Académique Documents
Professionnel Documents
Culture Documents
Win Straube
ii
This volume is dedicated to
the two most incredible women in my life:
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iv
Table of Contents
00.1 Title and Dedication i
00.2 Table of Contents v
00.3 Introduction ix
Book One
Merci Mon Ami
1/01 Following the Roots 3
1/02 Barbarians, Mongols, and Those From the West 15
1/03 Curiosity, the Next Best Thing to Knowledge 22
1/04 From Peace to War 33
1/05 Growing up Fast 40
1/06 Holocaust End Run 49
1/07 Escape to Where? 59
1/08 End of the Line 68
1/09 Quo Vadis? 79
1/10 Winter 1946/47 84
1/11 Living Dangerously 93
1/12 The Grass on the Other Side of the Fence 99
1/13 Finding the Pieces That Fit 108
1/14 Out of the Family Treasure Box 117
1/15 How it All Began 126
1/16 Turning Today Into Tomorrow 131
1/17 From the Old to the New World 141
1/18 Ontario, Canada 157
Book Two
Illionaire Handbook
2/01 Bootstraps Are For Pulling up 165
2/02 Both Sides of the Hudson River 178
2/03 From Total Immersion to Selling Out 186
2/04 Close Relations 194
2/05 Inside Pegasus International 211
2/06 Moneymaking Machine 224
2/07 On the Other Side of Checkpoint Charlie 234
2/08 The Director of Pegasus Saipan Speaking 250
2/09 From Generation to Generation 261
2/10 Why Saipan? 272
2/11 How Come Singapore? 277
2/12 The End of Sogo Shosha’s 289
2/13 75th Birthday Celebration, With a Twist 297
2/14 Wrong Blood 300
Book Three
Deep Inside
3/01 Thinking of Retirement? 311
3/02 To Health and Happiness 317
3/03 Soul Searching 329
3/04 The True Honeymoon 337
3/05 Hawaii 342
vi
3/06 American by Choice 355
3/07 Beauty and Wealth 367
3/08 Paradise Found 379
3/09 Just for Today 391
Appendix
More Relatives
A-01 American Pioneers 395
A-02 European Family, not recognized elsewhere 400
Author’s Sources
A-04 Author’s Sources 419
A-05 References 425
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viii
Introduction
There is no doubt about it, your genome and mine are 99.9 per
cent identical. Between us, only 1/10 of one percent of our 40,000
genes differ. Actually, that applies for each human being in relation
to the entire world population. With absolute certainty, therefore,
you and I have common ancestors, some close at hand, others in the
distant past.
This is the record of happenings and connections so far known
only to a few, most of whom kept their knowledge to themselves,
often preferring to forget. Many took it with them to their graves.
It is the account of my personal experience from Nazi Germany
to North America until the early years of the new millennium. My
reporting covers where we came from, specifically, why we are who
we are, and why we are where we are now.
You are part of that history, either directly or through your fore-
bears, although what you saw and I saw may not be the same. Along
the way, your chosen path and your individual thoughts may have
differed from mine. But you will find surprisingly familiar ground
which you and I have covered together at one time or another,
somehow.
The words and pictures between these covers break several
rules of conventional book publishing: This volume consists of three
books and one appendix. Documentary pictures go along with the
text. The books include contributions by other major participants
in my life, such as my wife, and touch on deeper thoughts than are
apparent on the surface most of the time.
Book One, “Merci Mon Ami”, is the name of the first book be-
cause it is meant to say “thank you” to everyone around the world
who touched my life and thus helped make it the wonderful experi-
ence I am so thoroughly enjoying every day.
Book Two, “Illionaire Handbook”, is a case study on how to
become an above average income earner in this world, almost any-
where. At the same time it includes the most shocking revelation
identifying the blood in my veins.
Book Three, “Deep Inside”, brings out some of the thoughts
ix
which most of the time hide beneath the surface, and many of us
don’t want to talk about, but which often are the motivators for sur-
vival, success, and action, foreshadowing things to come.
identified in the Notes and Authors’ Sources.
I alone am responsible for any shortcomings that may appear
within this presentation. The volume before you contains, by far,
not the complete story. I merely followed the thread, picking and
choosing some happenings and issues which greatly impacted my
becoming part of a nation of immigrants. I only reported about in-
dividuals who, to me, were some of the most interesting characters
within the setting. Specific ancestors belong in the book because
they had played their role for me, in most cases unknowingly, of
course.
xi
One thousand thanks to Josephine Moraa Moikobu who pro-
vided most invaluable assistance in editing the material. Her friend-
ship, guidance and advice made this book into what it is - readable.
Without her, this would have been merely a recitation of facts.
Many thank-you-very-muches to Josephine for also smoothing out
the prose. It’s so much easier to read this way.
Another one thousand thank-yous go to Linda Hephzibah Butts
who made sure that the text is spelled correctly and the grammar
correct, as well as the entire book layout
for easy reading. Most of all, for her being
the photograph and graphics editor who
made miserably deteriorated originals into
printable art pieces, and assembled and
interspersed them with the text in the most
intelligent way.
Elan Sun Star is the photographer,
sought and known the world over, who took
the front and back cover pictures. My deep
gratitude to Sun for uniquely applying his
photographic skills and personal courage,
going far out of his way taking these shots,
to demonstrate the theme of what my story is all about.
xii
as well as documen-
tary details, such as a
map or two. No need
looking for a picture of
me in any of the above:
You won’t find me
because I am the one
who is doing the see-
ing. It’s my book, after
all. Everything you see
is through my eyes. In
this journey you are
me. You’ll see who and
what I saw. More than
observe, you’ll think it,
smell and touch it, just
as I did.
You’ll find that you
and I and all of us are somehow bound together, not merely by our
common DNA, no matter where we come from or where we are
going, but much more so spiritually, as well as in the way we think,
feel, and understand each other.
We may not be sure about the ultimate destination, but the
unique getting-there can thoroughly invigorate and enlighten us.
For this joyous trip, I am happy that you joined and came along for
the ride.
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Book One
Chapter One
Following the Roots
Guiding Lights
My mother had two
idols. One was Madam Cu-
rie (born Marie Sklodowska
in Warsaw, Poland 1867, died
in France 1934). She was the
winner of the Nobel Prize
in physics in 1903 together
with her husband Pierre and
Antoine Henri Becquerel.
Ms. Curie was a full professor
and taught general physics at
the Sorbonne in 1906. She
did research on radium and
determined its atomic weight
and other physical proper-
ties. In 1911, she received the
Nobel Prize in chemistry for
her work in isolating radium from its chloride, and she was the only
person so honored twice.
My mother used to tell me that Mme. Curie worked with her bare
hands in pitchblende, not knowing about the effects of radio activ-
ity at the time. How did my mother know? Because she was a nurse
and x-ray technician at the birth of radiology, and she had studied
her subject well.
The other one was Albert Schweitzer (1875 to 1965); theologian,
philosopher, eminent organist of Bach music, who, at age 30, decided
to devote himself to “the direct service of humanity” and took up the
study of medicine at the University of Strasbourg in 1905. In 1911
he received his medical degree and two years later sailed for Gabon,
I don't know where I am going but I am Enjoying the Ride
Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter one
723, he was made bishop; in 732 archbishop; in 739, the Pope made
him Ambassador of the Roman Chair in Germany. All these years,
Winfried worked on the creation of monasteries in various parts of
Germany. He was bludgeoned to death by a group of pagans near
Dockum on June 5, 755. Winfried/Bonifacius is buried in the cloister
of Fulda where still to this day the German bishops meet regularly
at the grave of the founder of the Roman-Catholic Episcopat’s in
Germany.
The one act of Winfried which is part of German high school
history lessons is about his cutting down of the “Thunder-Oak”
near Geismar. Winfried did this to prove to his pagan audience that
it did not bring out their heathen gods to take vengeance on him
and them, but that the one and only god was forgiving and above
petty acts of immediate revenge,
even when his property was dam-
aged or destroyed. Winfried was
successful in removing many of
the prevailing superstitions and
winning the population over to
Christendom.
My parents didn’t choose that
name for me so that I would be-
come another apostle, but for the
character traits of Winfried, such
as being steadfast and strong from
the inside and out. Maybe, this,
they didn’t tell me, that they pos-
sibly also chose this name to prove
to the world, specifically the Aryan
world around them, that I and our
family were Christians, not Jews.
I am extremely fortunate to
have had parents who wanted
me, the same as they wanted my
siblings. I was the first born, a boy
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they wanted very badly, who they hoped would accomplish what they
felt was denied them because of the times. They knew that education
made all the difference, education they didn’t have. Whatever learn-
ing they had acquired they had gone after on their own. My parents’
plan was to send me to study at Oxford University when the time
came. Unfortunately, that time was not to be. Rudely, World War II
came instead and everything changed.
Goethe wrote, “Names are mere sound and smoke, dimming the
heavenly light.” Normally, a name is given to us for life, the wish of
our parents going with us every day, all the way. Our name can be
a tall order to live up to or a miscasting to be ignored. My friends
soon shortened mine to Win. Whichever way they call me, there goes
another wave of sound and smoke.
The Snake
Since Chinese thinking is deeply rooted in Chinese culture, one
of the most practiced ways to find out more about yourself is to elicit
your Chinese zodiac sign and take it from there. In my case this shows
that I was born a snake in an earth year.
The following are quotations from Chinese Horoscopes by Theo-
dora Lau, published by Harper & Row 1979:
The snake personality is that of a philosopher, political wizard,
wily financier. The Snake person is the deepest thinker and enigma
of the Chinese cycle. He is endowed with an inborn wisdom of his
very own, a mystic in his own right. Graceful and soft-spoken, he
loves good books, food, music, the theater; he will gravitate toward
all the finer things in life. The most beautiful women and powerful
Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter one
men tend to be born under this sign. A person of this sign generally
relies on his own judgment… He trusts his own vibrations rather
than outside advice.
According to the Chinese Zodiac, people born under other signs
may defer payment to the next life (if one so chooses to believe), but
the Snake seems destined to pay his dues before he leaves. Perhaps
this is also of his own choosing, as a person born under this sign is
unusually intense and will seek to settle scores, consciously or un-
consciously, in everything he does.
A native of the Snake year is not likely to be bothered by money
problems. He is fortunate to have what he needs. Should funds be
low, he is extremely well-equipped to remedy the situation… The
Snake learns fast. He can recoup with amazing speed and as a rule
is prudent and shrewd in business.
By nature, the Snake person is a skeptical being, but unlike the
Tiger, he tends to keep his suspicions to himself. He treasures his
privacy and will have many a dark secret locked up within him.
Elegant in speech, dress and manners, the Snake person does
not like indulging in useless small talk or frivolities. He can be quite
generous with money, but is known to be ruthless when he wants to
attain an important objective.
Some Snakes may have a slow, or lazy, way of speaking, but this
does not reflect in any way their speed of deduction or action. It’s just
that they like to ponder things, to assess and formulate their views
properly. Snakes tend to be very careful about what they say.
It is never safe to draw a line and predict that this is how far the
Snake will go. His computer-like brain never stops plotting and he
can be unrelenting.
When the Snake’s anger is roused, his hatred can be limitless. His
antagonism is silent and deep-rooted. An icy hostility will express his
displeasure instead of a volley of hot words. His mind is calculation
itself and he has the staying power to wait until the time is ripe for
his revenge.
All Snakes have a sense of humor. Of course, they may have dif-
ferent brands. Some prefer to be dry, others sardonic, scintillating,
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter one
Just Checking
After Hildegard and I met, soon our love blossomed into the
desire to be married. At the time, of course, I was the fellow who
had come from the other side of the Iron Curtain, out of nowhere.
No-one knew my family, my friends, my background. How do you
verify the bona-fideness of this contender? Hildegard certainly got
lots of advice from her family and friends to stay clear of the man
who came in from the cold.
Without telling me, of course, Hildegard went about doing her
homework to check me out and try to answer the question of whether
or not I was the guy for her, whether it would work at all. Practically
all the bets from those who knew her were that it wasn’t going to last.
I was the wrong guy for her. Why bother, especially since other men
were lining up, begging for her hand.
In addition to whatever ordinary personal research Hildegard
did, she pursued two then commonly used avenues: She took some
of the letters I had written her and submitted them to a grapholocial
authority for analysis, and she consulted the Western World’s astro-
I don't know where I am going but I am Enjoying the Ride
logical signs.
Apparently, I passed the handwriting test with flying colors.
I was born under the sign of Taurus, and Hildegard was a Capri-
corn. Here is what the astrological signs said according to the Twelve
Signs of the Zodiac:
Taurus
The ruling planet of the Bull is Venus.
The Tauri’ characteristics are solidity, practicality, extreme deter-
mination and strength of will — no one will ever drive them… They
are stable, balanced, conservative good, law-abiding citizens and
lovers of peace… as they have a sense of material values and physical
possessions, respect for property and a horror of falling into debt,
they will do everything in their power to maintain security…
Mentally, they are keen-witted and practical… Their character
is generally dependable, steadfast, prudent, just, firm and unshaken
in the face of difficulties. Their vices arise from their virtues, going
to extremes on occasion, such as sometimes being too slavish to the
conventions they admire.
They are faithful and generous friends with a great capacity
for affection… In the main, they are gentle, even tempered, good
natured, modest and slow to anger, disliking quarreling and avoid-
ing ill-feeling. If they are provoked, however, they can explode into
violent outbursts of ferocious anger… Equally unexpected are their
occasional sallies into humor and exhibitions of fun.
Although their physical appearance may belie it, they have a
strong aesthetic taste, enjoying art, for which they may have a talent,
beauty (recoiling from anything sordid or ugly) and music. Allied to
their taste for all things beautiful is a love for the good things of life,
pleasure, comfort, luxury and good food and wine and they may have
to resist the temptation to over indulgence…
In their work, Tauri are industrious and good crafts people and
are not afraid of getting their hands dirty. They are reliable, practi-
cal, methodical and ambitious… they are creative and good founders
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter one
Capricorn
The Goat’s ruling planet is Saturn.
Capricorn is one of the most stable
and (mostly) serious of the zodiacal types. These independent,
rocklike characters have many sterling qualities. They are normally
confident, strong willed and calm. These hardworking, unemotional,
shrewd, practical, responsible, persevering, and cautious to the ex-
treme, persons are capable of persisting for as long as is necessary
to accomplish a goal they have set for themselves. They are reliable
workers in almost any profession they undertake. They are the major
finishers of most projects started by the 'pioneering' signs; with firm
stick-to-it-ness they quickly become the backbone of anyone they
work for.
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I don't know where I am going but I am Enjoying the Ride
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter one
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I don't know where I am going but I am Enjoying the Ride
be a good way to get going. Plus, it’s a lot of fun. It starts you think-
ing. It sharpens your focus. Others will recognize this also, and you
as a person will grow.
Start building your own personal icon, not out of fantasy, but
from the facts and forces which are out there, and within you. You’ll
love it. And everybody else will love you for it, also.
14
Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter two
Chapter Two
Barbarians, Mongols,
and Those From the West
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I don't know where I am going but I am Enjoying the Ride
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter two
Rome Defeated
The sacking of Rome shook the ancient world. Naturally, there
were many versions of what actually happened. According to one
story: an aristocratic Roman lady, Faltonia Proba, shocked by the
suffering of the Romans, opened the gate in order to try and bring an
17
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter two
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I don't know where I am going but I am Enjoying the Ride
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter two
Author’s Note:
See references re: Antisthenes, Cynics, and Alexander the Great
in Appendix A References page 425.
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I don't know where I am going but I am Enjoying the Ride
Chapter Three
Curiosity,
the Next Best Thing to Knowledge
22
Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter three
at the time was pretty much the party line. He apparently believed
that races which remain clean and strong will survive, but others that
mix with “inferior” races will die. It was important for a “healthy”
and “strong” human being to have the “right” kind of ancestors. My
father complied with the wishes of the Party and completed a long
investigation into his and my mother’s predecessors. This, of course,
was done to prove that they were all descended from a meticulously
clean Germanic ancestral origin.
In the case of my mother this investigation had turned up what
seemed to be an embarrassing fact: my maternal grandfather was
an illegitimate child whose ancestral background no one knew. He
could have been of Polish, Jewish, Russian, or Slavic origin. What a
sin! He had lived in Silesia, working on farms and later-on moving
to Dresden. He married my grandmother, whose ancestors, my fa-
ther discovered, were from respectable Danish stock. One of them,
an Admiral Heinze, had served as a commander in the Danish fleet
during the War of 1914 - 1918.
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter three
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I don't know where I am going but I am Enjoying the Ride
occupied by little Herbert, who was going to have his coffee and cake
right there, seated among strangers. Not very happy, little Herbert
did so, and the alleged occupant never returned.
During his lifetime, grandpa Richard accumulated sufficient
wealth to buy several apartment buildings in Dresden. In the early
1920s he owned five apartment houses. After Germany’s hyperinfla-
tion early in the 1920s followed by other severe economic problems
culminating in the 1929 world depression, he ended up with only
three buildings by 1930. The idea was that one of the remaining
apartment buildings would go to each one of his sons after his and
grandmother’s death. After Richard died in 1935, grandmother con-
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter three
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter three
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I don't know where I am going but I am Enjoying the Ride
ing a baker for the rest of his life, having grown up amidst the toil
and sweat of this hard work, with lots of relatives around him. After
having learned the bakery trade at an early age, Herbert went out to
serve an apprenticeship as merchant in a wholesale company. This
should have been a good experience for him. My father was interested
in sports, too, and he became an active member of the Rowing Club
Cotta, participating in many competitions and winning a few.
But times were rough in Germany in the mid-twenties, par-
ticularly for a young man who wasn’t top-of-the-line educated and
didn’t want to go into his father's bakery business. After Herbert had
absolved his wholesale apprenticeship, Germany was spilling over
with unemployed, and there was no job for Herbert anywhere. He
was too proud to go back to the bakery of his parents. So he looked
around, but nothing else came his way.
Finally, Grandpa, who must have seen what was going on, came
to the rescue again, for he was a man who knew how to handle any
situation. He was a member of a bowling club in Dresden, and Herr
Jost, General Manager of the Barmer Ersatzkasse, an insurance
company, also was a member. Herr Jost was not an owner of the
insurance company, but a salaried manager. He liked high living
enjoying himself. Once in a while he’d run out of money. Then he’d
approach some people of moderate wealth, such as Grandpa at the
bowling club, to give him a hush-hush top secret personal loan. This
time Grandpa agreed, on one condition: He'd have to give a job to
his son Herbert.
Nobody told Herbert what had happened—and I only found out
accidentally, long after the death of my father—but Herbert was
somehow directed to apply at the Barmer Ersatzkasse, and, this time,
he surely got the job. In 1925 Herbert Straube started as an insur-
ance processor, Kaufmännischer Angestellter, at the main offices of
the Barmer Ersatzkasse in Dresden.
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter three
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter four
Chapter Four
left, mother had dinner with us children around the kitchen table.
Our father was working late and had not come home from work yet.
Mother, obviously still occupied with the line of thought of her after-
noon conversation, talked with us, like an afterthought, and brought
up another angle on the same subject: You know, she said, Grandfa-
ther Straube had strong feelings about the matter. He chided your
father for wanting to run away from Germany’s national problems.
He said that the German nation, through its schools and by mere
existence, had made a heavy investment
in its people. That leaving the country
was like the blossom deserting the tree
without bearing fruit. "You were born
here” he said, “and that's where you be-
long. America belongs to the Indians."
Grandpa Straube considered emigra-
tion, particularly at a time of national
misery, as treason. "Go to Berlin, if
you want," he said, "or to Frankfurt
and make yourself useful. But don't
run away from your homeland."
Gone Fishing
Mother had deep faith in God and his guidance. She'd always
have plenty of Bible quotations on the tip of her tongue. Whichever
way life would turn, she'd always be ready to understand why things
were happening a particular way and quote why, how and what the
Lord had done as he did, and that this was the best way also for us
now. Also, in this case, she felt that everything had worked out just
fine.
During the summer, we boys would go fishing where the little
Lockwitz brook entered the Elbe. We'd put a worm or, preferably,
a fly on the hook. Then we'd stand on the low bridge crossing the
brook and let the line down toward the water. The trick was to guide
the hook with bait to the fish, which we could see in swarms through
34
Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter four
the clear water, - then to let the fly just touch the water so that the
trout would be able to bite. Naturally, whenever a trout snapped,
you'd have to jerk the line up to make sure the hook caught, then
bring up the fish. During those days, we used no fishing rods nor
any other fancy equipment. The line was sometimes a fairly heavy
string taken off one of mother's packages from the store.
Once in a while, a barge would go by, out on the Elbe, loaded up
with coal or sand. Usually a small boat or dinghy was attached to
the back of the motor-driven barge by means of a rope. This little
row boat was used for going ashore in case of emergencies. It was
usually empty and swimmers were supposed to stay away from these
boats, for they were pulled along maybe ten feet behind the ship's
propeller, and capsized easily. For boys, of course, this boat was the
main aim of our swimming, to climb in and get a free ride upstream,
then later swim or float back down to near our fishing spot.
Occasionally, my younger brother would take over my fishing
string and hold it until I returned from the swim with the older boys.
Once he had two fish bite, both at once, at both lines and he had them
still dangling and jumping on the lines when the others and I came
back. We quickly helped him get the trout up and out of the water.
Waking up to War
But with war breaking out and eventually engulfing all of Europe,
idyllic episodes of life like that were blown away quickly. School
assignments were not only in academics but became also specific in
support of the war effort. One of those jobs which was assigned to
us as teenagers was the collection of recyclable materials, such as
old metal, paper and other reusable materials, so that nothing in
the country would go to waste. Posters were displayed everywhere
proclaiming that waste was a national crime. Each schoolboy was
given a quota, expressed in points to be reached per month, collect-
ing such junk.
Our family had a little hand drawn cart which I was allowed to
use for this duty. With two classmates of mine we would push along
35
I don't know where I am going but I am Enjoying the Ride
the streets and go from house to house asking for old papers and
what have you.
