Still other students agreed with this hope for UN leadership, since we all had dreams of a peaceful world.

  But as it turned out, this hope for peace was an impossible dream, as history has borne out. Wars have continued and it seems they will always continue. UN peacekeepers have no military power and often cannot keep the peace.

  Besides all the conversations, I found the I-House a wonderful place for making friends. I joined many of them to explore New York, and sometimes I walked around, took buses, or traveled by subway on my own because I had more time than most other residents, having finished my studies.

  Some residents met their future spouses at I-House and often these residents met and married spouses from other countries, so these were truly international unions. I knew one American who married a Japanese nurse, and I met a Danish woman who married a Belgian man. Many residents dated others from distant parts of the world.

  The I-House was much more than just a place to live and meet people from all over the world. It was a place to learn about world events from visiting scholars from different countries. We had visiting lecturers from the UN and representatives from various homelands. The representatives, especially from poorer countries, were anxious to persuade us of their country’s progress in obtaining more prosperity for their citizens.

  Sometimes, though, the residents were skeptical of these claims, feeling the representatives were merely PR flacks seeking support for their country, rather than giving us a true picture of how things really were. As a result, during these lectures, I frequently heard a few students mutter, “Bullshit. Half the country is starving,” or “That’s not true. You make it seem like everyone is doing so well but they aren’t.”

  I soon found that most of these comments came from two German students, who had been born in Lit
huania and Estonia, two Baltic countries where the population was totally German in some areas, though Germany lost these countries due to the war. The students were eager to distance themselves from Germany’s war atrocities, horrified by Germany’s actions in killing and maiming innocent civilians. At the same time, they enjoyed criticizing other countries, often accurately, as when they told us that most of what the UN representatives told us wasn’t true.

  “They are full of hot air,” one German student said. “The reps want to make us think their countries are making much more progress than they really are. They become evasive when questioned about what is happening today. And they avoid answering any questions that suggest we’re criticizing them or have pinpointed some areas of difficulty. They’re like politicians trying to gloss over or reshape the facts to make their countries look good, and they avoid talking about any problem areas.” I agreed, yet I still found it fascinating to hear these guest speakers. At least some of what they said was true, and I liked learning more about these other cultures.

  I soon found that many I-House residents had special musical and theatrical talents. To show off their abilities, they gave opera recitals, performed plays, and played music. They sang arias from Tristan and Isolde, La Bohème, and other popular operas. I was enormously impressed by their singing and musical abilities. Since the Juilliard School of Music was right around the corner, often the school’s talented musicians came to play for us. Some of the Juilliard singers even came to me for help with their pronunciation when they sang in German operas and in return, they gave me free tickets to the Metropolitan Opera.

  One time using one of these tickets, I put on a suit and tie and went to the old Opera House that was the model of elegance with its gilt fixtures and patrons dressed like they were going to a ball. The men wore blue and black suits, while the women wore long silky gowns with lace and taffeta flourishes. After I settled into my seat at the rear of the theater, despite the telescopic view of singers on the faraway stage, I thrilled to the majestic sounds of Wagner, including the entire Ring Series. I heard Beethoven’s “Fidelio.” I also heard Maria Callas and other great opera singers.