We'd sort our acquisitions in such a way that each one of us could
report an outstanding record, although it was really the combined
effort of three. For instance, over months we collected used razor
blades. We determined by lot who was to present them. Ulrich Huth
was the lucky one. He presented 4456 used razor blades, a record
in school. Razor blades were most valuable steel to be re-molten
into weapons or plates of armor. The school principal intended to
announce this grand achievement at the weekly roll-call. He had
the cigar box with all the blades set on display in front of him on the
podium. Someone mischievous — or an obvious saboteur — kicked
over the box, just before the speech. The blades flew and were scat-
tered all over the floor. A crowd of milling boys started picking up
blades, cutting their fingers, bleeding, cursing… And finally, the
principal's review contained no reference to the blades, which were
not counted again, either.
Günter Sauer once made and broke the record collecting precious
metals. In this case the precious metal happened to be copper. We
found it in the form of downspouts which had either already fallen
down or were loosely hanging on the wall of an old museum which
suffered from obvious neglect during those trying times. If anyone
had known where we picked up the disintegrating copper eaves-
troughing that had fallen down and dismantled the rest, all three of
us might have been expelled from school or worse.
I never made any special mention in this respect although we
often tried it with paper, even by hoarding every ounce in excess of
our quota for months, then soaking the inside bunches with water
to add weight. Somebody else would always show up with more old
paper yet — maybe with more water retention inside.
One lesson I learned from this was that it was difficult to beat a
record in an everyday item or commodity anywhere, for you'd have
tremendous competition. It is always easier — and much more spec-
tacular — to establish a new record in an exotic field, such as razor
blades or copper eavestroughing.
36
Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter four
Lessons Learned
Mother was unhappy with the entire Nazi endeavors, particularly
the ideas of involving young people in national problems of which
they understood nothing. She felt we had to grow up first, develop
our own minds before we should work actively, at least until we were
able to comprehend its ramifications. She was the first to find out by
thorough questioning how we had established the precious metal col-
lection record. She told my father. He exploded. I got another lecture
plus the threat of a paddy-whack in case of any repeat, which was all
part of his tough love as well as otherwise unfailing support.
Father also told the parents of my two collaborators, and some-
thing similar must have happened to
them. Günter and I never mentioned
copper eavestroughing again. When
Ulrich brought it up we told him to
"shut up." Having taken care of the
punishment "first hand," my father did
not inform the school. Apparently, nor
did the other parents. Mother gave
me the moral going over, and this was Picture taken by me: My father
worse than the paddy-whack. and my brother while the three
Everything had to be above board of us hiked from Amrum in the
at all times,— this was the lesson, North Sea to an adjoining island
regardless of Mr. Hitler, or contests, at low tide via a shallow sand-
bank normally covered by the
or anything else. Mother and father
ocean during high tide.
made sure I went to church-provided
scripture studies regularly from then
on. Our pastor's name was Rabe. He occasionally showed up at our
house to visit my grandmother, one of his devoted followers. He'd
come when she was sick at times or she hadn't been able to make it
to church for some other reason. Pastor Rabe was later to disap-
pear from the Lutheran Church suddenly to spend over two years
in a concentration camp, as we found out only after the war. He was
a man with solid principles, who knew how to teach children who
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I don't know where I am going but I am Enjoying the Ride
Ongoing Education
A relatively frequent guest at our house was Herr Einhorn, a
friend of my Father's at the rowing club. Herr Einhorn was a head
shorter than Father. He was of light frame, the best steersman they
ever had at the club. His brain was known to work like a computer,
and that's why they won the races with him in the back. He also
could shout fiercely, getting the rowers to throw in their last ounce
of muscle or energy to pull through to victory. And although Herr
Einhorn came from academia originally, still for some reason un-
known to me, he carried out a manual job then. I believe he worked
as a janitor.
Mrs. Einhorn had studied abroad and spoke fluent English. The
Einhorns had friends in Britain and brought a cosmopolitan atmo-
sphere to our house. It was pleasant talking and listening to them
and hearing of the great wide world outside ours. Herr Einhorn had
an easy smile, yet, at times he seemed to withdraw any time political
subjects came up for comments or discussion, or the topic approached
anything that had to do with Hitler and his Reich. Questioned, he'd
say that everything would blow over sooner or later, hopefully, not
too late. Only half a century later did I learn that the Einhorns,
who survived the holocaust in Germany, were Jews. I'll come back
to that subject later.
Therefore, in retrospect, it tickles my mind remembering one oc-
casion when father, Pastor Rabe and Herr Einhorn happened to meet
in our home at the same time. Somehow their topic of conversation
became the proper upbringing of children. Father was for a stern,
straight-forward, follow-the-book method on the one hand, while
on the other, there should be rewards given for doing better than
the norm, and there should be penalties for doing below, discipline
if necessary to be enforced with the occasional paddy-whack when
really deserved. He quoted Bismarck's chief of staff: “If you want
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter four
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I don't know where I am going but I am Enjoying the Ride
Chapter Five
Growing up Fast
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42
Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter five
Igniting a Firestorm
It didn't take long for us to realize that this time, unlike so many
times before, the air alarm meant more than before. Actually, the
loudspeakers of the air control announced it in their calm, but dis-
turbed voices: Dresden was being bombed, first one section, then
another. Christmas trees — so called because of the light they put
in the sky — were all over the city lighting the gruesome act. And
tons and tons of incendiary bombs and explosives were unloaded by
wave upon wave of bombers.
In one of the relatively quiet moments between howling bombs
and the sound of fire, my comrades and I rushed out of the basement
trying to do what we could to help in the situation. The barracks were
still in good shape. Actually, they had hardly been hit. There were
a few incendiary bombs all around us which were relatively easy to
put out. I assigned myself to a group of volunteers who were going to
remove bombs which had failed to explode. A few had been located
and we carried the live bombs to a predetermined detonation place,
where eventually they would be exploded or otherwise made safe.
Since the barracks were up on the hills overlooking Dresden, I
could see what the real aim of the attack was. It was right down in
the valley before me, by now lighted in fire on all corners and ripped
by explosion upon explosion. There was no let-up in the attack, while
at the barracks there were no more hits. A few fires had been put
out, and the duds which had been found were removed.
As a precaution, because the barracks could be included again in
one of the next wave of bombings, the young soldiers in training were
told to dissolve, to get lost, go home or elsewhere, as fast as possible
and report back after the attack.
Night of Destruction
My parents' house was near the eastern end of the city. By now
it was 3 a.m. and Dresden was like a gigantic firecracker ripping and
burning all over at the same time. The sky was red and the waves
of bombers were still coming in. I headed east to cross the Elbe in
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I don't know where I am going but I am Enjoying the Ride
the far east of the city, walking and running all alone along a road to
the east. Once in a while I would duck down in a ditch when bombs
were heard howling nearby, or whenever debris was thrown or came
whining along through the air. I crossed the Elbe all right and made
it all the way home.
Our house, by some miraculous circumstances, was still okay and
so were the houses nearby.
The bombing attack had apparently started in midtown and was
slowly working its way to the suburbs in a ring of fire. But morning
came, and the bomber waves subsided. Piles of rubbles, smoldering
fire and bellowing smoke were the only patent signs of devastation
left behind.
My father happened to be out of town that night. But Mother,
brother and sisters were at home and all right. We had many rela-
tives and friends living in the city.
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter five
Seeing is Believing
I took my father's motor bike and left for the city, for I wanted to
try to locate friends and relatives, to see whether I could help anyone
of them still alive. There were no other means of transportation. The
streets were blocked with rubble and smoke. The motor bike was
just right to get me through, one way or another. After I had made
my way inside the burning and smouldering rubble, I passed close
to my school and there I had to get off the bike, for the rubble was
all over the street and the smoke and fire were sweltering.
While pushing the bike over some of the rubble to where I knew
the street would have to go on, I suddenly stood before a charred
body that lay before me. A woman, naked, her clothes burned off.
She looked charcoal-like, discolored, into almost entirely black and
shrunk to a miniature size. What an awful picture! She lay there on
her back, legs pulled up and in the air. This was the first time I saw
a naked woman in my life. As an adolescent, I had longed for the
encounter with a woman some day, a woman I would love and one I
would be able to see naked. All these thoughts crossed my mind in
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the second that I saw this shrunken body of what may have been a
beautiful woman only last night. No, this is not how I wanted to see
a woman! I turned my head and stumbled on.
Soon I made it to the place where Aunt Gertrud used to live.
But the big apartment
building wasn't there any
more. None of the build-
ings in the street were
there. Only ruins, rub-
ble, smouldering beams
and bricks all over, but
no street. While I was
standing there a minute
or two, thinking whether
to try to enter the smoul-
dering ruins to look for
signs of life, I heard
the sound of airplanes
overhead. Turning my
head, I heard the whin-
ing of bombs again. I hit
the ground faster than I
ever had. What now?
More bombs into that
smouldering rubble and
debris? Dresden, Crown Gate of Zwinger
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter five
supposed to fight in? This war where women and children were being
sacrificed for no cause? Why did these bombers hate us so much?
I must have laid there for hours, in the middle of the rubble,
almost like a part of it. Finally, I got up, as if from a terrible dream.
The whining of bombs had long since stopped. Only fires and smoke
were all around. Maybe it was because of the smoke that I was crying.
I am a man and I am needed here, I thought. I found the motor bike
still intact, and pushing and pulling it through the debris, I finally
got back to the east, out where there was only smoke, and no rubble.
Our home had not been hit yet. It was still standing, and safe.
Aftermath of a Nightmare
My father had returned. He scolded me for leaving for the city
at such a time. Then all of us went to do whatever we could to help
the stream of refugees coming out of the city to find shelter and
help. I reported to the local school and helped feed and care for the
refugees. Once in a while there was a well known face among them,
one of my classmates or someone else I knew. It seemed that life as
I knew it had ended, and I was on the staff of a refugee camp. The
homeless slept in classrooms, 30 or 40 men, women, and children
together, on blankets and straw. They were fed soup or broth; the
diet didn't change for weeks.
Whole areas of the city were cordoned off until groups of civil
defense workers had picked up the dead, mostly charred bodies of
men, women and children who had dashed into the streets as their
homes collapsed, or burned to the ground. The shrunken bodies were
put on carts, piled up at a collection point and later on they were to
be buried in mass graves. To prevent any epidemic from breaking
out and to deal with the overwhelming number of the dead, at the
Altmarkt, Dresden's center square, a large pile of bodies on top of a
pile of railroad ties was doused with gasoline and burned.
On my way between home and a temporary first aid station where
I was helping, I passed daily by a subdivision of formerly pleasant
one-family homes, now burned to the ground and declared off limits.
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I don't know where I am going but I am Enjoying the Ride
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter six
Chapter Six
A Different Reality
Life was never the same after the bombing. The actual number of
people who died during the Dresden bombing may never be known.
Estimates vary from between 35,000 to 400,000 people who perished
within 24 hours, most during the night. Dresden was jam-packed
with refugees from the east at that time, people who were fleeing from
the approaching eastern battle front, old men, women and children,
each trying to make it to the west. There they were caught, together
with the Dresden population, to pay for whatever their country was
fighting for or being defeated for.
For us, school started again, but somewhere else, for the school
buildings had burned down. But it wasn't the same any more. The
school now was held in the undestroyed portion of another building
elsewhere. Time tables were strictly adhered to, for other classes
were held before and after ours in the same location.
Not all of our classmates re-appeared. Günter Sauer and Ulrich
Huth did, as well as I, but our friend Wachwitz was missing. No-
one knew anything about him. We knew even less about others who
were no longer present. There had been no chalk-written message
on Wachwitz's house. As a matter of fact, nothing remained there,
where a message could have been conspicuously attached.
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50
Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter six
regime, but they didn't dare show it, because now we were in a "total
war" and the principal was a party stalwart, his main job to produce
more soldiers, fast.
Except for principal Gehmlich's political harangues, discussion of
politics was strictly taboo in school. The surroundings and occasional
air raid alarms were almost disregarded. Instead, we wrangled with
the readings of Cicero and Caesar in Latin, and the accusative with
infinitive in English grammar.
Some teachers would discuss issues which normally would only
have come much later for, "otherwise, you may miss it entirely." It
was under these circumstances that our biology teacher explained to
us Darwin's theories and the elementary details about the birds and
the bees, which was certainly extracurricular at that time.
Nobody discussed moral issues, except maybe guardedly through
the discussion of history, like that of York of Wartenburg. It was
strictly technical and undisputable basic knowledge which was being
concentrated on, like trigonometry and the law of probability.
Just Holding On
As for the war, the law of probability was already running its
course. There was no need to talk about it. Everybody was prepar-
ing for the end.
The Nazi propaganda machine pronounced that Hitler had se-
cret weapons tucked away somewhere which were so powerful and
devastating that Germany wouldn't use them except as its very last
recourse. We didn't know that the German atom bomb was not nearly
complete and that Germany's rockets were petering out. Every day it
became more and more apparent that Hitler, Goebbels and consorts
had just lied, and had lied, for years. In retrospect it showed that most
of the German population had been utterly uninformed. That was
mainly due to the lack of access to real information, access which, if
attempted (such as via clandestinely listening to foreign radio stations)
was punishable by death. As a result, to survive, for most, it was
practice of safety, not knowing anything about what was happening
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I don't know where I am going but I am Enjoying the Ride
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter six
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I don't know where I am going but I am Enjoying the Ride
Surrender
There were maybe ten of us, still armed, and trying to escape the
Russians. Whenever something suspicious moved, we ducked in the
grass or jumped into a ditch. We passed single farm houses, empty,
with white flags hanging out their windows. Whole villages could
be seen down in a valley decorated with white flags and no sign of
life. Then we broke up into smaller groups so that we wouldn't be
easily detected. I went with a friend of mine. We were the last to
leave the hideout.
And right into the arms of a company of Russian soldiers, combing
the field, with submachine guns in hand ready to shoot. They lifted
their guns and we dropped ours, lifting our arms to surrender.
The Russian soldiers came close, two of them covering each one
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter six
of us, frisking us, taking my wrist watch away, and pushing us ahead,
along the road. Finally, then put us with a group of prisoners they
already held. There we met some of our friends who had left us in
the ditch only minutes before we got out. All were disarmed, dirty,
uniforms torn, shook up, a picture of misery.
Dropping Out
The group of prisoners increased by the hour as the Russians
flushed out more and more retreating German soldiers.
Later in the day, the group of prisoners was ordered to march
along a road to a larger terminal where prisoners were being col-
lected. The road was winding and the Russian soldiers guarding us
were not always in full view of the column.
At one turn in the woods, I jumped to the side into the bush and
lay there. Not a muscle moved.
The column walked on. Nobody noticed or bothered me.
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I don't know where I am going but I am Enjoying the Ride
Accounting Time
And the Czeck partisans and militia, bristling with arms, came
out to watch us, the defeated Germans, march by. Many of these
Czeck partisans, including women, were civilians, but heavily armed.
They hated the Germans and were now overjoyed and showed their
contempt. They stopped the columns at various check points, bridges
and the like, and searched us, allegedly for weapons. Whoever had
anything left of value, such as his wedding ring or a pocket knife,
lost it right here. Anyone who had anything edible left, lost it as well.
And some lost their lives when they tried to protest.
At one such checkpoint, the Czecks stopped the column. It was
a hot and dusty road. The sun shone brightly on these bearded,
starving men. Most Czecks speak good German. One asked who,
of the men passing by, was from the Waffen-SS (armed storm troop-
ers). No answer. Then the Czecks started examining our arms. The
feared Waffen-SS, Hitler's elite fighting troops, had a mark burned
in underneath one of their upper arms. Only much later did I learn
that German concentration camp inmates received a similarly per-
manent marking. Now, here was accounting time. The dusty and
tired column of distrustful and apathetic soldiers had to roll up their
sleeves or take off their coats and shirts for some partisans to inspect
them.
Sure enough, there were some among us who had the markings.
One tried to run away the minute he was taken aside. Shots were
fired, he fell. We were all aghast. Three more — apparently those
with the markings — were ordered over to the side. They were kicked
and beaten, then pushed ahead and led away. A fat woman walked
over to the one who had fallen and shot him in the head.
As we marched on, shots were heard from near the spot where we
had stopped. Word went through the column that more of them had
been shot right there. As much as I was numbed by this, shock and
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter six
hate went up and down my spine. Little did I know that the Waffen-
SS had extinguished whole villages of non-combatants, including
women and children, all over Eastern Europe. Also, in the West, the
SS had made its mark for brutality and disregard of war conventions.
The December 1944 massacre in the Belgian forest at Malmedy of
a whole contingent of American soldiers who had surrendered was
one such infamous example of Waffen-SS brutality. Almost every-
body in Czechoslovakia had been suspected of being a partisan. As a
result, many died. One of the largest and most vicious death camps
run by the SS had been in Theresienstadt, nowadays Terezin in the
Czeck Republic, where the Nazis wanted to build a "model ghetto"
for Jews, and ended up extinguishing them. Untouched by any of
these realities, all of that I didn't know at the time.
Not a Dream
After each inspection stop the heavily armed civilians let us
move on, until we met the next group of partisans who appointed
themselves inspectors of the defeated. It wasn't uncommon that we
received a kick in the ribs when nothing was found in our pockets.
But nobody kicked me.
Actually, I was still carrying my head up high, for I felt rather
defiant. After all, it was the victors who behaved like rats. I had
nothing to lose at this point but my life, and this wasn't worth very
much anymore. For what? What for? So if I had to die, I might as
well die like a man. Nobody knew what waited for us at the next
checkpoint. Better to go down in defeat like a knight than to be a
victor like the ones I saw here!
The German army uniforms of the mass of soldiers trotting along
this road to what they thought may be freedom had been reduced to
rags. All insignia and other indications of rank and position in the
army had been removed. No one wore any more shoulder flaps or
the like. They had hardly any buttons left on their clothes. The man
was lucky who was able to keep his belt to keep his pants up. I still
wore the German eagle over my right breast pocket. It was sewn on
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I don't know where I am going but I am Enjoying the Ride
there, and this is where it always was, as part of the uniform. Most
soldiers had taken it off, for no one wanted to identify himself with
the Wehrmacht any more or give cause to Czeck suspicions or pos-
sible acts of violence.
I kept the eagle on in defiance. So it didn't take long that a Czeck
walked up to me and said, “If you want to live, you better remove the
eagle right away.” I felt like spitting at the man's face, but I looked the
other way and went on. Nothing happened. But two of the marchers
next to me grabbed me and tore the eagle off right then and there.
I spat at their faces. And we marched on.
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter seven
Chapter Seven
Escape to Where?
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter seven
as they did? And why was the punishment so severe? Or was it?
I came to the conclusion that there must be something longer
lasting than us human beings, like the stars. I concluded that there
must be some underlying principles which governed this universe
and which must govern human beings. There must be higher things
in life than the following of self-appointed leaders, the building up
of an imaginary fatherland.
It opened my inner eyes and mind to the realization that in the
past, mine had been a very regional perception. I didn't know much
more than what the German leaders of that time had wanted me to
know. But there was a world with violently different beliefs, a world
which took on Germany, fought her and defeated her. There may be
many worlds, both within and without the universe. And wouldn't it
be stupid to find out that they would be just as regional and small-
minded as I had been?
No, this was going to end. At least for me. I was going to search
for real things that mattered, for the truth, and to try to do my part in
making this a better world to live in. I would like to be free, allowed
to think and work on what I felt would be best for me and my fellow
human beings. Never again will I take life as it is for granted! And
no more poppycock, silly phrases and easy solutions. From now on
I'd accept nothing but the real thing.
Speaking of being free, how free can you be as long as you are a
human being? You are tied to your fellow human beings by the ties
of blood, ancestry, the joint use of your surroundings, and by the
similarity of your ambitions. And yet, maybe a human being wasn't
born to be free, for he needs his fellow human beings, and has to
support his family and friends. Mind you, this is a voluntary giving
up of some freedom, which is desirable, and which is actually one
of man's highest ambitions: to serve the ones one loves. But it must
be possible to be freer from unwanted serfdom than I have been in
the past. At least, my mind must be able to explore what else there
is — and could be.
Slowly, it penetrated my mind that, if I survived the ordeal of
war, the world laying wide open before me, that it was up to me to
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equip myself for a better future. After all, I had survived this inferno.
I was young and healthy, though obviously at the wrong place at the
wrong time. Or, was it the right place at the right time?
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter seven
into the fields at one side again, this time making absolutely sure that
the ground wasn't marshy. It was wet alright, but firm. Okay. Then
I found a spot near some bushes where I laid down hoping to spend
the day and to find out more about my surroundings.
Nothing much happened, except that the mosquitoes started
to bite. But I had so many bites already, I wondered why they still
would find my blood tasty. I hadn't eaten any normal food for days,
maybe a week, and strangely enough I wasn't even hungry. I was
starting to get dizzy, though, which told me that I would have to get
something to eat soon, or I may just give out. And just as I thought
of that, a man came along the road, looking like a farmer. Or, was I
already hallucinating?
A Friend in Need
I pulled myself together and got out of my hideaway and walked
over to him. First the man didn't see me, then he was surprised and
stopped. It really was a man. I went up to him and we exchanged a
few words. Yes, I was in Bavaria, right at the border, and I should
stay in my hideaway or the Americans may pick me up any minute.
They were gathering soldiers all over and collected them at a nearby
meadow, I was told. Yes, he would like to help me, but no, we couldn't
stay there in the road where an American patrol may come by. So the
man agreed that he would try to bring me some food in the evening
and get me some civilian clothes.
I wasn't convinced that he would come back, or maybe if he did,
he'd bring along the Military Police. But I resigned myself to the place
underneath the bushes. I found a little brook nearby where I bathed
my feet and drank as much water as I thought I could stand.
This was a long, long afternoon. The little road down there was
quite active at times. But at nightfall, the farmer really did return. I
saw him from a distance. And then he came right through the field
and over to me. He had a little bag with him. It contained potato
chips. He explained that he and his wife had cut up potatoes for years
in the past and dried them for some future emergency. And here was
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the emergency, and this was about the only thing they had left to eat
for some time. So I could have as many as I could eat.
Again we settled down at the brook. I gulped potato chips, took
some water from the brook, then again potato chips. Oh, how deli-
cious! I didn't even know that potatoes could be preserved by making
them into this type of chips. An excellent idea!
The farmer just sat there, looking at me. He was sorry, he said, but
he didn't have any civilian clothes he could have brought. I thanked
him anyway and suggested that I would like to go with him back to
the village and hide out in his barn. But the farmer was too afraid to
allow this. He didn't want to get involved.
So, I filled up all my pockets with potato chips. I put chips inside
my shirt and all around my body. They were held up by the belt
around my waist.
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter seven
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I don't know where I am going but I am Enjoying the Ride
cattle fence on the other. I studied how I could get out of there. And
really, it was a cinch when I got away that night.
Apparently, no one expected anybody to run away, anyway. On
the contrary, this collection point of the remnants of a defeated army
meant food was going to be available for these by now totally lost
and destitute survivors. Plus, there is always safety in numbers. Or,
is there?
And here I was, again in the woods, still in a German military
uniform, or the remnants of it, with nothing to eat, and a long way
to go. Where?
Well, if this was the American way of German extinction, I might
as well go home to Dresden. I'd have to cross from Bavaria into Sax-
ony, and then I'd have to find some means of transportation.
Since these nights were clear and there was no rain, I was able to
make it back up north covering maybe twenty miles the same night. I
didn't encounter any patrols and I found a village in the early morn-
ing on the Saxonian side.
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter seven
times along the way. Once I was afraid I'd hit the roof of a tunnel, so
I tightly hugged the car's top, but there was plenty of room. Except
for the smoke from the engine, there was little inconvenience.
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Chapter Eight
Although the soldiers were not overly careful with the furniture
and belongings, everything remained more or less intact. They
brought tires for my father's car, which had been mothballed in
the garage for the duration of the war and was without tires. Then
they got the car going and took it away. Inside the house there were
spilled and broken bottles of liquor, but the rest of everything in our
apartment seemed intact.
So I moved in.
A New Beginning
Then came the new "People's Representatives". These were Com-
munists who had survived the Hitler regime and now took charge.
They handed out food rationing stamps. They asked for my parents,
brother and sisters. But I didn't know where they were. I was told
that I wouldn't be allowed to live by myself in these large quarters
and that they would send in homeless families.
I tried to find myself a job — and got one, in a truck garden-
ing farm by the name of Ziegenbalg. What a job! Finally, there was
something to eat. They grew tomatoes, turnips and cabbage. While
working in the fields I was able to snatch a tomato or a turnip here
and there, together with a raw onion. How tasteful and satisfying!
One night on my way home, a group of Russian soldiers picked me
up. They were going from house to house and combing the streets. I
was told that all men were being picked up. Apparently many former
German soldiers had slipped into civilian clothes and had gone home.
They were deserters and would be turned over into prisoners of war
camps to their buddies who were not able to get away.
I was pushed into a crowded room at the railway station. There,
a Russian lady, who had served in a German prison camp and spoke
perfect German, interviewed each of the men being brought in. It
was her job to screen the healthy ones from the sick and old. All those
passing the test went into a freight train which was facing east. And
as I was to learn much later, that train and many other trains like it
left for the east, to Russia and Siberia, where the German slave labor
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Transition in Steps
At home, in the meantime, some of my relatives showed up, not
only to find out how things were going, but also to warn me that since
my father had been a member of the National Socialist Party, he and
the family, no doubt, would be prosecuted, and that the Communists
could come at any time — as they had done in other places — and
take away whatever was left of any value. The implication was that
I should give the radio, our alarm clocks, books, cooking utensils,
china, silver spoons and forks, and many more things to the relatives
for safe keeping. Naturally, since they had lost lots of things through
the war, all these items were also of great use to them in their daily
lives. So, I started giving things away.
Then came the day when my parents and my brother and sisters
came back. They had been at Lotte Merz's house in Glashütte dur-
ing the worst days. The way my mother explained it, their exposure
to the Russians had been nonviolent and no one in the family was
harmed. My brother and sisters told me that the family spent several
nights in the woods. This was mainly in fear for the women, to escape
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter eight
being raped. Then, they reported, that as things slowly came back
to normal, the family left on foot and made the trip back to Dresden
in two days. They were starved and appreciated the food I had been
able to accumulate, although it wasn't much and was nothing special,
just tomatoes, turnips, cabbage, and onions.
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for watering her vegetables, not seeing, not hearing, almost like not
being there but in a far away world.
After what seemed like an endless time, the Russian officer left
the house and my mother came out to let everybody back in. No
explanations were given, very few words spoken. Instead, a small
portable metal bathtub was retrieved from Aunt Lotte’s junk collec-
tion. Hot water was made on the fire, poured into the tub, and my
Self-portraitofKätheKollwitz,born1867inEastPrussia:
studied and worked in Berlin, considered the most
influential and greatest German printmaker of the
20th century, she produced graphics, woodcuts and
sculpture. Her main theme was the human condition,
crying out against war and hunger, showing the fate
of the socially disadvantaged. Kollwitz was the first
woman taken into the Prussian Academy of Art as a
Professor in 1919. Once Hitler came to power, she was
Käthe Kollwitz denouncedbytheregimeandforbiddentobegivenany
1867-1945
employment.Nevertheless,shecontinuedherworkand
propagandized against the recruiting of youths for the
wareffort.PersecutedbytheNazis,shewentintohiding
in Moritzburg near Dresden, where she died onApril
22,1945,sixteendaysbeforeGermany'sunconditional
surrender.
mother took a sitting bath in it, cleansing herself, while the children
had to look out the window. End of story.
Nobody ever spoke about it. Everyone apparently was determined
to expunge it from their memories. Nor did the world see, and every-
body who was there acted as though it never happened.
My mother certainly never mentioned anything to anybody, and
in retrospect, I can only marvel at her almost superhuman strength,
how she dealt with being raped and handling the entire affair like
an unimportant business transaction. The world had to go on, and
what must have been a most wrenching personal experience was
discarded like yesterday’s spoiled milk. What it did to my dad, I can
only surmise. Obviously, he was an entirely crushed man by then.
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter eight
For him things could only get worse, and they did. -
After that first night in the Glashütte house, the family took to
the woods, laying there entirely still. They disregarded the searching
shouts from Soviet soldiers who came out to the edge of the woods in
the evenings, high on vodka, calling “Frau…, Frau…”
Trying to Reconnect
After their return to Dresden, my father tried going back to
work at the Barmer Ersatzkasse. But there he was told that the new
regime was dissolving private insurance companies, and that in the
future there would be a government owned and operated insurance
company. There was no more job for my father. For some reason
which only became clear to me many years later, one of his main
concerns at that time was, however unsuccessfully, to get ahold of
Mr. Einhorn. As we now know in retrospect, but had no idea then,
Mr. Einhorn fortuitously survived the war’s end. So did his wife. But
at that tumultuous time there was no trace of them to be found.
There was lots of rubble to be removed in Dresden, and every
hand was needed to help. So the authorities assigned my father to
go "shoveling". Many days my mother went along. But the pay was
very little. Yet, somehow, the family had to be fed.
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter eight
Vae Victae!
(Latin: Woe to the Defeated!)
A few days later, he was picked up again, this time by the Russians.
There were three of them. One was a commissar, two were soldiers.
They also searched our apartment, but didn't take anything, except
some books and my father’s papers. My mother cried and tried to
get information out of the Russians. But they were uncommunica-
tive, hurrying the process along. I still have the picture vividly in my
mind. It will never leave me, I am sure. My little 8 year old sister was
clutching herself to the side of my mother, and the older, 10 year old
reached for the hand of our father to hold on to him. Not allowing
this, one of the Russians kicked her in the rear with full force, propel-
ling the kid across the room against the wall, where she seemed to
remain laying like a thrown away rag doll. My brother and I merely
stood there open-eyed, helpless and sad as we watched our father
kiss our mother good-bye for what turned out to be for the last time.
While being led away, he assured her that it couldn't be long until he
was going to be back, for finally, he was in the right hands in those of
the military where justice would be served and his innocence easily
discovered. Then they left.
That was the last time that our mother saw her husband and we
children, our father. He never came back. And no authority ever
informed us of his death or whereabouts. He just vanished, from
the face of the earth. My mother made many attempts to obtain
information from many agencies of the government, each of which,
however, told her in as many words, to go away.
After numerous unsuccessful searches, on October 28, 1952,
mother did obtain a “Decision” by the Circuit Court of Dresden
that her husband was a missing person, dead in the eyes of the law,
as per December 31, 1950. And 54 years later, in 1999, the German
Red Cross obtained official documents from former Soviet concen-
tration camps. One listed Herbert Straube, 43 years old, as having
died in the Mühlberg concentration camp on November 11, 1945;
no cause of death was given.
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The realization
that my father had died
didn't happen that fast,
however. At first there
was still considerable
hope. There were in-
dications that he was
going to be released,
that he would be home
again. And it took very
long for hope to die. But
piece by piece, the grue-
some story unfolded:
A few days after my father was picked up, without a single word
heard from, or of, him, my mother went to the Russian commandatura
and tried to pry some information out of the Russian officer in charge.
She was not received; her many talks to Russians who wouldn't listen
got nowhere, except that one officer gave her the name of the facility
where all the political prisoners were held.
Then my mother packed a suitcase with our father's warm clothes
and one of his coats. She went to the Soviet Secret Police station where
she had been directed. It was heavily guarded, and she tried to get
in. But, of course, they wouldn't let her in. She'd talk to any one of
the guards who would listen. But they wouldn't. Then she'd talk to
any Russian officer or soldier going inside or coming out. And since
none of that helped, she just stayed around there day after day.
One day, finally, one of the tired officers going in or out dur-
ing certain hours of the day, listened to mother and took along the
suitcase, promising to deliver it to my father. Whether he did or not,
we'll never know.
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter eight
one of the former party friends of father, completely run down now.
He reported that he had shared a cell with our father for a day or so
in the prison where mother had waited in front of the door for so long.
Whether father got the warm clothes or not, he didn't know, either.
This man had been let go for some reason still unknown to our
family. He didn't explain. We only guessed that, maybe, they had
let him out to locate another former Party member who was to be
arrested but couldn't be found. At any rate, that man was convinced
that, sooner or later, my father would be released, too. In the mean-
time, he knew, our father had been transferred to a hard labor camp
near Mühlberg on the Elbe.
Mother immediately took the trip to Mühlberg and loitered near
the camp for days, trying to contact our father, but without any suc-
cess.
It wasn’t until much later, when another of my father’s former
friends came to our home, that we learned of father’s fate. The visi-
tor had been released from the Mühlberg camp, and while there,
had heard of our father’s death in the camp several years earlier.
This hearsay came from what he had been told by another inmate
by the name of Franz Schwabach, whose address he had. The latter
had been released with him, but to go to his home town of Duisburg
in West Germany. Therefore he came to call on the widow of his
former friend to give her whatever clues he had about the last days
of her husband.
On December 29, 1949, mother wrote to Franz Schwabach in
Duisburg, and on January 1, 1950, he answered promptly in a hand-
written two-page letter, a copy of which I have. Franz Schwabach
wrote that he, after 4 years in Mühlberg, was released, and returned
home. He discovered that his wife had died in the meantime. He also
reported that in August 1945, my father and he shared a cell for some
time in the “G.P.U. basement,” the Soviet Secret Police station, at
“Zittauer Strasse” in Dresden. From there they were transferred to
the prison at the “Münchener Platz,” where, however, they were no
longer together. Schwabach wrote that he then came to Mühlberg
in September 1945 and our father was brought there only in early
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter nine
Chapter Nine
Quo Vadis?
(Latin: Where are you going?)
Life Goes on
With father gone, the family still had to be supported, somehow.
My mother had been a nurse and x-ray technician, but with my two
younger sisters being little children, and nobody there to care for
them, it was impossible for her to go to work.
My brother and I did whatever we possibly could to help her.
Mother, at the same time, called on every contact she had to find
promising jobs for her two sons. It is thus how both of us finally con-
nected with employers who trusted our mother, or friends of hers,
to trust those unproven kids and give them a chance. Manfred went
into apprenticeship as a lathe operator and mechanic, and I left the
truck farm to take a job at Riedel & Co., a scientific instrument maker.
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I don't know where I am going but I am Enjoying the Ride
there was time I would have my nose in the learning, math and all
the rest.
One night, overtired or careless as I must have been, a drop of
melting glass fell on my vocabulary book and instantly it went up
in flames. Nothing serious happened, but the Liebschers used the
incident to show Mr. Riedel that I was a menace to the glass blowing
operation and not at all interested in the work at hand.
Mr. Riedel didn't want to lose the Liebschers, yet he knew what I
was doing. So, he made me his purchasing agent, giving me the power
to visit glass suppliers in Thuringia and purchase materials needed
for his production. As if he were to assume the role of my father,
Mr. Riedel acted like a businessman with the wisdom of Solomon.
He got me out of the Liebscher brothers’ hair and as though punish
me. In fact, he was giving me what turned out to be an upgrade in
responsibility, and more independence of action for the benefit of
his company.
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter nine
or coal to heat in the wintertime, and quite often there was not even
electricity for light.
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Chapter Ten
Winter 1946/47
The excerpt below was written by Manfred Straube, my younger
brother, in Dresden, Germany, February 1996. I translated it on
January 18, 2000, my brother’s 68th birthday.
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter ten
who was dismantling old burned out and rusted machines in order
to try and make them operable again. Nowadays, protective gloves
are routinely worn for far less dirty and dangerous work.
When the fire didn’t want to burn at all, the boss very occasion-
ally sacrificed a little bit of anthracite pit-coal which was rationed
and had been obtained through official channels only for fire in the
forging of metal parts. As a matter of principle, however, using that
valuable coal for heating was taboo since it was required for the forg-
ing of steel, which otherwise could not have been formed. Also, after
all, the existence of the shop depended on that capability.
There were days when I came in the shop in the morning and
it was so cold that the boss couldn’t get the lathe turning since the
tool chuck was so stiff and the main spindle unwilling to turn in its
bearings that the flat power belt just slid over the drive pulley. Then
the boss set the leverage of a tool wrench to the three way chuck and
jolted the spindle out of its cold freeze. Thereafter, maybe half an
hour turning in idle position, the bearings were sufficiently warmed
up that we could start with our work.
I remember one day when it was so icy that even this method
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter ten
was told to bring my sleigh along. We met with Win’s friend at Gerd’s
mother’s place and left from there, equipped with a large woodcut-
ters’ saw and sleigh, for the park across from the sports arena at the
Gondelweg.
Since birch wood burns also without having to be dried first, Win
and Gerd cut down several birch trees of substantial diameter and
cut the trunks in two meter (79 inches) long pieces, then tied them
down on the sleigh. Now my task began. I pulled that weight to the
house where we had met and together with Gerd’s mother carried
the birch trunk pieces into the basement.
No Silent Night
As soon as I came back to the park, my sleigh was loaded up again
and I repeated the task as before. I can’t tell any more how many
times I went back and forth. I only remember that Win and Gerd
assisted several young women with the big woodcutters’ saw since the
women on their own were unsuccessfully trying to cut down trees in
diameter about the length of their little household saws.
The project was stopped by the appearance of several policemen.
These were quite normal civilians with a white armband who tried
to convince the people to stop this carnage. On principle they were
right, but the suffering was so great and there was sawing in every
corner of the park that their words fell on deaf ears.
We first secured our woodcutters’ saw since it had been borrowed
from somewhere, and I moved the last sleigh load to the basement of
Gerd’s mother. Thus, I didn’t have to take part in the outcome of that
so called police raid. Gerd had organized the further cutting up of
the trunk pieces and the chopping up. During the next days, pulling
the sleigh, Win and I brought our portion of the spoils home.
Coziness Returns
During the weekend we tried with all our might to put an enchant-
ing temperature in the apartment. To our surprise we discovered that
the moist birch wood burned fine, but the heat started thawing the
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter eleven
Chapter Eleven
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average ration amounted to 800 calories a day. - This was from Mr.
Hoover's report on WEST Germany. Nobody reported on the East.
There, in fact, things were far worse.
Police went out in the country and policed the railway stations,
stopping people who tried to obtain food from the country, taking it
away from them, and possibly clapping them in jail for illegal posses-
sion of potatoes, for it was illegal to obtain food by any means other
than by purchasing it against food rationing stamps in stores.
When I tried to enter the farm through a back door, which I knew,
the farmer let his dogs loose from the chain and set them on me. Dog
bitten, bleeding, I limped back home. Without potatoes.
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In Bad Company
Back in the basement, I asked the others whether their accusa-
tions had been just as fabricated as mine. It seemed they were not.
They may have been exaggerated and connected to the wrong reason
or person, but it seemed that the other inmates were more involved
in some illegal act, or an act considered illegal, than I was. But how
was I going to get out of this?
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter eleven
Lucky Day
Then there were two days when I was not called for interroga-
tion. This worried me. What was going to happen next? Well, the
third morning a soldier came in and took me outside. There he told
me that I was a free man and could go home now. I was so grateful
that I asked to see the officer again who had interrogated me. The
soldier took me to him. The officer looked at me as I thanked him for
letting me free. He continued to stare at me, but didn't say a word.
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I didn't wait around, but I left, accompanied by the guard who led
me down to the street.
Only much later did I learn what apparently had triggered my
release. The same type of leaflet attributed to me had been distributed
in the same department store again during the time I was locked up
in that dungeon for interrogation. This, apparently, made my captors
realize that they had snared the wrong bird.
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter twelve
Chapter Twelve
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I don't know where I am going but I am Enjoying the Ride
Stealing Away
After careful preparations, eventually, without permission from
the East German authorities or the occupation forces, I left Dres-
den by rail on June 16, 1947. This time, I did not take with me even
such simple things as a mere suitcase or some extra warm clothes,
as my dear mother had suggested, because I didn't want to look like
a traveler. In those days, travelers were always suspected to be up to
no good. Surely, I didn't want to be caught.
Carefully avoiding the "People's Police" and occupation forces, I
gingerly travelled and succeeded in getting to Thuringia, one of the
East Germany’s provinces bordering on western Germany. I made
it to the town of Kahla, where uncle Helmut, my father’s younger
brother and doctor, lived with his family until their own successful
flight to West Germany not much later. This was to be my staging
area.
Uncle Helmut introduced me to the pharmacist in the local
apothecary’s shop, which was in the center of Kahla’s main market
square. They obviously knew each other well and had complete trust
in each other. Uncle introduced me as his nephew and explained that
I intended to cross the border into Bavaria, the adjoining West Ger-
man state. As a local naturalist who, all his life, had been collecting
herbs and mushrooms in the forests in the region, including the area
going into Bavaria, the pharmacist knew precisely how to get there,
and do so clandestinely, without being discovered.
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter twelve
“In case they catch you,” he said in the end, “don’t ever admit
that you talked with me. I never met you. - Good luck!”
“That’s right,” said my uncle. “The meeting with this young man
never took place.”
The next morning I rode to the town of Probstzella by train and
continued on foot. I still had the pharmacist’s map clear in my mind
and repeated his instructions silently to myself many times. With all
this preparation, I knew exactly where and how I was going to cross
the border.
As he had described to me, there was a road coming from the
south going up north and swinging like a C around a mountain.
The border crossed the mountain from east to west and tried to cut
across the road at about the center of the C. At that point, I had been
warned, the occupation forces had constructed a turnpike. On either
side of the turnpike, as I was informed, were American and Russian
soldiers and West and East German border police. On the American
side there was a restaurant, maybe 50 yards from the border, and
this was a popular place.
With the help of the Kahla pharmacist, we had carefully planned
that I avoid the official border crossing by climbing the heavily
wooded mountain from the Russian side and then descending the
other far steeper side, eventually to walk nonchalantly into the West
German restaurant and then try to hitch a ride south.
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter twelve
Night Crossing
But first I'd have to get there. And this was the most difficult part.
I must have used more than half of the night trying to find my way
back up that mountain crossing a barbed wire fence in the process.
Once I heard steps and lay down until the Russian patrol had passed.
Once I heard shooting, but it was off in the distance, in the other
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter twelve
I didn't have to wait very long. There came the early morning
train puffing along the winding valley. Sure enough, it slowed down
sufficiently at the curve which I had selected, and I left my hide-out
going close to the tracks. As the train passed by, I ran along and
jumped on one of the last cars. I went inside, locking myself in the
washroom. Nobody noticed, or at least nobody bothered. I guess the
workers there, if they had seen me, knew exactly what I was doing.
And they were Germans too, after all. They were not interested in
politics or playing police. No one raised an eyelid.
The train huffed and puffed and stopped at the Lauenstein end
station hut. I ducked down inside the washroom and hardly dared to
glance over the window sill. There I could see the workers disembark-
ing, chatting and carrying their lunch boxes with their daily rations.
Also there were the border policemen with shouldered rifles patrolling
the platform outside. They carefully watched the men streaming out
and then located themselves at the entrances of a few cars. There they
checked the passes of the few passengers boarding the train.
Waiting it Out
In the meantime, the locomotive was unhooked on the one end
and passed by to be hooked up at the other end. The minutes passed
by like hours. The border policemen outside walked up and down the
train, looking into a window or two from the outside, so as to make
sure that only authorized passengers were inside.
Then the train got a little push, and another one. The locomo-
tive had been coupled on at the southern end. Then a shrill whistle
from the engine. As the train pulled away from the station, I was still
ducking down, waiting for another minute or two until I dared raise
my head and look outside.
I came out of the toilet and took a place inside the car. In Ger-
man trains, at least during that time, there were no conductors. All
the handling and checking of tickets was done outside at the railway
station where you had to pass a gate, and then again at the gate when
you left the station at your destination. I was not approached by any
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Reunion in Paradise
Meeting up with Rolf who, like me, also miraculously survived
the last phase of the holocaust, was like two dead men meeting in
another world again. It truly was a different world, and the burden
of ducking oppressors fell off me like a big stone off my back. It was
going to be buried and forever left behind, right here in Vohenstrauss.
Relief, at last!
I shall never forget the farmers where Rolf worked who let me
into their houses and had me join their evening meals. They mainly
consisted of slices everyone cut off a fresh, large, round home baked
sourdough bread with a heavy crust, — I can still smell it today
— and then homemade butter spread on as thick as you liked. It
was an unbelievable luxury at the time and I cherished every bite.
Unfortunately I couldn’t eat very much, because I had gone hungry
for so long that my stomach and my entire system needed time to
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter twelve
adjust. Within a few days there it certainly did. But then it was time
to say “Thank you very much” and go on.
Freedom at Last
Before leaving, I remember, Rolf, who was two years older than
me (20 years old vs me 18 years old at the time), giving me some advice
for the time ahead and the new-found freedom to be enjoyed:
“Be careful when getting involved with girls. Make sure you find
the right one first. Otherwise, you can be back in the dumps faster
than you think, and your freedom gone, too.” - Strange, I thought,
he must be speaking from experience. “OK, ok,” I said, ”When the
time comes, I’ll let you know.”
Rolf lent me enough money to continue the trip to Munich. After
some more hearty food and another night of wonderful rest, I went
on by train to Munich.
There at last, I was, a free man, no longer an escapee on the run,
outside the railway station in Munich, in a bustling city, absolutely
free. The air tasted wonderful.
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Chapter Thirteen
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter thirteen
Still Looking
After that, politely, I was asked by Uncle Franz to come along, and
was ushered into his car. When he drove off from his home, I didn’t
have the slightest idea of where we were going. But, soon I discovered
I was being delivered to the nearest refugee camp. Just in time, before
we had a chance to get inside, did I realize what was happening and
asked uncle Franz to stop, and he did. I thanked him for his help and
guidance, and then I stepped out of the car. No, no more camps for
me. I'd find my own way, alone. This, too, was agreeable to uncle
Franz. Right there he wished me luck and drove away.
With a heavy heart, I trotted down to the nearest railway station
again, got myself a ticket to Frankfurt am Main, and took the next
train there.
The next morning I arrived in Frankfurt and went straight to my
local relatives’ house. It was my great-uncle Bruno Peuckert’s home.
He was about 60 years old, the youngest brother of my paternal
grandmother, an old pal of my grandfather's who had followed him
to Dresden to work in the bakery and became a proficient baker
himself. Later on, Bruno had served in the Army in the 1914-18 war,
and after that, he didn't return to Dresden. Instead he had stayed in
Frankfurt where he became a policeman. (More about this colorful,
true human in the appendix, see page ) For many years Bruno was
the "lucky bachelor," living it up until in the late twenties when he
married Aunt Maria, who was more than 20 years younger. They
had two daughters, Lioba, who was then about 19 years old, and
Ulla, maybe 17.
I had never seen this great-uncle and aunt before. I just knew they
existed, and their address had been given to me by my relatives in
East Germany. This time around, I pleaded with them not to throw
me out or turn me over to the refugee camp as my other relatives
had done in Munich.
Temporary Connect
I didn't have any presents to bring and offer them, but a smile and
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good wishes from the impoverished folks back home in East Germany.
Great-Uncle and Aunt took me in with open arms. As it turned out, I
had a certain family resemblance to great-uncle Bruno, and, appar-
ently because of this, he was proud to finally have someone from his
own side of the family show up where, for many years, he had been
living only with the relatives from his wife's side of the family.
Great-Uncle Bruno had been a strong anti-National Socialist. He
never joined the Nazi Party, and he didn't get along very well with
my father, who had joined the National Socialist Party early on. Each
tried to present a totally different political outlook. Great-uncle Bruno
had worked his way up in the police force; and after the downfall of
the Third Reich, few police officers were left who could be used and
trusted. The Americans sought Captain Bruno's help and appointed
him Chief of Police in Frankfurt South.
Because the Peuckert daughters spoke fluent English, they were
both working for the Americans. So, they brought home rare luxu-
ries such as butter, meat and eggs. Here, I found an oasis where I
certainly would have liked to settle.
Immediately Aunt Maria sensed what I was up to, and she pointed
out that the housing restrictions made it impossible for her to ac-
commodate me for much longer than a few nights. Otherwise, the
authorities would find out and think there was still enough room for
one more person to move in and live with her in her already crowded
household. She was right about the law.
I assured her that I was staying with them only temporarily. I
did not want to go back to the east; that I would find a place of my
own where I could work and live. She knew, too, that this wouldn't
be so easy. But why not let me try it? And that's really all I wanted
— a chance.
The Prospects
The very next day I went to my Great-Uncle Bruno's office in the
police building where he proudly introduced me to his colleagues.
He put me in touch with all the experts I wanted to talk to. These
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Connected, Finally
Finally, having been connected to what I thought was a wonder-
ful job, I thanked Aunt Maria and Great-Uncle Bruno many times.
Now his department was entitled to issue a permanent living permit
to me. Great-Uncle was proud, too, for he knew that members from
his family would succeed.
Then I moved out from my Great-Uncle Bruno and Auntie
Maria’s place to the Niddawiesen first. Later on I was transferred to
Sandhoefer Wiesen, where I stayed for two long and active years. My
salary was DM 45.—(US$ equivalent $11.25 at the time) a week.
The compound had about 30 barracks, the smallest of which
was the infirmary and the first aid station. A room in there became
my "home." It was next to a railroad track where rattling and horn
blowing trains rushed by day and night, right at the foot of a large
metal span across the Main river. The racket these trains made the
second they entered the bridge is indescribable. Operations and
conversations in the infirmary stopped every time this happened.
But in time, this became part of life and nobody really noticed or
objected to any more.
The camp population increased by the day as more and more
building workers were brought in. Food was provided and was excel-
lent, for the times. And in order to supplement my income, I took on
extra duties, such as pest control for the camp. Extra income from
that source: DM 5 per month (US $1.25 equivalent). I received a
room in one of the barracks for gassing all blankets and mattresses
once every six months. I laid out rat poison and hung up posters to
help fight the pests.
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Happiness is a Job
I knew no one at the camp when I first got there and most of the
workers were much older. Many of them were quite rough; they were
from different backgrounds and different parts of the country with
different interests. The person who did take some interest in me as
a person was my boss, Dr. Peifer, the compound doctor.
I always looked forward to the opportunity of having a challeng-
ing conversation with him, about politics, geography, the people,
philosophy. From time to time he brought along magazines and books
which he had just finished reading at home. Among them were such
pieces of literature like "The German Doctors Journal," the alumni
paper of the Berlin medical school (where Dr. Peifer had studied),
Thoreau's "Walden" and other foreign authors, which Dr. Peifer
thought would be good reading.
Clothes were far too expensive for me to buy. But the company
provided us with old U.S. Army uniforms which had been dyed pitch
black and apparently were worn by prisoners of war before, and
now by the laborers everywhere. Cleaning was done in a compound
laundry at no cost to the people living there. I had two sets of such
black uniforms. One set was always in the laundry. Whether it was
always my own set which came back, I was never quite sure. There
were no labels or marks, just holes and patches, some of them stitched
on by me in a very crude manner.
The after-work camp activities of most camp dwellers were, in
the sequence of frequency of their indulgence; beer drinking, fights,
bringing in women, playing cards, an occasional game of soccer. No
need to elaborate, I surely had no time nor inclination to take part
in any of these planned or unplanned activities. Getting ahead was
forever on my mind. So, I made myself useful wherever I could. And
as the work settled into a routine and the volume of sick patients in-
creased with the growth of the camp, a daytime nurse was brought
in to help.
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Education is Bliss
After a while I was in a position to renegotiate my position. I was
allowed to start work at 5 p.m. and be on duty till 8 a.m. This left all
the daytime patients to two nurses. Only at night did I take care of all
first aid and ambulatory requirements, when after normal working
hours a good part of the workers came in for treatment. Naturally,
sleeping on the premises meant being there to respond to any emer-
gencies at night, too. And there were some regularly. This meant I
was paid for the night also, whether I was attending to emergencies
or whether it was quiet and I was able to sleep through the night.
This way, I was able to go back to school again, because I wanted
to go on with my education. I went back and finished my required
school program. At the same time, I went to an interpreter school in
Frankfurt and attended typing and shorthand classes. Except for the
money I sent back home to Dresden, I spent it all on my education. I
couldn't gobble up knowledge fast enough; I really enjoyed learning,
and I still do to this day.
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would pay for all of this. Any effort put in the wrong direction was
a waste. Waste was the last thing, I knew, I could afford. Therefore,
again, back I came to making a choice. One of the most important
choices was made by Cupid.
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Chapter Fourteen
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life. Her parents eventually paid for a private tutor to take her beyond
the scope of an ordinary office stenographer. Every day at home with
a stopwatch in hand, Margarete would dictate text to her daughter
to write in shorthand, increasing the reading speed more and more.
The outcome: While 90 to 110 words a minute is considered a good
speed for the office variety of stenographer, Hildegard eventually
achieved a record breaking 240 words a minute and above, with no
problem at all.
This, of course, was way before the time of dictating and recording
machines. It was the realm of select press stenographers. Hildegard
already at an early age was a well recognized stenographic cham-
pion. As a result, she landed an apprenticeship with Allianz AG,
Germany’s largest insurance company. After learning all the facets
of insurance and bookkeeping, Hildegard graduated with her skills
in high demand.
Some of the preceding took place during World War II, which
didn’t allow Hildegard’s growing up to be a smooth ride from an only-
child’s attention into a young professional. Frankfurt was bombed
often, and as dictated by his job, Hildegard’s father was away fre-
quently. There was little to eat, and many times mother and daughter
had to fend for themselves.
War Complications
Most bombing attacks took place during the night. And it was
during one of those nights that the neighborhood where Hildegard
and her parents lived was hit. Buildings collapsed and fires started
all over the area and eventually burning out of control. Hildegard’s
father was away. The two women fled to the shelter in the building’s
basement. But after the bombs hit and the building started coming
apart, everyone who was able to, got out of the shelter into the blis-
tering fire storm out in the open.
Desperately, people tried to salvage the little they had left of their
belongings. Others took with them as much as they could before the
flames engulfed the rest. After tying handkerchiefs over their noses
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New Perspectives
Well, Hildegard’s
parents were certain-
ly taken by surprise,
particularly her
mother. She would
much rather have
had her daughter
stay around the
house while they
were still in the pro-
cess of settling in. But
Hildegard convinced
her that the time to
get a professional life
was here. Ever so re-
luctantly, Margarete
and Christian agreed
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter fourteen
that, maybe, this was a good idea after all. The job appeared solid
with lots of future promise.
Although Hildegard’s own career had just begun, it was agreed
that she would continue to live at home with her parents. Her job
would take Hildegard to Bonn working in the German Bundestag
(General Assembly) for the Hessian delegation and others involved
with soliciting federal funds for the Frankfurter Aufbau AG and
Frankfurt’s reconstruction in general.
She’d be hobnobbing with key political and economic prime
movers and shakers of the time, often transcribing meetings that
went far into the night, and at the same time having the transcripts
ready for everyone early the next morning. Hildegard was Heinrich
Schütz’s right hand person, and in the process, she became a very
much appreciated executive in her own right while facilitating FAAG’s
business.
It was during this time that the two of us met. Hildegard’s own
account discloses the when, where, and how in the next chapter. The
rest, as they say, is history.
Family Data
Hildegard’s father died of a heart attack at age 68. He died the
way he lived, a strong individual pursuing his own course. Christian
had been brought to the hospital with an ongoing heart attack and
was put under an oxygen tent to help him with his breathing. The
oxygen helped him recover, at least somewhat, and he felt better.
But then came the time he needed to go to the bathroom. He was
not supposed to get out of bed or out from under the oxygen tent.
Instead, they wanted to give him the necessary implements so that he
could relieve himself while continuing to rest. But Christian wouldn’t
have any part of it. He got out of bed and walked to the bathroom all
by himself. In the process he suffered another massive heart attack
which took his life.
Hildegard’s mother survived her husband by 5 years. She died
peacefully at age 72 of natural causes. What had been a full life just
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Exemplary Woman
To give one more example of Hildegard’s willpower and determi-
nation, the following episode is from her teenage years. Every year
Hildegard went for her annual physical examination to a doctor who
attended to her parents all through their married life; a true family
physician of the type hardly imaginable any more nowadays. During
peace times, Hildegard’s parents were both rather stocky, although
Margarete had been a shapely beauty during her youth, who was
sought-after to model for sculptors.
As Hildegard was blossoming into a young woman, she became
concerned with the direction her weight was going. So, during one of
those annual physical exams, she mentioned this to the family doctor.
He understood her concern, because he knew her parents.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Your mother is heavy. Your father is
heavy. And as a result, you’ll be heavy, too. You can’t change hered-
ity. That’s how it is, and that’s the way it’s going to be. So, you better
get used to the idea of being heavy. Relax and enjoy it.”
Well, Hildegard didn’t say anything to the doctor to his face, but
internally she said to herself, “No, I’m not going to become as rotund
as my parents. No way!” She vowed.
And no way it was, and has been all her life. Self discipline and
determination, the right diet and proper exercise have kept Hildegard
in top shape, both physically and mentally fit throughout her life. She
is still going strong now, and often she is viewed as a woman decades
younger than her real calendar age.
She was and still is the kind of woman many women would want
to be, and most men would like to marry. Hildegard has too many
attractive features to list them here. Only one for the closing: “My
husband and I are ideally compatible.” She says. “I like to cook, and
he likes to eat.” - Yes, she cooks extremely well, and by what she feeds
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Chapter Fifteen
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way across the room, bracing the quizzical looks of the dignitaries,
asking me for a dance. I accepted.
First Impressions
We didn’t talk much, and I noticed he didn’t have much practice
as a dancer, but he was polite and didn’t ask personal questions. He
may have found out from the personnel manager who I was. I never
asked him. As the evening wore on, the Board of Directors indulged
in plenty of wine and didn’t miss Ellen and me at their table. Some
of the younger employees decided to go to one of the numerous wine
cellars in that little resort town. Win was part of the group, and when
they asked Ellen and me to come along, we gladly did.
These small Bohemian wine cellars are cosy and informal, just
what we were looking for. Muenster am Stein, the name of the resort
town, is home to a famous white wine “Zeller Schwarze Katz” (Zeller
Black Cat). We drank it, and for years after that on the anniversary of
our meeting, we bought a bottle. It isn’t available in all the places we
have lived, so the habit got dropped. But we still have empty “Zeller
Schwarze Katz” bottles around the house for decoration.
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Mother’s Perceptions
But all of that wouldn’t impress my mother and she talked plenty
about it to my father. Time went on with no improvement of the cli-
mate in sight on that subject. It was my job at home to polish all the
shoes once a week. Eventually, it happened. One fine Sunday morn-
ing my father sat casually next to me on a little footstool and said:
“What is it with this young man I’m hearing so much about?” I told
him that we wanted to get married. My father listened and then he
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replied: “Your parents are not here forever. If you think he is right
for you, we don’t want to be the ones who say he is not.”
From then on, my mother never again said anything negative.
Actually, she and Win became the best of friends. He was welcome
at Sunday dinners, and when he got sick in his cold quarters, she
even brought him home to us and nursed him back to health. My
job took me out of town at the time and when I returned, there was
one doctor coming to the house for my father who was hit by the
same epidemic, and another one for Win. The way I found out that
Win must be sick is when his daily morning phone calls to the office
had stopped. I alerted my mother, because I had to go away, and she
took over from there.
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Chapter Sixteen
Performance Audit
It was mostly on Sundays in the beginning that I went to my attic
and plotted the course of my future life. What was I going to do?
After some time of pondering I decided, with my basic education
already completed, I ought to pursue higher education. I wanted
something practical, and yet intellectually demanding. It needed to
be in a field where I could use my head for true personal satisfaction,
yet, enable me to earn a decent living.
For some time, I had held three full time jobs. Every single work-
ing day I started promptly at 5.30 am. I distributed newspapers
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Ongoing Education
For my continued education, I found the Academy of Worldtrade.
At that time it operated out of the Frankfurt University, and offered
evening courses. I considered this to be a prime opportunity for me
to acquire the knowledge necessary for an international trade oc-
cupation, something I thought would have a great future. The two
year course at the Academy would give me a good basic training that
could help me to make a living at any time. Also, during this time, it
served me well to widen my horizon beyond Germany.
While living in Frankfurt, I tried hard to find as many sources of
knowledge as possible. To satisfy my thirst for knowledge, I visited
the libraries and gobbled up books of all kinds. Reading widely also
provided me with a change of pace from the otherwise rigid routine of
learning and preparing myself for examinations. And to me, a change
quite often served to be as good as a rest or sometimes better.
In the process of tapping my local libraries, I came across the
"America House," a newly established center stuffed with many
American books principally dedicated to making Germans better
acquainted with America. Becoming a member of the America House
library was free of charge. The treasure trove stocked there was more
than fascinating. According to one of the America House librarians I
befriended, I consumed books like a hungry lion after a kill, or drank
like a camel at a desert oasis. Well, why not?
America Calling
Once I discovered this intellectual oasis, I became a frequent visi-
tor at the America House and took out many of their books. It was
the very first time that a new and fascinating international world had
opened before me. In this new world I saw not only Germany, but also
the rest of the world through other people’s eyes. I was fascinated by
the freedom and liberty with which those authors wrote. I fell in love
with Jack London and his style. I enjoyed Melville and read many of
the American and English literature classics.
I immediately fell in love with America, long before I saw her or
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Idealistic vs Practical
In thinking of my choice for the future, I thought that I liked
thinking abstractly and following through with a thought very much,
that I liked putting these thoughts on paper, to a workable solution.
And since beauty of form had always fascinated me, I thought that,
perhaps, writing could become a means for me to earn my living in
the long run and would give me the satisfaction of creating a piece
of art at the same time.
Therefore, during this time, my life’s career choice centered
around becoming a writer. Jack London was my main example.
But, I would go about it in a different way from what he did. I fig-
ured, I'd prepare my way, maybe by starting as an apprentice with
a newspaper.
So, I prepared myself for the time I would be finished with my
studies at the Academy of Worldtrade. I approached several news-
papers and magazines, telling them of my ambition and asking them
for a part time job, even if I wouldn't be paid. I told them, I wanted
to learn.
Nobody gave me a job, but some gave me assignments, even paid
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ones. For instance, I filled in for a movie critic several times. A great
job, seeing movies free, then writing about them and still getting
paid for the pleasure. But that was a very sporadic activity, and on
top of it, required schedule reshuffling in my otherwise tightly orga-
nized daily endeavors, which could mean valuable time or income
sacrifices elsewhere.
Independently, I submitted some of the stories I had written to
different publications, but nobody was interested. Actually, no paper,
magazine, or publisher of any sort was willing to accept any of my
writings, nor to employ me, not even without pay. They were polite in
their rejections or sometimes held out very distant hope, which was
just another polite way of saying “no” or “not now.” I concluded in
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter sixteen
my mind that they really had no use for such an idealist and didn’t
know how to fit him into their old fashioned, steeply hierarchical,
organizations. I could have had my paper route back at the Frank-
furter Rundschau, I was told there, and maybe later on I could work
my way up through the distribution department into the editorial
department. But I found this approach very unprosaic for a young
man who had the art of writing in mind.
Other Influences
One Sunday in the summer of 1950, I went out with Hildegard.
She listened patiently to my reciting of poetry, and we'd discuss art
and the theatre. We had a pleasant afternoon walking in the Taunus
mountains. Toward evening we came to the park of the castle at Bad
Homburg. And there we sat on a wood-and-metal bench discuss-
ing our situation. We loved each other, we knew by now, and we
thought of marrying some day. The discussion came to the point
where Hildegard wanted to know what I planned to do with my
life in the future. Up until then I was merely a student, with a small
income. She, as a top executive assistant, made much more money
than I did. If we were to get married, where was the money going
to come from?
I explained to Hildegard that it was my ambition to be a writer,
that so far, no one had accepted any of my writings,— some of which
she had typed for me — and that everybody in the business had turned
me down. But I still had hope.
Well, Hildegard had a great deal of confidence in me, but she
brought me right back and focused directly on the situation at hand.
She pointed out that writing may not be the most profitable business
in the world, that poets and writers were notoriously out of funds,
and that it may be wiser to stick to a more concrete foundation if we
were to stick to each other.
Walking a Dream
The Sunday after I sat again in my attic, trying to come up with
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Waking up
After I had filled a number of pages, suddenly I felt I needed a
breather in order to help me gather my thoughts. I went downstairs
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter sixteen
and took a short walk all by myself. It was summer, the flowers were
out, fruits had ripened; it was humid, “sinful” air. I thought and felt
as though my life was just around the corner. Ahead of me. Now, all
I had to do was to be successful and write this tremendous story.
And as I walked, a strange thought crossed my mind: Nonsense!
Why write such a silly story which anybody can write? “Paper is pa-
tient,” as the saying goes; it tolerates anything recorded on it. Horatio
Alger had written this type of story late in the last century and people
were laughing about them today. It just wasn't believable.
And, after all, if it was that easy, why wasn't I a millionaire?
Why would I, one of a zillion of "have-nothings” be qualified to pass
advice to the rest of the world? Why should anybody buy my story,
if it were merely a story? That type of make-believe hero was long
dead. No, this wouldn't work at all. So I decided and set out to make
it believable. In fact, it decided itself in my head without my con-
sciously making any contribution to this process. I had to follow my
own advice on how to become a millionaire.
It was that simple. If, in my youthful exuberance, I sincerely
thought that I had the key for turning a no-good refugee youngster
with holes in his shoes into a millionaire, then go ahead and try to
live that romantic story yourself! Do away with the wishful thinking!
Instead, do it yourself! Never mind writing a book about it. Nobody
will be interested in my fiction, anyway. And once you are a million-
aire, you couldn't care less about whether the book was ever written
or not.
Well this new revelation shocked me into a very wakeful state. But,
of course, this was only logical in action. It was, after all, the logic of
it I admired in my favorite philosophers. What good are mere words
without proof and action?
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Book One Merci Mon Ami chapter seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
Opportunity Calling
“Chance,” said Louis Pasteur, “favors the mind that is prepared.”
And here I was, preparing myself all the time. But where was the
chance?
I don’t know which was the greater and more important chance
that did come along, eventually. The Personnel Department of the
U.S. High Command in Germany (HICOG) was in charge of all local
employees. After several months at the Joint Export Import Agency,
HICOG had advanced me to the position of executive assistant to the
U.S. Treasury Department, stationed at the American Consulate in
Frankfurt/Main. This in itself was a career move which gave me great
opportunities for further professional development. I was very happy
there, working directly under the Treasury Representative, Horace
A. Browne, who took me under his wings professionally as well as
personally. Horace A. Browne and his lovely wife, Kay, who was an
outstanding piano player, in more ways than one assumed the role
of substitute parents for me. They truly cared for me not only as an
employee, but as a human being, as if I were their son. Unfortunately,
they never had the pleasure of having their own children. They will
be close to my heart forever.
During the winter of 1950/1951, however, a very special chance
came one day when I was called over to the Personnel Manager at
HICOG’s office, Wolfgang Spohn. The U.S. State Department, I
was told, was conducting tests in Frankfurt right now to find suit-
able interpreters. Mr. Spohn had talked with my mentor, Horace A.
Browne, the U.S. Treasury Representative, and asked him whether
he’d let me take a series of tests which might result in my being sent
to the U.S.A. My boss told him point blank he didn’t want to lose me,
however, thought this would be an opportunity of a lifetime not to be
missed. At the same time, he put Spohn under the gun, requesting to
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Going for it
The new prospects came just at the time when Hildegard and I
were preparing for our wedding. Not everybody approved of us mar-
rying. Some people, whose ideas and opinions we didn’t care about
anyway, thought that the contrasts of that newly arrived Easterner
and a well established Westerner were just too sharp. Even bets were
solicited by overanxious "friends" with regard to how long the two
of us were going to last as a couple. Most of them highly doubted
whether or not we were going to make it at all.
Despite the opposition and doubt, we were married on May 20,
1951. Eternal thanks to Horace A. Browne, U.S. Treasury Represen-
tative to Germany. He was my boss at the time, and Kay, his charm-
ing wife, meticulously arranged and financed our entire wedding
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reception. It was a big event, and we couldn't have had a much more
pleasant wedding ceremony if we had been millionaires. Mr. Browne
was careful to point out that I should invite all my friends, professors,
and industrial contacts, to establish good personal ties for the future.
So, I did. The guest list numbered seventy-two people.
We had rented a furnished room at 36 Metzlerstrasse in Frank-
furt to be used as our honeymoon suite on our wedding day. It was
going to be our home for the foreseeable future. In comparison to
most people who were looking for living quarters, we considered
ourselves most fortunate and were well off there. Our room was in
a house with central heating and hot water. It was a sublease in the
apartment of an old aristocrat widow with her 40 year old spinster
daughter, who essentially served as her mother’s maid. Our rental
agreement allowed us the use of the bathroom with
a shower and a bathtub, which at that time
were both unheard-of luxuries. We also had
the use of a telephone in the hall, another
marvel unavailable to the vast majority of the
German population.
When we got home that wedding night,
the room was filled to capacity with our wed-
ding presents, confetti and colorful decora-
tions. Exhausted, Hildegard sat down on
what she thought was a chair; it turned
out to be a large china vase, friend Norbert
Christoph's wedding present. It went crush-
ing down into tiny pieces without ever having
been unpacked. Recalling an old superstition,
we consoled each other, “broken china brings you luck.”
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the time, and Hildegard stayed behind in Germany. She did, however,
take time off to do the trip to Italy, which we had planned for our
honeymoon, by herself. At every stop along the way she wrote to me
as I wrote to her from wherever I happened to be.
In Washington, D.C., I wasn't put to work right away. Instead,
training for interpreters started. I received some of my best lan-
guage training right there in the "temporary buildings" of the State
Department, long since removed, at the Potomac. I'd sweat in the
simultaneous translation box for hours, translating recent speeches
of Harry Truman, Vichinsky, or others. Then I'd study the practice
of consecutive translation — which was really nothing less than an
exercise in memorization.
Settling in
As a member of the U.S. State Department interpreter section, I
met many interesting characters. To my surprise, I learned that more
than half of the State Department interpreters during that time were
Russian born. No doubt about it, the Russians are great linguists.
One of my interpreter colleagues was Dr. Erich Haberhanns from
Vienna, Austria. He was there under the same program as I, but he
had arrived in Washington only two months earlier.
For me as a greenhorn, Erich knew all the ropes around Wash-
ington. I rented a room next to his in a residential house on K Street.
We regularly had breakfast together (Rice Crispies and milk) at a
nearby diner on Connecticut Avenue near Dupont Circle. We'd re-
flect on our present and past lives. America was so much different
from Europe. Already the weather was different from what we were
used to. In Washington it was hotter, more humid, and rainfalls more
violent. The whole atmosphere and the people were more prone to ex-
tremes. Advertising expounded the advantages of the largest, longest,
shortest, cheapest, finest. There seemed to be nothing in between.
Americans rushed from their exhaustive work to their exhaustive
recreation; drove on super-crowded highways with radios blaring and
conversations going. "Take it all in" in the short span of time we were
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and very hot. Our flight reservations were made from Washington
on a little known airline with 16 stops between Miami and Denver.
Some of the stops were at airports not much larger than a schoolyard
or football field. It was an old two-engine DC-3, and that run was
dubbed by the locals as the "milkman.”
My group consisted of two professors involved in agricultural
research and an agricultural trade association official. It was their
first visit to America. They spoke no English. They probably didn't
ride in an airplane too often before this visit to America. Each was
equipped with cameras and light meters, hanging over their shoul-
ders or being carried in separate bags with extra lenses, filters, and
other photographic paraphernalia. At that time, for sure, Europeans
coming to America could easily be overloaded with things like that.
Since the plane flew low, there was plenty to see. The professors would
look out to the left and right, call each other to come over to take a
picture here, then rush to the other side to take another one there,
change filters, lenses, do the whole thing over again. And there, the
next object coming up…
Then we landed in Little Rock, Arkansas, again on what looked
like a landing strip in the middle of meadows. Only the right en-
gine was shut off to let passengers disembark and let the new ones
board. Then a voice came over the intercom: "Passenger Straube is
requested to come to the terminal." What was that? Why? In Little
Rock? I went outside. "Make it snappy" said the stewardess, for the
flight was already behind schedule, and the right propeller had just
started turning again.
There were three civilians waiting on the lawn. One of them
asked me:
“Are you the gentleman who presented four tickets in Miami for
this flight in the name of ‘Mr. Straube and a party of three’?”
“Yes, sir. Why?”
The man pulled a badge and the second one an identification
card. I studied the card. It said, this was an FBI agent.
“Could you identify yourself,” said the agent, and I produced my
State Department ID.
“Who are the people with you?,” he wanted to know.
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Everybody Relax
In the meantime, to show that it was time to go, the pilot revved
both engines from time to time. During the first such exercise, my
agriculturists were panic stricken because they didn't know what was
happening. Their only link to understanding the surrounding strange
world had left the plane, and now the engines were being revved up.
Apparently this was for the plane to take off again. All three rushed
out of their seats, out of the airplane and onto the grass below, as if
two tons of flying ants had been released inside. If the interpreter was
going to be left out of the trip, then they were not willing to continue
alone. What was this all about, anyway? But no one understood why
they were so disturbed. Well, foreigners!
It was after I returned and boarded the plane with them again,
off we went, on our way to Denver.
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Barriers to Overcome
Despite the love in my heart for America, the rest of it didn’t come
so easily. After my four months assignment, I returned to Germany.
I soon realized I didn't have anybody in the U.S.A. who was willing
to foster my immigration process. During that time, too, stringent
rules existed with regard to who was eligible to seek immigration
status to the United States.
I had written Hildegard many letters while in the States, describ-
ing all the many opportunities that existed. After my return, I was
able to tell her more about it. She, too, was eager and ready to come
along. As a consequence, Hildegard went to a language school to
improve her English.
But how would we get over there from Germany? Even if we
could scrape the money together, we'd still have to find some good
American who would be willing to guarantee that we wouldn't become
delinquents or be without a job and thus become a public charge.
Both Hildegard and I had some relatives in the United States. We
wrote to them, but their responses took very long. And, when they
finally came, they were polite, but negative, or evasive, at best. No-
body knew us well enough to be prepared to vouch for us. No one
was going to take a chance on us.
Lacking an American sponsor, we took matters into our own
hands. We went ahead and applied at the American Consulate in
Frankfurt for immigration to the United States. We were given ques-
tionnaires with long lists of questions, ranging from factual to the
imaginary, searching our past, our pockets, our minds, everything.
It included the following questions, just as samples:
• Can you, if you are over sixteen, read and understand some
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language or dialect?
• Are you now or have you ever been
(a) an anarchist?
(b) an advocate of opposition to all organized government?
(c) an advocate of Communism?
• Are you going to the United States to engage in an immoral
sexual act, in prostitution, or other unlawful commercialized
vice?
• Are you a pauper, professional beggar or vagrant?
• Are you a polygamist, do you practice polygamy, or do you
advocate the practice of polygamy?
The waiting list was very long and since the U.S. immigration
worked on the basis of annual quotas, the quota for Germany had
been filled for the next five years. We had to wait.
Finding a Connection
There was another important matter I had to take care of anyway:
Through night school and via long distance learning, I was allowed
to finish my last semester at the Academy of Worldtrade and take the
final examinations, graduating July 4, 1952.
In the meantime, however, we had to keep on working. After re-
turning from my American assignment I had temporarily been turned
over to the German Foreign Service in Bonn as an interpreter for
the cabinet of Konrad Adenauer, the German Chancellor. Hildegard
continued with her job in Frankfurt, and weekends she either came
to Bonn, or I traveled to Frankfurt.
In my efforts to find a permanent job outside the government,
I wrote to practically every newspaper ad that looked promising,
looked up friends, and did whatever I possibly could to find a job.
Lotti Fröhlich held my old position with the U.S. Treasury Repre-
sentative in Frankfurt. She was doing a great job. There was no way
for me going back there, although the personal relationship with Mr.
and Mrs. Browne continued. Both my ideal of a substitute father,
Horace A. Browne, and I, thought that by now I'd be worth a better
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Landing in Canada
As history went, it didn't take too many years, and the German
export trade was getting back on its feet, particularly to North Amer-
ica. Now, I thought, the time had come to make the jump. And let's
use the connections I have. The Canadian International Trade Fair
was coming up in 1953, and our Toronto office was to hire a man
for a total of forty days, starting about three weeks before the fair,
and letting him go again one week after closing. This was to help the
Toronto staff handle the heavy load at the fair where our company
had a booth.
I went to Dr. Schaller and asked him to give me the chance to
take this forty day job. With the German export trade getting back
in full swing, the company would be turned over into a Chamber of
Commerce soon, anyway. I had ambitions of getting ahead in business
rather than becoming an official. Would he give me that job and then
let me out? I'd pay the fare to Toronto for my wife and myself.
Dr. Schaller didn't want to see me go, but he was understanding.
He wrote to Dr. Herbert Graf, the Toronto office manager, but Dr.
Graf didn't like the idea at all. He said that he had selected another
man already, and it sounded like he felt he was to get a head office spy
put into his organization, which he didn't like. I had never met Dr.
Graf before, nor did he know me. The more Dr. Schaller described
my advantages, the more Dr. Graf objected to the idea.
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So, finally, it took Dr. Dehne to put matters straight. He just ad-
vised Dr. Graf that he was going to get me. Period.
That settled that and gave me a basis for applying for and get-
ting the Canadian immigration visa, for in Canada immigration was
restricted to farm labor and wood choppers. Canadian authorities
felt they had enough of the intellectual type around. All they needed
was cheap labor. A friend of mine, a lawyer who posed as farm labor
to obtain the visa, was asked by the immigration official how a cow
got up from its resting position, whether it got up with the hind or
front legs first. He picked the front legs, which was the right guess,
and passed the test.
I had no difficulty getting the visa, for I had a job waiting for me.
For how long, nobody needed to know.
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Chapter Eighteen
Ontario, Canada
On Our Own
Toronto was teaming with immigrants in 1953. They came from
all corners of Europe. Even twenty years later it appeared to me as
if everyone in Canada had an accent of some sort or another. At
that time many didn't speak English or French at all. But all came
to work, with little illusions. With them they brought a cosmopolitan
influence that would sweep away the old stodgy colonist town and
change it into a modern, worldly metropolis.
Hildegard and I rented a little cottage on Center Island, a ferry
ride away from downtown, out on Lake Ontario. In the meantime,
professionally, Hildegard had found a job as secretary in the Foreign
Department of the Canadian Imperial Bank. Now, I could start to
work on a more independent basis since not all of my income was
needed at home.
Where to start? Back to research: Which was a growth indus-
try of the future? Where did my experience and talents fit in best?
What were the chances of advancement? Was it merely going to be
a money making process or was I going to work on the resolution of
real problems? Was there a chance to be useful to society, to help in
advancing human knowledge?
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our separate duties. Hildegard was a housewife and mother now. I was
a salesman—and on the road. My territory stretched from Windsor,
Ontario to Quebec City, P.Q. On overnights out of town, as soon as
it got warmer again, I'd sleep in the car to save expenses. Our first
car was a 1949 Ford which we had acquired from the previous owner,
a proverbial old lady, for Can $850 cash.
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Chapter One
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alize that the head of the labor union can be just as much an Illionaire
as the super rich heir to a manufacturing empire. The big party boss
is likely to be just as much an Illionaire as my lawyer friend or Zsa.
Zsa Gabor's dentist. Actually, I know many people spending their
days in front of computer screens who are Illionaires, who don’t have
the worries of a well funded billionaire like Bill Gates, for instance.
Still, it's a very exclusive world, the Illionaire world. Typically, it
may be more of an expense account world, characteristically paid for
by the shareholders, or a political world, paid for by the comrades.
But it's a very real world, indeed, worth striving for. Now we know.
Therefore on with what actually happened:
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Canadian head office of the company! Mr. Kuhlmann was happy that
none of his business associates saw our Canadian operation, because
this was a far cry from his usual style at the parent company. On
the other hand, he was happy also because, for a while at least, this
operation was capable of being run on a shoestring budget.
For the company’s Canadian warehouse, I rented an old barn
for a whopping $45 per month. There was no heat in the winter.
However, the barn was in an ideal location, right smack at a major
highway intersection, and trucks could easily pull up to it from two
sides. The only major problem we experienced with this arrangement
was the fact that the merchandise had to be lifted onto the truck and
lowered. Otherwise, it worked quite well.
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do, really. We had to give the order back to TI, who promptly placed
it with one of our competitors at a cost of $101,000, and an on-time
delivery.
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market place.”
“Well,” Mr. Kuhlmann said, “we can go on talking here for a
long time, but as a matter of policy, I will not build or produce any
of my products in North America.”
“But, why not? ”
“I know that North America is a risky market, that it may take
too much of my capital to do what you have in mind, while the same
capital would be better used automating my present German op-
eration. Also,” he continued, “that American organization of ours,
which is mainly MY capital, may one day become bigger than the
parent company in Germany. It may then have to be turned into a
public company to finance it properly. THAT” Kuhlmann asserted,
“would mean that I may lose control, or suddenly have to jump to the
whip of others.” And after a pause, “I’d rather go slow, but operate
a completely family owned company.”
“So, how do you see me fitting into that picture? ” I asked.
“If you don’t like it” Kuhlmann shot back, “you can always invoke
the buy-sell agreement.”
That was the end of our conversation that day. Both of us had a
lot to think about before we could go on.
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But Mr. Kuhlmann didn't think of it that way at all. The buy-sell
agreement worked very much in his favor, as it always would work in
favor of the financially stronger party. “No, I wouldn't support any
such move of yours, simply because I’m afraid you might become my
competitor one day,” he said, “however, if you want to buy me out,
you’ll have to invoke the buy-sell agreement.”
Disgusted, I promptly hurried to Mr. Kellermann, the lawyer,
and Mr. Stone, the accountant, who were both Mr. Kuhlmann's
close advisers. I was trying to get them to persuade Mr. Kuhlmann
to adopt a much more conciliatory attitude. But for the moment their
efforts and mine had to wait since Mr. Kuhlmann and I needed to
attend several pre-arranged business meetings in Texas. Also, maybe
the enforced time travelling together was another opportunity for
Kuhlmann and me to resolve the impasse peacefully. Unfortunately,
that is not what happened. It was a strained travel companionship
at best. Kuhlmann refused even to come back to the subject of how
we’d be able to go on together.
Decision Time
So, back in Toronto, both Kellermann and Stone didn't want to see
the well developing organization dismantled. We met in the lawyer’s
offices on the fifth floor next to the Simpson-Sears Department store
downtown. Starting at 8 a.m. on September 15, 1962, they huddled
with Mr. Kuhlmann in Mr. Kellermann's office while I waited outside.
From all that had gone on these past few days, including an action
packed trip from Toronto to Dallas and Houston and back, I finally
fell asleep out there in the chair.
Then they called me in. Now they'd like to have my answer. It
took them until 6 p.m. that day to arrive at their final decision. As I
came to learn much later, all that time they had vehemently argued
as they tried to find a solution whereby I could take over the company
and Kuhlmann would be properly protected. However, within the
last half hour they concluded that it was much better to buy me out
rather than the other way around. So, if I was prepared to invoke
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Chapter Two
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On a New Mission
On January 16, 1963,
I got up at 5 a.m., kissed
Hildegard and the children
good bye, caught the 7.45
a.m. American Airlines
Astrojet flight to New York
City. There I went right af-
ter business. I knew a com-
pany in Long Branch, New
J e r s e y, w h i c h
was building
optical plotting
and layout ma-
chines. They
had problems
with the plot-
ting and print-
ing surface,
and I thought I
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had the answer. For them I was able to develop a plastic surface to
be used on the plotting table which would allow sharp impressions,
be stable, and yet remain resilient. My good friends at Kaykor had a
$250,000 machine which, if properly set up, could laminate a certain
arrangement of vinyl sheets which would do the trick. So I hurried
out to Electronics Associates Inc., and spent the day with them. The
problem was solved and an order prepared for Straube Industries.
After 5 p.m. I took the bus back into New York City. I stopped
long enough to pick up my luggage from a locker in the East Side
Airlines Terminal. Then I took a bus out to North Bergen, New Jersey.
There Hildegard had a cousin, Emily, who was married to a printer.
That pleasant couple had no children and lived in a fine house. At
our last visit and many times before they had assured us that they'd
help us any time they could. If I ever was going to be in New York,
I should just drop in and I could stay with them. Now was the time,
for I wanted to save money and certainly avoid unnecessary hotel
expenses.
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Manhattan Base
The next morning I was back in New York at 7.30 a.m., looking
for a hotel. I checked into the Hotel Taft for $8.00 a day, and decided
to use this as my temporary headquarters.
Then, day after day, I worked on my prospects and tried to drum
up business for Straube ideas and products. After hours on the first
night, I marked all the hotels which took in permanent guests in the
Yellow Pages of the New York telephone book. Then I started calling
them all, one by one, asking for rates and other details. This reduced
the number to 32 hotels. These I finally narrowed down to five.
In the following nights I visited the hotels and finally decided on
the Hotel Schuyler at 57 West 45th Street where it cost me $35 per
week and I had my own room with a bath. The location was right
in the center of New York, and the hotel telephone worked as my
switchboard. I moved out of the Taft into the Schuyler 30 minutes
after I made the new rental arrangements.
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in the machine with a sentence somewhat like this: Now is the time
to come to the aid of Betty Conover... Call EM9. 3841.
I took the paper out and put my stationery in. Then, after look-
ing around to see whether anybody would notice, I started my first
piece of U.S. business correspondence. Some snowflakes settled on
the paper while I typed, but the typewriter worked beautifully.
I came back several nights for the same exercise. One night I
replaced the ribbon after having prepared myself for a long piece of
correspondence in the morning by purchasing the new ribbon. But
a few days later, I invested in an electric portable Smith. Corona
typewriter which I took to my room at the Schuyler, which served
my purpose well from then on.
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did he know what was proper and acceptable? Oh no, I told him. I
had checked out these answering services, and certainly there were
many of the type he was describing. But I also found that many large
and some national companies were listed with a telephone answer-
ing service in New York if they didn't have their own office there. A
proper answering service was an entirely legitimate institution, ful-
filling a need. There were people and firms who quite naturally and
by necessity had to use such services. There is nothing pretentious or
wrong with it. It is just good business for them to do so. And for me,
too. I wasn't going to pretend to anybody that I owned a skyscraper
at 663 Fifth Avenue, but they could leave messages there for me and
I would be able to meet them there in the conference room — for as
long as I didn't have my own office in the vicinity.
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Chapter Three
Building up Resources
More important than money are credit and the creation of value.
By making better ideas work, one creates value. Real credit can only
be built up over time, and only by knowing the right people. How
do you get to know these people? By introduction. From whom? By
those people you know. And if you don't know any? By introducing
yourself.
We moved into our house near Princeton on July 1, 1963. From
my banker in Oakville, Ontario, I carried a letter of introduction
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Bankable Ideas
Our Paramount product business started developing. Competitors
of K & E came to me and we supplied them with similar materials
for their own purposes. The Canadian company was moving ahead
with full steam. It was time for us to start in the promotion of our
engineering office program in the U.S. For this purpose I brought
Earle Lee to New York, who now, just like me a little time before him,
moved into Hotel Schuyler, and worked out of 663 Fifth Avenue.
Actually, we rented a desk and a separate telephone line for Earle at
663 Fifth Avenue. Up in Ontario, Gunter Wirth had been hired and
took over the production.
One of the first deals Earle got himself into in New York was a big
flop—a $6,000 loss. Of course it didn't look like that from the start.
Actually it looked like a fine beginning when Earle got the order until
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Ready, Set, Go
Then the
scramble started.
The Canadian plant
ran practically day
and night. Some of
the parts we flew
in from Europe di-
rectly to New York.
The total assembly
took place right in
Parsons. Jurden's
premises during
the last five days and nights of the six weeks. Earle and one of our
Canadian men from the service department worked 122 hours in 6
days.
There was our first impressive Straube equipment installation
in the U.S.A., larger than any of ours anywhere else. Now, even our
competitors started to take notice. Now, it was merely going to be a
question of time until we would be well established in the U.S.A. We
were on our way. Soon it would be time to have our own production
facilities in the U.S. For the time being we established a warehouse
in Somerset, New Jersey.
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When I left, a little later, Ben was waiting outside. He asked one
question: "What is your age"? "Well," was my answer, and I swallowed,
not to say "none of your business". Instead, I continued with a smile,
“your father is going to get a Dun & Bradstreet credit report on me;
you can easily find out from that.”
I was thirty five years old at the time, Ben probably about the same
age. He hadn't completed any formal education, but left school early.
He had married and went out selling insurance. Now he had joined
his father in the position as sales manager for Emmert. He knew
little of the engineering equipment business, even less of how to run
a business profitably. I guess that’s why he was asking the question.
Well, it took another year. Ben quit his father's business and
went back into insurance. I finally was able to buy 100% of the stock
of Emmert Manufacturing Company from various shareholders,
of which Mr. Sollenberger was the largest. The company had lost
heavily during the last three years, and Emmert's credit at the bank
and elsewhere had ceased to exist. Under the circumstances, I got a
bargain. Mr. Sollenberger got a good penny and also saved his pride,
for his alternative would have been bankruptcy.
Fast Forward
We took over January 1, 1966. But what do you do with a bank-
rupt company? Turn it around ! This is easier said than done. It took
some time to accomplish, exactly one year, and a hard battle it was.
Good men were lost in the process, others were demoted and new
ones advanced. As of January 1, 1967, Emmert as a separate name
was given up and the company absorbed in the growing Straube
organization.
The Straube engineering business kept growing feverishly in the
late 1960s. Not only in mechanical engineering products, which in-
cluded a new push button lock technology that eventually was adopted
by many industries for locking luggage and doors, but particularly
in electrical engineering. Thus the product line expanded to include
the manufacture of microfilm equipment since microfilm was the
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Reinventing Oneself
I had obtained my law degree from LaSalle Extension University
five years earlier, in 1964, specializing in patent law. Now came the
time to capitalize on my learning and experience obtained to date.
I set myself up as an international consultant, providing hi. tech
marketing and licensing help to major corporations, particularly in
computer peripherals and microfilm applications. Two of the compa-
nies I worked for were Dexion and Digital Data Systems Corporation
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Chapter Four
Close Relations
Why is a person the way he/she is? Could it be that genes as well
as inclinations were passed down from earlier generations? Just to see
what family influences might have contributed in shaping my world,
please meet some of my more (or less) splendid relatives.
The description of my paternal grandfather and grandmother
comes mostly from Dr. Helmut Straube’s family chronicle minimally
supplemented with my own recollections. However, about my grand-
mother’s youngest brother, most of the information comes from me
based upon my long and deep personal relationship I enjoyed with
Uncle Bruno.
became infected with typhus and he had to stay home with his parents
for three months. As was customary then, thereafter he went for his
journeyman’s years of travel to Dresden, Jüterbog, Berlin, Potsdam,
Magdeburg, and Kalbe/Saale.
In 1888, Gumal Christian Peuckert, the bakery master and owner
of a popular bakery in Rüsseina, died. Apparently this is what brought
the 20 year old Richard Straube to Rüsseina to work at that particular
bakery. That’s probably when Richard saw Gumal Peuckert’s oldest
daughter, Louise. She was 15 years old then, and 13 years later, she
become his wife and eventually my grandmother.
Settling in Dresden
Allegedly due to his being extremely flatfooted, Richard needed to
serve only 10 weeks of military service. At that time military service
was mandatory for all young males in Germany.
Later on, again, he worked in Dresden, serving several bakeries.
During this time he worked and studied hard, and passed his master
baker examination. After his master certification, he leased the bak-
ery “Dressel,” in Dresden. Cotta, Auf der Schanze, and operated it
together with his youngest sister, Hedwig, then in her late teens or
early twenties.
When almost 33 years old, Richard married his Louise, who im-
mediately stepped into the job his sister had been performing, freeing
Hedwig to get married to Max Paul, another baker.
About 1910, Richard bought the property at Klopstockstrasse 29
in Dresden. Cotta. It had been constructed as a rental apartment
building with a bakery on the ground floor and basement. From then
on, he worked as an independent bakery master and owner, jointly
with his wife, until 1929.
Destination Retirement
After several years of persuasion by my grandmother, my
grandfather turned over the bakery to master baker Petzold on a
lease starting in 1929. (That’s the year I was born). Mr. and Mrs.
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Personal Characteristics
According to Helmut, his father was about 175 cm (approx. 5 ft
9 inches) tall, solidly built, without an ounce of fat. He exuded raw
strength and vibrant health. Except for the typhus referred to before,
he never suffered from any serious illnesses.
He had a sunny and good-natured disposition, and was a fiercely
tolerant and caring family man. He was easily approachable emotion-
ally and could get easily excited, particularly when family members
appeared to be exposed to any danger. Parts of his character were:
diligence, as shown in the many pieces of confectionery he turned
out
endurance, as demonstrated daily by starting work from the wee
hours in the morning and not letting up until late at night when ev-
eryone else had completed their jobs
ambition, by expanding his market and getting involved with buy-
ing and developing realty
courage and decisiveness, by being able to make far reaching
prompt decisions, often also for others
Personally he was conscientious, reliable and modest, maybe
somewhat too thrifty. Although his general education came from a
very narrow base, he was mentally very active and many dimensional.
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In his earlier years he was politically sympathetic to the left and later
on endorsed the centrist ideas. (My Uncle Bruno, who apprenticed
under my grandfather, much, much later confirmed the same to me
independently, or even as a sort of complaint, saying that my grand-
father used to read a rather left leaning newspaper when he started
in his business, but ended up reading a conservative, centrist daily
for most of his life.)
Richard was a true master in his bakery business, and yet, he
still found the time to attend auctions and buy properties he then
modernized and operated.
Considering where
he was coming from,
becoming a bakery
master entirely on his
own was a consider-
able achievement. A
greater entrepreneur-
ial accomplishment
yet was his becom-
ing totally indepen-
dent and acquiring
Klopstockstrasse 29,
which had a book val-
ue of 100,000 Marks,
an enormous amount
of money for that time,
starting from his own rather weak financial means, dealing with
considerable risks.
In spite of the difficult times, he was able to keep going and even
improve and widen his economic base. This didn’t come without
setbacks and wrong choices he made. For example, he sold the two
best ones of his 5 apartment buildings during the time of the German
inflation and, as a result, he ended up with lots of worthless paper
money. Nevertheless, the retirement of Richard and Louise Straube
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were secured by the income from the remaining properties and from
the lease of the bakery.
Recollections
I remember Grandpa Straube mainly from the references other
relatives and people who had known him made, particularly, also, be-
cause I was often pointed out as being his reincarnation. I was not quite
6 years old when he died and I do have a few personal recollections.
One of them I clearly remember is the day Grandpa was buried. It
seemed like the entire community had turned out at Guerickestrasse
34. It was a cold day. Snow lay on the ground, but not everywhere.
The house inside and the walkway were draped in black and everyone
wore black. Everybody was sad, lots of tears were shed. My grand-
mother wore a black veil and cried all the way to the cemetery. Four
black horses came with a black ornate hearse, on which the coffin
was loaded. Then everyone followed, slowly, to the cemetery for the
final good-bye. His casket was lowered, and, as it turned out, the
start of the Straube family grave site was made.
Another memory that sticks vividly in my mind is: My father’s
parents and our family lived in the same house, just different apart-
ments. Doors were rarely locked, unless you went away for a long
time. I must have been maybe four or five years old then. One day I
walked into my grandparents’ apartment early in the morning and
found that they were still in their bedroom, probably sleeping. Curi-
ous, as little kids are, and not taking no for an answer, I knew I had
to knock at the door, and I did. My grandmother came to the door
in her white nighties and opened it just a bit, essentially to send me
away. But the fleeting glimpse inside sufficed to stay with me for the
rest of my life. Grandfather was still sleeping, but under the conju-
gal bed were two decorated porcelain chamber pots, something I
had never seen before. I went back to my mother and asked what
they were. Whereupon I learned what chamber pots were, how they
worked, and why my grandparents used them, because they came
from a background where water toilets didn’t exist.
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Grandmother Louise
Marie Louise was the first of a total of eight children born to
Gumal and Emma Peuckert in Rüsseina, Saxony, on September 3,
1873. Grandma died April 21, 1953 in Dresden.
At the tender age of 15, Marie Louise lost her father, the baker
Gumal Peuckert described earlier, and her mother when Louise was
only 19 years old. Yet there were seven younger children. No doubt
the early death of their parents created disadvantages for the children.
Together with her 7 or 8 year younger sister Emma Hedwig, Louise was
placed with relatives in Schneeberg in the Ore Mountains. Under gen-
tle, or not so gentle, pressure by the relatives, Louise, at 19. 3/4 years
of age, there became the wife of butcher master Eisenreich. According
to uncle Helmut’s chronicle, his mother described her first husband as
“abnormal.” The marriage lasted only a few years and grandmother
obtained, what was most unusual then, a divorce. In 1896, at age 23,
she ended up as a maid to a Frau Methe in Dresden.
The Connection
Somehow, Grandfather must have stayed in touch with Louise
throughout her travails. After considerable hesitation, she eventu-
ally responded to his courtship and was married to Richard Straube
in February 1901 in Rüsseina, her home town. She brought 4,000
Marks into the marriage. As mentioned earlier, Grandma immedi-
ately stepped in to manage the household previously run by Grandpa’s
sister Hedwig, as well as took over running the store of the bakery full
time, first “Auf der Schanze” and from about 1910 on Klopstockstrasse
29. She gave birth to three healthy sons, my father being the first
born in 1902, and Uncle Helmut the last in 1913.
Uncle Helmut makes the same reservations in his chronicle
regarding his mother which he made about his father. Although
his mother lived considerably longer than his father, from 1933 on
Helmut’s connection to his mother was limited to occasional visits
and unessential correspondence due to his absence for academic
studies, the World War II and the postwar years.
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Her Characteristics
Louise was slender, good looking, friendly in her relationships
with others and also somewhat reserved. She ran the bakery store
by herself. She also did the cooking for about seven to eight persons
(parents, 3 children, 1 journeyman, 1–2 maids). These tasks took
up all her time so that little was left to attend to the education of
her children. She was sensitive and thoroughly familiar with good
social manners, which she had observed when working as maid for
Frau Methe. However, what was missing was the additional energy,
and maybe also strictness, to apply to her children. There was no
thought of helping with or supervising their homework, for instance.
Also, in religious, cultural or political regard, both parents exerted
no influence on their children. The business, their basis to exist, was
always priority #1. Social intercourse was minimal, entertainment
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Expectations Realized?
As she grew older, and the family richer, it became harder and
harder for Louise to keep up with her tasks. And as a result, she
regularly worked on her husband to lease the bakery out and retire.
Originally, Richard didn’t want any part of that, for the bakery and the
real estate were his life. But seeing his wife suffer, yet trying to please
her, he eventually agreed. That’s when they moved to their suburban
property in bucolic surroundings, acres and acres of rose fields to the
east, ringed in by a rich orchard of Eden to the north and west.
It was that orchard which, a little more than a decade later, helped
the family avoid starvation during the final phase of the Holocaust
and through the post war years. Since then the entire environment has
changed. The rose fields have long gone, replaced by ugly factories
built during the times of the Communist regime. Most of what used
to be a manicured orchard that produced bumper crops of apples,
pears, plums and cherries was turned into rows of single unit garages.
What progress!? And death of what used to be.
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Rebel in Practice
After his mandatory service in
the army Bruno briefly returned to
Grandpa’s bakery. When he turned
21, Bruno received the cash payment
of his part of father Gumal’s inheri-
tance, who had died 18 years earlier.
Bruno promptly quit his job and left
to go on a pleasure and spending
spree. Eventually waking up one morning in a brothel in Amster-
dam, Holland, with all the money gone, Bruno decided to make it
to France to join the French Foreign Legion.
But he never got there, because he was intercepted by his oldest
sister, my grandmother Louise. It was the winter of 1906/07, two years
after the birth of her second son, Werner, born January 28, 1905.
Somehow, word about Bruno’s whereabouts and exploits along the
way had travelled back to my grandfather’s bakery in Dresden. The
family council decided to try and catch up with the runaway before
he was going to be lost forever. My grandmother was chosen for the
task because she had filled the parents’ role before for Bruno when
he was a little boy, lacking a mother and father.
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Military Training
In the meantime, he had a long way to go to build a career. Dur-
ing World War I, Bruno was drafted and served in the front lines at
the eastern front. He was discharged at war’s end as a sergeant.
After the war, Bruno did not return to my grandfather’s bakery,
he took a job with the police in Frankfurt/Main. That employment
lasted until his retirement in the early 1950s. Some time between 1920
and 1925 Bruno married a lady by the name of Martha, who nobody
from the family ever met. They had one daughter, who, also, nobody
ever met except Uncle Bruno’s second wife, Maria. She told me about
that once-in-a-lifetime meeting from which Maria excluded herself
when a young woman once came to the house to see her husband and
introduced herself as his daughter. A surprised Uncle Bruno and his
daughter from the first marriage met, talked, and he gave her money.
Then she departed and was never seen or heard from ever again,
although it was understood that Uncle Bruno was in touch with her
regularly. His first wife had died of tuberculosis.
Building a Nest
On March 31, 1928, Uncle Bruno married for the second time.
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This time around he married Maria, the mother of his two daugh-
ters, Lioba, born February 1, 1927 (13 months earlier), and Ulla,
born November 27, 1929. Bruno had met Maria at the home of Frau
Reifschneider, who was his landlady in Frankfurt. Frau Reifschneider
was a young widow with kids in their early twenties. Maria was her
youngest daughter, born April 14, 1904 , still living with her. Early
on in the rental arrangement, tenant and landlady shared more than
the premises, and it looked like they were going to marry. But to
the surprise of the mother, her daughter Maria got pregnant from
the tenant, and eventually Bruno ended up marrying the daughter.
Needless to say, that was the end of the rental arrangement. Bruno
moved into the Gutleutkaserne (police barracks), and once they were
married, was joined there by Maria and little Lioba.
Oma Reifschneider, as I remember her, a wonderful woman,
and her daughter avoided each other and didn’t talk for 10 years.
But eventually the older Reifschneider accepted the cards fate had
dealt her. She forgave her daughter and her daughter’s husband. The
family came together again and Oma did her part in bringing up her
daughter’s children. She was a beacon of strength through the war
years and after. Oma would come one day a week to the Peuckert
residence to do the cooking and take care of the daughters, to give
the parents opportunity for other pursuits. She’d walk all the way
from Schwanheim where she was living to Frankfurt/Main South,
picking flowers along the way, which she’d then put in a vase upon
arrival at their home.
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she met at their house. Both moved to the U.S., became Americans and
had their own families, Lioba with two children, and Ulla with four.
Bruno Peuckert, the spendthrift turned Chief of Police and wise
family counsel, died of cancer in Frankfurt on September 14, 1955,
a few days before his 70th birthday. The pomp and display of grief
expressed at his burial was comparable to that of the death of my
grandfather in Dresden. The Frankfurt Police Department was out
in great force as organizers and participants, in addition to family
members from near and far. Bruno is buried in the Sachsenhausen
cemetery overlooking the city he loved so much, in so many ways.
Maria survived her husband about half a century and lived very
well off the pension Bruno had left behind.
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been good for many years before that so that my mother, as the eldest
and being female, was an essential support of the family, plus had to
look after bringing up her younger siblings. Her dad had practically
an around-the-clock job. So she, as the eldest, carried out many of
her mother’s jobs. That’s also a reason why she didn’t get married
until after the death of her mother and the younger siblings were
well on their way in their own careers.
My mother was a career woman before she got married and had
children. She went back full time serving as a nurse after she lost
her husband, and after her children eventually were all in their own
careers. In between she went through most wrenching times and ex-
periences, never losing her faith or cool, hanging on and digging out
tenaciously, always comforting others and doing the best she possibly
could, day after day, until her very last day in 1975.
During WW II and thereafter, when everything went to pieces,
not only did my mother have to fend for herself with four under age
children, but by default she also had to run my grandmother’s affairs,
who was slowly deteriorating, until she died in 1953. This meant
looking after the apartment houses in Dresden as long as they were
not confiscated by the East German Communist regime, and after
they were, to make sure the gardens were tended. Mother, contrary
to everyone around her, never gave up on the thought that justice
would be dealt, eventually, and the apartment buildings would come
back into family ownership. Little did she know that this really was
going to happen, if only almost a quarter century after her death. At
the time, nobody there dared even dream such a dream. Yet mother
continued maintaining property records and dealt with property is-
sues, going after the government owners to make repairs in order to
prevent the buildings dying from neglect.
A Change in Scenery
Mothers do so much for their children, it is hard, if not impos-
sible, to pay them back. Mother worked with the utmost commitment,
cheerfully, in many roles, all through her life. She always worked for
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a better day ahead. She knew it was coming, if not for her, for sure
for her children. She never had the opportunity for a vacation. The
Soviet and East German authorities even did not allow my mother
to travel to then West Germany to take part in Hildegard and my
wedding in 1951. However, ten years later, they did consent to let her
visit us while preventing everyone under 60 years old and capable
of working to leave. Actually, their policy had changed. They would
not have minded if mother didn’t return, for it meant one less mouth
to feed from their meager national resources. At age 61 she was con-
sidered a burden rather than an asset to the regime.
By then we were living in Canada and had two little children of
our own. I arranged for and took care of all details for this very spe-
cial trip. Mother travelled as a passenger on a freighter which was
going back and forth between Hamburg, Germany and Quebec City,
Quebec. I picked her up in Quebec and took her back to the same
ship at departure time 6 months later. Mother lived with us from July
3 to December 2, 1961 in Oakville, Ontario, outside Toronto.
She enjoyed this very much, for this was an unimaginable break
in her life in Communist East Germany. For the first time ever, at age
61, mother travelled outside her country. She was pampered as one of
the few passengers on the steamer, with plenty and wholesome food
of the kind they didn’t know existed any more in East Germany. With
us she enjoyed the children, the summer and the fall. When back in
Dresden, mother wrote that the time with us had added 10 years to
her life. I hope it did. She deserved a lot more than that. But I am
happy to know that the Canadian experience remained with her for
the rest of her life, a treasure she was able to draw from during the
rest of her years in the drab Communist environment.
Committed to Serve
Why did she go back to East Germany? Because that’s where her
roots were, where her contributions made a difference to the remain-
ing families’ lives who had no choice but to exist on the other side of
the then “iron curtain.” She would have loved to stay with us, but
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she felt that her role was to put in her last ounce in helping the less
fortunate family members to come along. Plus she wouldn’t have to
learn a new language for doing so. Obviously, everyone in the East
was anxiously waiting to get her back. Bouncing with yet more energy,
she did return and bring her Western experiences to share. Although
she didn’t live to see the Berlin wall come down, she is the only per-
son I know of who knew already then, in her heart, that it eventually
would. And the observations and thoughts she brought back into the
Eastern totalitarian world did, no doubt, help in hastening the day
of its demise and the beginning of new and better times.
If all mothers were like my mother, there’d be no misery in this
world. I wish I could be as good, resourceful, productive and inspir-
ing a person as she was.
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Chapter Five
ever needed it overseas. Paul was going to take care of the European
market, and Floyd of Asia. Paul set up shop in Frankfurt, Germany,
and Floyd stayed in Tokyo.
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Riding a Wave
On the heels of its licensing efforts, Pegasus became a substan-
tial high-tech exporter from the U.S. Over time, however, the world
economy improved, and this became a two-way street. New technolo-
gies emerged, particularly in countries like Germany, France and
Japan, which were found in demand in the U.S. Pegasus, with their
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own offices in those and other major countries, was there to take care
of the details and make the arrangements.
No wonder Pegasus was doing extremely well. The principals
were running themselves ragged in keeping up with the mushrooming
demand for their services, not to mention the company’s continuously
increasing financial requirements. The boom of conglomerates was
taking off in the early 1960s, and one of them, ASPRO Inc., eventually
made an offer to the Pegasus owners which was too sweet to resist.
In 1961, Pegasus International sold itself to ASPRO and became one
of its many divisions. ASPRO comprised a hodge-podge of unrelated
companies, one of which made automotive pulleys for the major
car manufacturers; yet another made steel lockers for the industrial
market; several were in different electronic fields. And now there was
Pegasus as an added profit center.
Paul Weil, Floyd Stephenson and Andy Wolff must have driven a
good bargain. In addition to substantial chunks of ASPRO stock, they
ended up with well paid executive positions, including guaranteed
life-time employment contracts. In the process, Floyd Stephenson in
Tokyo became the largest shareholder of ASPRO, with close to 3%
of its outstanding stock. From then on the conglomerate manage-
ment had a direct line to Stephenson and consulted him frequently
on corporate decisions.
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During the 1960s and early 1970s this worked extremely well.
The companies ASPRO acquired became much more valuable the
minute they were acquired, for now they were part of a powerful
conglomerate whose shares traded in the stock market. ASPRO’s
share value went up and up.
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Driving Ahead
ASPRO’s assignment to me: Analyze what Pegasus is doing,
whether it is competitively up to par, and what, if anything, could
be done to improve its performance. Phase Two: initiate the neces-
sary steps after approval by corporate management.
I accepted the assignment. I did my homework and met all the
players, some of whom were very reluctant to let me in on anything,
particularly Andy Wolff. That’s also when I found out, from Paul Weil
the founding Pegasus President, that Andy had voiced many objec-
tions to my getting the assignment in the first place. The reasons he
had advanced were that I didn’t “have that big American smile” and
that I wouldn’t be a “bullshitter.” Andy was convinced that it takes
a lot of BS with Pegasus’ clients to clinch any deals. Andy, of course,
didn’t realize that’s precisely why Harlan Smith and Paul Weil had
brought me aboard. Both of them obviously thought otherwise.
Even with Andy’s lack of cooperation, we still managed to work
things out. I presented my report to the corporate management team
on time. It outlined what was wrong, what was fine, and how specific
items could be improved. The ASPRO executives liked what they
saw, and Harlan Smith asked me whether I’d be willing to put in
a year to implement my recommendations. The remuneration was
attractive. I accepted.
On Tuesday, January 2, 1973, I started as “General Manager” at
Pegasus International Corporation headquarters on the 15th floor
of 625 Madison Ave., New York City.
Andy wasn’t there much. When he did come in, he was polite and
we got along fine. For the rest of our hardworking staff, every subse-
quent day became easier and easier working together and melding
into a forward pulling team. I visited Pegasus’ foreign offices and met
with each one of the overseas employees and collaborators, pulling
together the organization into a sharper focus on growth-oriented
performance. I went to see many of Pegasus’ established customers,
listening to their ideas and fears. The end result was rapidly improving
profit generation, exactly the picture which ASPRO wanted to see.
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Now or Never
Harlan put the
cards on the table.
Pegasus International
was for sale. The Di-
rectors had figured
out the amount they
needed to get for it, in
cash, no bargaining.
Before they went out
into the stock market
to announce their
decision, they wanted to give me the chance to buy the company, a
mere courtesy rather than a realistic expectation on their part. I’d
have until Friday, maybe Monday to come up with the money. But by
Friday, two days from then, I’d have to have proof to consummate the
transaction. Otherwise, Pegasus would be on the selling block down
at Wall Street, and it would go one way or the other. ASPRO’s Annual
Shareholders Meeting was scheduled for the following Tuesday. The
resolution had to be ready for the public by then.
For me, this meant that here was a major milestone to realizing
some of my life’s goals, almost a life-altering experience. Yeah! I know,
I was not supposed to show any emotions, rather remain calm and
collected, just all business. And I did, never mind how much I felt
that my feet were being pressed to the grinding stone.
It was the Wednesday just before Thanksgiving Day that year. In
other words, Thursday was a holiday. Friday, November 23, we were
to meet again at 2.30 p.m. in Paul Weil’s office, and if I intended to
go ahead with acquiring Pegasus International, it was the time to
do it.
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Late, still that Wednesday night, I went out for roast beef dinner
with Hildegard at the Nassau Inn in Princeton and a family strategy
session. Thursday, Thanksgiving Day, I counted my blessings, plus
prepared for a quick action on Friday morning. I was running on
pure adrenaline.
Two days is not a very long time to come up with a major cash
payment and its financing, particularly when one of the two days
was a holiday. A time when bankers as well as the general public
have shrinking confidence in anything coming out of conglomerates.
Yet, in our case, I was able to reach back to some of the assets I had
accumulated over the years during my earlier career, plus, I was to
initiate several credit lines with banks and suppliers first thing on
Friday morning. These actions were not based on the conglomerate
experience, but on my own previous business record.
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1973 would be the basis for the final numbers. December 1, 1973, I
could start operating the company as my own, although technically
the transfer date would be December 31, 1973. This was in order to
give the lawyers and accountants sufficient time to produce reams
of documentation required by the parties concerned as well as the
various levels of government.
Pegasus International, born as a New York corporation on No-
vember 28, 1951, had now acquired its third owner, almost to the
day, 22 years later.
A Twist in Perspective
One ironic footnote: As part of the deal, I acquired ASPRO’s ob-
ligation to provide lifetime employment for Andy Wolff, its General
Manager at the time they had acquired Pegasus. I, thus, inherited
the issue which had brought ASPRO to look for an alternative to
Andrew Wolff in 1972, and how I had entered the picture. Now Andy
was on MY payroll, doing close to nothing. In order to resolve that
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headache, I sat down with Andy and we worked out a buy-out deal,
which meant another substantial payment due on top of the Pegasus
acquisition cost. But it was better paying the price and parting ways
than having Andy sit around, giving his “American smile” and “BS-
ing" the rest of the world.
Although a difficult issue to resolve, both Andy and I were of good
will and sufficiently smooth to strike that bargain so that we each
could go on with our lives without being contractually bound to each
other. “It was nice knowing you! ” And as far as I know, Andy has
been living happily ever after, minding his own business.
When I broke the news to Floyd Stephenson on the phone to To-
kyo, he answered: “I am a soldier at heart. And always remember,
Win,” he said, “you can always count on me in whatever we might
encounter.”
He continued: “I’ll always give you my true thinking at all times,
and, by the way, if you don’t like it, I’ll still follow your commands,
nevertheless, as a true soldier, clicking my heels saluting ‘Yes Sir!’
and do the very best I can possibly do for you and the company.”
I had an excellent rapport with Floyd Stephenson until the day
he died. And, true to his word, he was a great pillar of support to me
in our Asian operations.
The rest of our employees, however, feared dealing with him,
particularly since he wouldn’t respond to anyone else but me.
Moneymaking Machine
How precisely Pegasus International made its money by licens-
ing American technology abroad is dealt with in a separate chapter,
following this one, for those who are interested.
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Chapter Six
Moneymaking Machine
Author’s Note:
According to long time Wall Street observers, the
greatest fortunes in this world were not made by the
biggest risk takers, but by extremely cautious and calm
investors. So, where do these investors find such invest-
ments? As everyone knows, in the real estate world, the
three most profitable words for investing are “location,
location, location.” In the field of High-Tech, however,
which was our home ground, the key to building wealth
is “licensing, licensing, licensing.”
Many may not have been aware of this when Pegasus
International started its business in 1951. By now, that
procedure ought to be common knowledge, though.
Pegasus was riding this wave from its very beginning
and refined its performance as it went along. Readers
interested in how such licensing works, read on, although
the subject may be rather technical. Whoever prefers to
simply follow the action of the characters in this book
instead, skip the “Moneymaking Machine.” The witness
account continues “On the Other Side of Checkpoint
Charlie” with the entry into Communist Eastern Europe
at the peak of the Cold War.
WS
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Book Two Illionnaire Handbook chapter six
June 26, 1973, under the heading “How to Obtain Higher Financial
Rewards from International Technology Transfer.”
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Worthwhile
Benefits
Technol-
ogy transfer in the
form of licensing
a product or pro-
cess to others is
by itself a form of
maximizing profits
based on an exist-
ing know-how. For
instance, if all your
production capac-
ity is used up, or if
you don’t want to
invest in markets
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you are not ready for, or unable to cover properly by your own ef-
forts, technology transfer through licensing does two things:
First, it makes somebody else in those international markets work
with you instead of against you, and it may keep others from trying
to copy or overcome your technological advantage — at least tem-
porarily. In other words: It helps you maintain your international
competitive position.
And second, it gives you additional revenue for which you don’t
have to expend material or production labor.
I will disregard the obvious rewards of technology transfer here,
such as being competitive or deriving a normal licensing income. I
am dealing here strictly with the PLUS in profits which can be ob-
tained. Anybody can give some technology away or obtain it, and
profit somehow by doing so. My concern, and the concern of my
colleagues at Pegasus is: How much MORE can we obtain?
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Book Two Illionnaire Handbook chapter six
ing a glass jar filled with a fluid to be sprayed). The device is very
simple. It combines the compressed gas principle of the aerosol with
an ordinary atomizer. There are three parts:
(1) the can holding the propellant gas closed off by a valve
(2) the glass or plastic reservoir container, which holds the mate-
rial to be sprayed
(3) the bridge, which links the two together.
Only the last, No. 3, is patented—a novel design of expansion
chambers results in an increase of efficiency in the amount of gas
being used to propel the material being sprayed — an increase of
about 35%.
From a pricing point of view, the separate components cost:
(1) 65 Cents for the propellant container
(2) 10 Cents for the jar with cap
(3) 15 Cents for the plastic bridge
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Book Two Illionnaire Handbook chapter six
only 15 Cents royalty to the price of the bridge, making its cost for
export sale 30 Cents each.
We were careful to point out in our negotiations with prospective
licensees and customers that the royalty was calculated on the cost
of not the bridge alone, but rather the cost of all the components
used throughout the expected life of the bridge. At 15 Cents royalty,
this meant that the actual royalty percentage was 3.85%, which is
generally considered an equitable percentage — although, in fact,
this means a 100% royalty being paid on the items our client is sup-
plying.
In the larger sense, thus, we established this pricing policy with
the long term view that licensing the production of these units was
inevitable, and we wanted to have our logic straight from the start
to justify this figure.
Practical Application
License negotiations did, in fact, occur, with the result that a li-
censee was set up in one major industrial country with rights to sell
there and in a few selected areas elsewhere. There was no objection
to the 15 Cents royalty rate, because of what we had done in the
market first, which was to establish an export price based on the use
of all components which was still competitive.
We now had a source outside the U.S. for the unpatented com-
ponents of the unit, namely the refills and jars — as well, of course,
as the bridges. With a growing international market for this device,
we considered that one or more additional licensees might be re-
quired.
But, before going to this stage, we did another study to find out
what it would cost to have the refills and jars made in the interna-
tional market. It turned out that we could buy the refill fully pack-
aged for 40 Cents and the glass jars for 6 Cents each. Rather than
license someone else we went to our customers and told them that we
would shortly be able to supply them with refills and glass jars at the
prevailing U.S. factory price, but instead of their paying freight and
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import duty on products from the United States, the U.S. domestic
price would now apply, delivered duty paid to their factory. They,
of course, were delighted, and immediately held forth about tripling
and quadrupling sales in a few years.
We then, in association with our American principals, set up
a separate company to develop this international market. With a
nominal capitalization, this form contracted with manufacturers
to produce refills and jars and hold them in their warehouse until
instructed to make deliveries in accordance with orders received
by the joint venture company. Invoices were then rendered by that
joint company to the buyers at the prices previously agreed upon.
Eventually we arranged with the suppliers to accept orders directly
and invoice directly to the buyers, remitting to us only the price dif-
ferential.
Common Sense
The net result of all these individual steps was: Instead of receiving
a “normal” or “ordinary” royalty of 5% or 15 Cents or 3/4 Cent per
bridge, the American licensor is now receiving 15 Cents royalty per
bridge plus the markup on the refills and jars, which amount to a total
of 25 Cents for the former and 4 Cents for the latter, making a total
per set of 29 Cents. Going back to our original premise that five refills
and five jars are used with one bridge, his total profit now amounts
to $1.45 plus the 15 Cents from the bridge royalty, or $1.60.
Therefore, instead of 3/4 royalty income per piece through “ordi-
nary licensing,” our American clients are receiving $1.60 maximum
profit.
In this case, maximizing profits represents a 200 fold increase
in expected income through a combination of policies involving ex-
port sales, licensing, and joint or wholly owned subsidiary activities
in the international market. All three activities cannot be divorced
— one from the other — all these must be totally integrated. And,
most importantly, a master plan has to be established BEFORE any
commitments are made. Too often, isolated international activities
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Chapter Seven
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Desirable Visitor
Therefore, from their perspective, I now appeared as the kind
of individual who they would like to meet, because I was the guy
with access to American technology and know-how. At least diplo-
matically, the red carpet was rolled out. I was officially invited to the
Leipzig Trade Fair in 1973, and I accepted. Also, ASPRO felt that the
trip would be worthwhile, for they saw potential markets, as well as
sources for inexpensive Eastern European subcontract work which
possibly could be opened up. So far, ASPRO didn’t have anybody
familiar with that territory. The cold war would have to be over some
time, and here was a good opportunity to see what kind of business
could be had there. East Germany and Hungary were in the forefront
of Eastern European technical development, therefore good target
markets for us.
A lot of preparation from all sides went into the trip I was to make
for Pegasus International. It was to start in Leipzig, East Germany,
location of the oldest German International Trade Fair, to meet with
a long list of Eastern European companies which were going to have
exhibits and/or representatives there, as well as appropriate govern-
ment organizations. Thereafter I was to go on to Budapest, Hungary
to meet with Licencia, the Hungarian Company for the Commercial
Exploitation of Inventions, as well as with the equally state owned
Inter-cooperation Co. Ltd.
Since I was going to be in East Germany, word travelled fast to
my former boss, Dr. Walter Riedel, my relatives and friends. Com-
ing from a capitalist country, travel within East Germany would be
restricted for me. My visa only allowed me to come by train from
East Berlin to Leipzig and then depart Leipzig for Budepest by plane.
Even though, I made sure that Hildegard could come along and that
we’d have a few extra days there to hopefully meet my mother and
many others after such a long absence. All of them, of course, could
hardly wait to see us, for this was like the possibility of an embrace
through a briefly open window of the iron curtain. For Hildegard it
was the first time at all that she was going to be in East Germany.
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Communist Environment
The appearance of East Berlin was grey and unfriendly. Changing
from Western to Eastern sector was like a color movie that suddenly
changed into black-and-white. People walking along the streets kept
to themselves. There were no smiles on the faces, no flowers in the
windows, no signs of welcome for anyone by anybody.
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The taxi driver drove fast to get done with his assignment, the
quicker the better, and back out of these dismal surroundings. He
helped getting the heavy luggage out of the trunk on the sidewalk at
the railroad station, and off he went as fast as he could.
The East Berlin railroad station is underground. There were no
escalators nor elevators, only a long staircase. Getting the luggage
down between the two of us was going to be a job. So, Hildegard
stayed with the luggage while I went downstairs to get some help.
Welcome to Socialism!
Once in the station I couldn’t see a porter, near nor far. Instead,
people walking by gave me a look, like, oh, a Westerner, for already,
by the difference in clothing, Westerners were immediately recog-
nizeable, standing out against the drab clothing of the Easterners. I
went in the station master’s office and asked him where I could find
a porter. That thoroughly Communist station master just looked at
me, sneering, and said: In our workers’ state everyone carries his own
suitcase, and he walked away. So much to East Germany’s customer
service.
OK. So I started carrying one suitcase at a time down the long,
steep stairs, while Hildegard stayed at the top until everything was
below. It so happened that just then a class of older school children
came down the stairs, loud and laughing in stark contrast to the rest
of the surroundings. They saw what I was in the process of doing
and, although unasked, they stopped and voluntarily pitched in. They
helped me carry everything we had downstairs, and once they saw
the station master, they hurried on.
Hildegard and I made the train on time, and, at 5:24 p.m. local
time, it pulled out of the station.
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search me, but I didn’t have the key. When I came, the doors were
open. She, however, denied this. Yet after a verbal stand-off, she
eventually opened the doors for me and led me back to my seat. This
didn’t bode well.
The train stopped in Bad Schandau and I tried to go out to change
DDR money into Hungarian Dinars, for that’s what would be needed
at our destination. I had tried before to make such a money change
at both the visitors’ bureau in Leipzig as well as at the state operated
hotel in Dresden. However, both places only changed money one
way, from hard currency into DDR paper notes. Both had told me
that such a money change could be made at the border when I left
to another socialist country. So here was the border checkpoint, but
they wouldn’t even let me out of the train. And money changing? No
way! Who told you that! No, there is no place here to change DDR
money into anything else.
Both East German and Czechoslovakian border guards went
through the train to check our passports. Then the train moved on
into Czechoslovakia. Night fell, the apartments and the doors between
the cars were unlocked again, and I made another attempt at getting
something to eat. Having gone without lunch, Hildegard and I were
really hungry now. But again, the dining car was closed. I knocked
at the door and raised somebody, eventually spoke with the manager.
No, it was past dinner time now. No food was served since we left
Dresden and no food would be served until we approached Budapest.
Dinner time fell at border crossing time, therefore the dining car
never opened for dinner. Rules were rules, and there were stiff penal-
ties otherwise. OK then, could they sell us a sandwich, or anything,
to eat which I could take back to our car. No. Rules are rules… etc.
Under Communism, pleasing customers was not one of their objec-
tives, particularly not visitors from capitalist countries. Communist
market theory demanded that customers were to clamor the services
of and please the workers. Two economic theories facing each other:
A society built on scarcity vs the other on surplus and plenty.
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Meeting in Prague
So, this night we could add the rumbling of our stomachs to the
melody of the train rolling along on railroad track. But it was too
early for laying down. From 6:47 to 7:26 p.m. there was a stop-over
in Prague. You were allowed to leave the car during this top, but not
the platform. Heavily armed guards were everywhere. However, I
had arranged beforehand that I would meet on the platform with
Jerry Hart, another ASPRO associate, from the Detroit Automotive
Products Division of ASPRO in Warren, Michigan, who was on a
brief assignment in Prague drumming up business. Jerry did keep
the appointment and could come to the platform, although under the
close supervision of a Communist Czeck government official, prob-
ably also a secret police agent. I handed over to Jerry several tapes
of dictation which I had produced during my trip so far and which I
wanted to go directly to our office without having to pass any Com-
munist censors. Jerry’s government sidekick probably wrote a long
report that night to his superiors on what he observed. Jerry took my
mail along and safely out of the country one day later.
Holdup
Eventually we crawled into our bunks, Hildegard the lower one,
I the one above. To the hum-drum of the rolling stock we fell asleep,
at least sort of. The train went slow, stopping once in a while. I tried
to look outside, but it was pitch dark, nothing to see. So it went on
until again I woke up, or was awakened. The train was dark. It had
stopped, maybe was standing for quite a while already. Czech soldiers,
armed with rifles, apparently working their way from apartment to
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Interrogation
The soldiers motioned us to leave our luggage at the tracks, and
marched us to a small hut which I had not noticed before. It was a one
room, small shelter with an electric light inside. There was a potbel-
lied wood stove in the corner, the fire fiercely crackling inside. The
room appeared excessively hot in contrast to the chilly night outside.
A Czech officer sat behind a big desk. He was already waiting for us.
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The soldiers saluted him and turned us over, laying out our passports
on the desk. Then they left.
The officer motioned us to sit down on a wooden bench against the
wall, the only other seating in the narrow quarters. So we sat down.
Then he got on the phone, our passports before him, the shaded single
light straight above, and made call after call to I don’t know where.
He spoke in Czech, getting quite excited at times. Although we didn’t
understand much of the conversations, we definitely recognized the
repetitive mention and spelling of our names and birthplaces, other
entries in the passports, of which there were many, and that this was
the border checkpoint at Komarno.
After considerable time of this he finally was done with his tele-
phone calls. He turned and explained to us in Czech, which took me
many times to ask back again and again to make sure we understood,
that we had broken the law by entering and riding through Czecho-
slovakia without a Czech visa. To cure this problem his soldiers would
put us on a train in the opposite direction in the morning which
would take us to Bratislava where we could see the Czech consular
office to settle up.
In other words, having changed to the train turned out to be a
bad idea. Communist bureaucracies were not capable of dealing with
such unplanned movements. Worse, they immediately suspect that
such was done for a purpose, which must be contrary to the aims of
their social republic. In this case and at that time, also, any means of
extracting some more hard currency out of those darn capitalists was
certainly something they’d go for. The fact that the train was sealed
while riding through Czechoslovakia and we were not allowed off
the platform in Prague while it stopped there didn’t matter to them.
We should have taken the plane, and we’d never had to face a Czech
border guard, nor pay tribute for the right to cross their territory.
Detour
But now it was too late. Here we were, stuck in Nowhere, hungrier
than ever before. Our train had gone to Budapest and our business
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Excursion to Bratislava
Eventually, daylight came and a couple of hours later a passenger
train pulled up. It was almost entirely empty. The soldiers escorted us
across the field, along the track to where our luggage still rested, left
there from the Dresden-to-Budapest Express, now next to the train
heading in the opposite direction. They helped us onto the train,
helped with the suitcases, and told the conductor who we were and
where we were to go. Then the train took off.
Again, there was nothing to eat on that train. It didn’t have a din-
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ing car. Nor was there any way to get even water to drink. It was a
slow train, stopping at several places along the way, including Calovo
and Dunajska Steda, before it pulled into Bratislava just before noon.
Getting off the train, a railway employee helped me with the luggage.
I wanted to give him a tip but didn’t have any Czech currency, thus
gave him a couple of dollar bills. He looked at the paper like, what
am I going to do with these? The possession of foreign currency was
a crime in these socialist countries. But he put the bills in his pocket,
anyway.
We sat down with our luggage in the railroad station’s waiting
room. I tried to find a money exchange, ended up with the station
master, but no, there was no money exchange at the station. This
again meant that we couldn’t buy anything to eat, although by now it
was over 24 hours since we had had our last bite. Also, it meant that I
couldn’t take a taxi to go to the consular office in town, for taxis here
had to be paid in advance at the station. Actually, payment had to be
made at a counter. The taxi driver didn’t get any money.
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tion picked up after that, and after several go-arounds I was told to
just wait.
It took maybe half an hour. Then an official opened the door
and let me in. He looked like he had just been awakened and hur-
riedly dressed for the occasion. Grudgingly he let me in and led me
to an office. I explained what had happened and why I was there.
He wanted to see our passports, which I gave him. Then he got on
the phone, and again long conversations with apparently different
people, again spelling our names, birthplace, passport numbers and
so on. Eventually he got off the phone.
OK, he’d make an exception and he’d issue visas for Hildegard
and me to enter and pass through Czechoslovakia. The charge per
visa was US $75 a head, payable in cash, plus another US $75 per
person for doing this during a day when the consular office is closed,
plus a third US $75 for each as a fine for trying to cross Czechoslova-
kia without a valid visa — US $225 for each of us. But I didn’t have
US $450 in cash left in my purse.
Would he take the equivalent in East German currency? Of that
I had plenty left which I had been unable to convert back into hard
currency. But, no way. East Germany may be a socialist comrade for
Czechoslovakia, but in dealing with capitalists only hard currency
would do.
Would he take American Express travellers checks? Yes, he would.
OK. So I paid the fee, the extra fee, and the fine for both of us. He
got his stamps sorted and finally made these most important entries
into our passports.
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Then I asked him to get me a taxi, which he did. And voila, I was
able to get back to the railroad station in style.
Hildegard was still sitting there on our luggage, starving and won-
dering whether I’d ever return. I rushed over to a little kiosk which
sold bread rolls and other, if primitive, goodies, including mineral
water. Only then did Hildegard and I finally have something to eat.
Plus we kept some for the trip.
Finally Budapest
There were not too many choices for trains going to Hungary from
Bratislava. We were able to buy a ticket for one which left late that
evening. It didn’t go via Komarno but across the border at Sturovo
and would bring us into Budapest about the same time as the other
one was supposed to, except one day later.
This time there was no sleeper. When we came to the border dur-
ing the wee hours, the crossing into Hungary went smoothly. The
train did have a dining car which did open, but only shortly before
pulling into Budapest. They laughed at me for trying to pay with
East German currency, even for trying to pay with Czech currency
which I had just acquired. Only US dollars or West German Marks
would do.
One day late, over US $1,000 poorer, but richer for firsthand
experience with the Czech communist bureaucracy, we did make it
to Budapest. It felt like a big weight fell off our hearts. Hungary was
a different kettle of fish, welcome to “goulash communism.” But this
is another story for another time.
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Chapter Eight
The Director of
Pegasus Saipan Speaking
This chapter was writ-
ten by David M. Sablan in
Saipan, Northern Mariana
Islands, which is located in
the western part of the Pa-
cific Ocean. David served on
our Board of Directors from
the day Pegasus took out its
charter in Saipan. David
Mangarero Sablan was well
known throughout Micro-
nesia as one of its leading
entrepreneurs and business-
men who brought hotels,
airlines and many other
businesses to the islands.
He has been a visionary and
guiding light in building our
business there.
D a v i d ’s v i e w s h e d s
light on how we searched
for business opportunities
and, once found, dealt with
them before the competition
arrived.
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Reformulating Itself
Although Pegasus' franchise was more than 40 years old, in 1988
the new version in the form of its spinoff became again, in effect, a
start-up due to the divestiture. All export operations were thereby
consolidated under Pegasus International Corporation, and all other
enterprises were spun off as their own entities. As the functions of
the corporation changed, the duties of the personnel changed and
had to be redefined. Also, the company's compensation and benefits
structure had not been reviewed in quite some time. Therefore, the
board was charged with the responsibility of updating the compensa-
tion and benefits structure while at the same time keeping in mind
the company's day-to-day cash flow and marketplace uncertainty.
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This was one of the hardest issues to deal with for Michael, I recall,
since it was extremely difficult for him as a student to get data on
how other corporations are approaching these issues.
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United States and around the world. Yet, being ahead of the times,
like Pegasus was then and always had been, was the precondition
for making money on it.
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lites were not beamed in the direction of Saipan, but straight down
just to cover Japan. But Hall thought that with a large enough dish
and fine tuning we should be able to reach into that footprint from
Saipan. If so, the 19 major Japanese hotels on Saipan, catering to the
honeymoon trade, would be able to give their Japanese guests Tokyo
TV in their rooms. Wow!
From then on Michael was closely involved in the Satellite project.
He even went out to Singapore to attend a directors meeting which
Win Straube was hosting there. However, another major player also
entered.
The Challenge
The plan we came up with was to put Valerie Wee, the manager
of Pegasus’ Singapore office, in charge of this project. She’d handle
the details and go on location in the Pacific to meet with Dave Hall
and his associates. First she’d have to see the hotels and sell them
the whole idea. Valerie was chosen because she speaks Japanese,
while also being fluent in Mandarin Chinese, Malay, and English.
Singapore was Pegasus’ closest office for that Pacific location, a well
connected operational base.
The next thing I learned from meeting with Valerie on Saipan
and by following the correspondence and receiving reports from the
parties involved. Valerie came to Saipan and solicited the hotels.
They were enthusiastic about the thought of getting live TV from
Japan into their rooms, but doubtful whether it could be done. The
Saipan Diamond Hotel at the beach in Susupe, Saipan, became the
lead contender which was going to take the plunge first, provided
we could deliver. Shinichi Yamada, the General Manager, signed an
order with Valerie Wee for a one dish installation at US $89,600.00,
conditional on Pegasus installing the dish, connecting the feed to the
inhouse TV network, and producing live TV from Japan.
We were on! A 17 ft Paraclipse satellite dish was ordered and
shipped to Saipan. Dave Hall, together with Kyle Briscoe, another en-
gineer from Multi-Sat, made the two-day air journey from Baltimore
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to the West Coast, via Hawaii on to Guam, and finally into Saipan.
They stayed in an apartment at the Straube compound in Saipan.
Valerie Wee had flown in from Singapore and stayed nearby. While
the job at the Saipan Diamond Hotel started for Hall and Briscoe,
Valerie visited other potential buyers on the island and lined them
up for the live demonstration once it’d be up.
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Surprise, Surprise
Eventually the assignment did wind down, and the installation
worked, if ever so tenuously. Valerie delivered the two engineers to
the airport and off they went. But not very far. The Customs and Im-
migration inspection in Guam, a major entry point into the U.S.A.,
is meticulous. Hall and Briscoe’s luggage was inspected. Marihuana
was found, and the two went straight to jail instead of going to their
connecting flight home.
In the meantime, Debbie, Dave Hall’s wife in Reisterstown, was
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Book Two Illionnaire Handbook chapter nine
Chapter Nine
pointed out, rent was a debt which was to be prepaid by the tenant
bringing it to the landlord on time, not an account receivable to be
collected. Her collection trips were merely a friendly gesture, at the
same time an inspection of the premises to ensure they would be in
good shape, and to make sure the tenants’ needs were taken care of.
Like in any business, there is nothing like firsthand knowledge and
direct relationships.
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Transition to Me-First
Capitalists
The remaining group of
inheritors was made up of East
Germans, newly liberated and
thrust into a market economy,
and a few West Germans, such
as Helmut Jr., the latter being a
school teacher now thrust in the
position of a practicing capitalist.
The group’s consensus was that
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they’d like to convert these assets coming their way into cash as fast
as possible. All sentimental issues were to be disregarded. Investing
in the properties, bringing them up to snuff, and turning them into
up-to-date apartment buildings where people would enjoy living,
and pay a reasonable rent for, was totally out of the question. The
inheritors didn’t want work and responsibilities on their hands, but
hard cash, and that, now.
So that’s how it went. In a secret transaction — even I was not
allowed to see any details or accounting — they sold the three prop-
erties for a pittance. The new owners were developers who got a
bargain, and then poured in lots of new capital to totally renovate
and update the buildings. How does the saying go: It takes three
generations, one to make it, one to enjoy it, and the third one to blow
it. They surely blew it.
If Richard Straube, the founder, were to receive the news, he’d
start spinning in his grave. That was not what he and his wife had in
mind when they saved every penny they made and put in building
up money-making machines. All of the final inheritors who, 64 years
later, cashed out, were not born at the time of my grandfather’s death.
Richard had no idea who those beneficiaries were going to be, nor
what they were going to do with the product of his life’s toil. The last
he would have expected is that they would blow it.
Also from the position of the final spenders of that money, they
didn’t do a single thing to deserve anything. Like in the case of my
brother-in-law, he berated my mother for trying to maintain the
buildings, that all ownership was bad. But then he became the cash-
out capitalist, no matter what, for sure no regard for social, or even
family, historic responsibilities.
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The Testament
The inheritance we pass on to our children should be in the form
of hopefully healthy genes, learning and experiences. All our mate-
rial wealth should go to the human race in building a better world
for all.
In our situation both Hildegard and I have acted according to
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Big Government
So the first idea I came up with was that I would want our funds
to be used for the purpose of reducing the national debt. On July
13, 2000 the U.S. national debt stood at US $5,648,338,818,934.67
(in words 5.6 trillion US dollars. That was 5,648 billions.) Actually,
it was not standing still at all, but advancing every day, at that time,
by $42 million in interest alone. A steadily larger and increasing per-
centage of the annual federal budget went for financing the national
debt. By August 23, 2002 the U.S. national debt had advanced to US
$6,173,421,262,568.00, increasing by $1,111 million per day since
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Taxpayer’s Concern
Again, we as a family always believed in no debt as the normal
state of affairs, and if debt had to be taken on, such as for a mort-
gage, it would be paid back in the shortest possible time. As a result
we’ve been totally debt free most of our lives and remain so today.
That’s what gives you strength, mobility, and the capability to take
advantage of opportunities when they come along. It also helps with
relative peace of mind, makes you a giver rather than a taker, makes
you strong. The same is true for corporations and countries, common
practice to the contrary.
When I first came up with that idea and presented it to my good
friend and lawyer, Victor Walcoff, who was the writer and adminis-
trator of our will, he thought it over and convinced me that whatever
contribution we were going to make, it was going to be less than
super-insignificant in reducing the federal debt or influencing the
federal government to change its ways. No question about it, Victor
was right. It was not a practical idea, but if executed, a total waste of
money, maybe the laughing stock of the recipient while at the same
time, infuriating potential inheritors who customarily might stand
in line to benefit directly.
Local Government
So why not chose something closer to home? Something that
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could really work. OK, here comes idea #2 and it did become incor-
porated in our will: All our realty, later known as Straube Center,
would become the property of the Borough of Pennington. Thus, it
could help provide economical quarters to some needy businesses
and individuals. It also would tend to keep the town’s property taxes
low, because it would produce 100% income which would go into the
operating funds of the community.
There were several legal angles whether or not a town could own
commercial property outright, but Vic worked it all out, and yes, the
Town of Pennington could have owned what ended up being one of
its largest income producers and tax payers.
For a number of years, had we died, Pennington would have been
the ultimate recipient of our total assets. That’s how our will read.
Of course, the Town of Pennington was never told. We didn’t want to
provide any easy incentives to our own demise to any one. So, until
now, the town never knew that it was sitting on a chest of gold which,
during some time in the future, was going to be its own.
That day, however, will never came. Not that we will live eter-
nally, but because the town government’s greed and need for power
intervened.
Narrow Perspective
In 1985, we resurfaced one of Straube Center’s parking lots and
the contractor asphalted 4 ft more of land than the drawings approved
by the local Planning Board showed. Therefore, instead of making
us aware of what the town’s inspector had found and asking us to
change it, the Town of Pennington hauled us into court.
One day I saw James Dellemonache, the town’s only full time
policeman, walking across another parking lot of ours towards me.
I greeted him enthusiastically “Hi Jimmy, good to see you here! ”
But these comments were premature, for Jimmy had come to present
the town’s summons to me. The court date was November 26, 1985,
before Judge Robert F. Moore.
That day came and Robert C. Billmeyer, the prosecutor, painted
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A Better Solution
Added result: I called Victor Walcoff and asked him to write the
Borough of Pennington out of my will. Our lives’ work is too valuable
to go to the petty executioners of shortsighted policies.
And that’s how the idea for the purpose of the Straube Founda-
tion was born, a far better use of our assets, an idea we should have
arrived at in the first place. But that’s how it goes.
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Chapter Ten
Why Saipan?
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Strategic Location
So why would the Straubes come to the Marianas?
Because in October of 1984 U.S. Congress passed a law which
enabled American exporters to set up shop in foreign locations and
be freed from certain American taxes. The purpose of that law was
to make American products as competitive as the products of other
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hours flying time from Narita, Tokyo’s airport, while it may take
you longer to drive across town in Tokyo itself. Thus the location of
Saipan had everything going for it, at least from our perspective. Not
to mention that Saipan was anxious to receive investors like us who’d
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long run, not just for a tax quickie and run. That’s why even today
our company is still there, and it is doing well, although most of its
activities are really conducted offshore Saipan, directly in the markets
we cover, particularly Japan. In a way, you can consider Saipan a
part of Japan. It is very much so economically. The language spoken
and read most prevalently, for instance on all the menus in Saipan
restaurants, is Japanese. Thus working from Saipan is like working
in and with the rest of Japan while in fact doing so from American
soil, following American laws.
Right from the start we not only put our company on Saipan, but
Hildegard and I moved there since covering Asia was our top prior-
ity. We signed a long term lease for a lot where we built our Saipan
office-home. It’s right on the water’s edge where, on dawn of June
15, 1944, the U.S. 2nd and 4th Marine Divisions began the Saipan
landing on a four mile stretch of beach. Our lease expires in 2054.
Much has happened on that blood soaked land, and it still is. Also,
it’s one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. The sunsets into
the Philippine Sea are nowhere as magnificent as here, with a green
flash in the very last moment before the rim of the sun sinks away.
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Chapter Eleven
Super-typhoon Kim
Because of good advance warnings from Saipan typhoon-watch
we had our buildings shuttered, sandbagged and emergency sup-
plies laid in the house. Then late on Wednesday, December 3, 1986,
super-typhoon Kim lashed into Saipan with torrential rains and
winds exceeding 200 m.p.h.. That’s not your everyday storm, but
as seen through the eyes of my dear wife, was comparable to the
bombardment she went through during bombing raids in WW II
Frankfurt. While we were trying to stop water flooding the house,
which was being forced in through cracks under the door and every
other possible avenue inside, Hildegard said that if she had known
that there would be hardships such as this super-typhoon, she would
never have come along to Saipan.
First thing that happened was that the power went off — island
wide. Next thing, the telephones went dead. Our 17 ft. dish antenna
for independent communications had been turned flat to better with-
stand the typhoon’s onslaught. Now it served like an open garbage
can for the collection of trees and debris the storm was depositing
in it. The standby 40 kw Perkins generator we had ordered from the
Estuary Works in Felixtowe , England, as our own power source for
precisely situations like this, was still on the high seas and wouldn’t
be delivered until many weeks later.
We had built our office and home from concrete throughout,
with typhoon exposure in mind. A good part of the local population,
however, lived in simple wooden structures, several hundred of which
were either blown away that night or washed out to sea. There was
no more public water supply, and it took the authorities six weeks
and longer to re-establish power and water again. All the trees on
the island lost their leaves that night. What before was impenetrable
rain forest was totally defoliated and suddenly looked like a ghostlike
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wilderness.
Not to mention the broken-down power lines, flooding sewage,
homeless, drowned boonie dogs, and the much higher than normal
ocean level which now had submerged the protective reefs while
heavy waves were still going strong. It was in that ocean where we
went to clean ourselves up the next morning, soap in hand, and big
fish swimming around us. Our roof had held, the typhoon shutters
could come off the windows. Everything was still wet inside. The
refrigerator, air conditioning, communications — everything, was
dead. And it was going to stay so for a while.
Sorting Priorities
As much as we were prepared, we were not sufficiently prepared
for such a gargantuous storm and the inability of the local govern-
ment to deal with it. This meant that we needed to make ourselves yet
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Getting There
We had a reservation at the Raffels Hotel in Singapore. As it
turned out, however, we didn’t get there that night, thus forever miss-
ing the chance to stay at Singapore’s most famous old Raffels Hotel
before it was renovated and now, again represents Singapore in new
splendor. Instead, we spent a very short night at Hotel Horison on
Jalan Pantai Indah in Jakarta, because Air Indonesia had been late,
and the Jakarta connection to Singapore had been diverted to flying
pilgrims to Saudi Arabia in celebration of Ramadan.
One day late, we did get
into Singapore and stayed
at the newly opened Westin
Stamford and Westin Plaza
Hotel in Raffles City, across
the street from the Raffles,
in the most modern comfort,
airconditioning and commu-
nications working, water to
drink from the tap… a long
way from Saipan, back in the
bustling world.
Efficient, Well-run,
Business-Friendly
Our plan was to move
most of the physical activity
of our Export Sales Corpo-
ration from Saipan to either
Hong Kong or Singapore, in
the middle of our Asian mar-
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kets. Both Hong Kong and Singapore were ideally suited for hosting
a foreign sales corporation. They were almost the opposite to Saipan.
They offered a well educated multilingual workforce with high per-
formance standards. The infrastructure was well established, for ex-
ample, with fiber optic communication lines to the curb throughout
Singapore. Transportation was no problem. You could catch a flight
to almost anywhere, any time, and also get back. Both city states were
well connected to their neighboring markets, Hong Kong to China,
Singapore to Malaysia and Indonesia.
I had been to Hong Kong and Singapore before many times on
business trips and had done our homework. Although there were
many benefits from locating in Hong Kong, which was scheduled to
become part of China again in 1997, we decided on Singapore, for
it was more independent, free and democratic, clean and efficient,
the ideal base for a business.
At the December 1986 visit Hildegard and I took the steps for
opening our Singapore office and to buy an apartment to live in there.
Both materialized eventually, the office was opened first thing in the
new year. We acquired our personal residence condo on the top floor
of Centre Point on April 13, 1988 and had grown sufficiently to buy
our first fee simple real estate office within walking distance at 545
Orchard Avenue on September 2, 1989. Straube Center now had a
base in the center of Asia.
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and then come back strong. Needless to say, there is no capital gains
tax in Singapore. There are no welfare rolls in Singapore either, for
the state stays out of trying to micromanage its society’s personal
lives. Instead, it strengthens families to take care of their own and its
individuals to thrive. The mission of Singapore is to be a Global City
with total business capabilities, an Intelligent Island, and it is.
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able to cut off the drinking water supply to Singapore island which
was coming in from Malaya across the causeway. The largest British
army ever to surrender did so here in February 1942. Only towards
the end of WW II was Singapore recovered by the British, in 1945, and
in 1946 became a separate crown colony. Internal self-government
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Paradise Beckoning
Our December 1986 mission in Singapore accomplished,
Hildegard and I left the city early Sunday morning, December 21,
1986, and flew to Denpasar, Bali, Indonesia. While working from our
base in Singapore we would continue this practice of going to Bali
that time of year for the following 9 years. In Bali we usually stayed
at the Nusa Dua Beach Hotel to recuperate from the stresses of the
year, far removed from the Christian world’s commercial Christmas
hullabaloo, for Bali is almost exclusively Hindu. We spent the days
visiting places such as the Mother Temple Pura Besakih on the slopes
of Mount Agung, Gianyar, Bali’s weaving center, Klungkung, the site
of the ancient Kerta Gosa “Hall of Justice” with its painted ceiling
depicting the punishments in hell and the rewards in heaven. We saw
the village of Mas, and, of course, Cibud, the artists colony, Celuk,
the village of woodcarvers, silver and gold smiths and many more
uniquely Balinese places. Each year, of course, we’d include one or
more visits to Pasar Badung, Denpasar’s central market, haggling
for Balinese cloth and art.
On Hanukkah that year, Saturday, December 27, 1986, we said
goodbye to Bali and flew back via Manado and Guam to Saipan. A
new phase in our life had begun.
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to the pot, raising the level of fortuitous outcome for all. That’s where
I belong and am at home, here — in the U.S.A.
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Chapter Twelve
Author’s Note:
Very much like the “Moneymaking Machine”
chapter, “The End of Sogo Shosha’s” belongs in this
volume at this place for technical completeness’ sake,
giving names and connections to readers looking at the
technicalities of our international business. But you
won’t miss a step in the action of the prime characters
when you skip this chapter and go right on to the “75th
Birthday Celebration, With a Twist,” which leads to a
tightly held, deep secret of my family. The secret would
still be in place if it were not for this publication.
WS
Pegasus over time became what the Japanese would call a Sogo
Shosha, an international trading company, with holdings in related
companies: some of them manufacturers, others service providers, all
of them interconnected to maximize profits in the process of creating
products and moving them into the hands of customers around the
globe. However, times keep changing.
Blossom Time
A leading American forerunner of Pegasus was
Rocke International Corporation at
Rocke International Building
13 East 40th Street
New York 16, NY
In 1951, Rocke International was the exclusive export house for
the following leading American companies—among many others:
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Book Two Illionnaire Handbook chapter twelve
The Ways of a
Winner
Rocke Interna-
tional raked in mon-
ey beyond Arthur ’s
wildest dreams. He
turned it over to his
stock brokers to invest
in the market, rarely
checking up on how
he was doing. After
all, Arthur was an
extremely busy man,
and hardly there at
his headquarters.
No wonder that his
brokers churned
Arthur ’s accounts,
selling and buying all
the time, which meant
fat commissions for
them, and hopefully
a gain for Arthur. As
it turned out, how-
ever, over time, while
the stock brokers got
rich on serving what
seemed to be Arthur’s needs, the value of Arthur’s stocks declined.
When Arthur finally woke up to what was going on, he cashed out,
but at a deep loss.
That was the moment when Jack Cleary, one of the Pegasus Inter-
national directors, introduced Arthur Rocke to me, in 1975. Arthur
had grown old and his company was pretty much on the rocks now.
The more successful he had been in establishing foreign markets for
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his American factories, the sooner they became convinced that they
could carry on without the middleman Rocke International. Thus
Rocke International lost more and more of its illustrious sources. A
few remained, but it would take a lot more effort, including invest-
ment in overseas endeavors, to continue selling their products com-
petitively overseas. The rest of the world had come back from the
war and the pressure was on to bring prices down, for there was now
fierce international competition. Export companies, such as Rocke’s,
were now seen as middlemen whose margin added to the price of
a product. Only if that margin was going to be less than the cost at
which a manufacturer could do the same job, was the exporter kept.
More and more international marketing became the direct business
of the manufacturers, especially the large ones.
There was lots of spunk left in Arthur Rocke. He had reached the
point where he wanted to sell himself and whatever business remained
from his company. Pegasus was going strong, and we took him on,
including whatever accounts he brought along.
End of an Era
In the long run, the overall trend also applied to Pegasus. In the
1980s and early 1990s, the more successful we were in establishing
overseas markets for our clients, the more they eventually decided to
cover these markets themselves. There were exceptions, though, all
of which came down to the cost difference in covering and servicing
these markets. If Pegasus was able to do the job for the manufacturer
at less cost than the manufacturer itself was capable of, then Pegasus
had a chance to hang on to that business. Some of it went back to the
factories nevertheless because of somebody’s pride there. It became
now fashionable for everyone to become his own global marketer.
And then, in the mid-1990s, came the Internet, the world no
longer a Babel of languages with markets continents apart. The true
global village was here. The concept of “exports” became almost
irrelevant as practically everything could be bought from anywhere
at the click of a mouse.
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Life Recycles
Pegasus International Corporation was dissolved by its sharehold-
ers on June 28, 1994, after 43 years of successful operation, and every-
body was paid out. However, a new birth took place simultaneously.
Straube Centers International redefined the business to service for-
mer Pegasus customers via a new Internet format. The management
of it, and all operations, moved out of the U.S.A. to our Singapore
office, establishing a global distribution and servicing center. It is a
24 hour, 7 days a week fulfillment center in all languages, accessible
to, and supplying all countries around the globe.
Via email, fax and phone connections, customers now place orders
any time from anywhere with assured turn-around response. Custom-
ers access available stock data via a special web site, thus check and
obtain information on backorders, shipping details, etc. Shipments
from anywhere to anywhere are handled by Straube Center Asia’s
fulfillment center. For example an order originating in Venezuela gets
shipped from the U.S., but processed electronically — or if necessary,
by knowledgeable employees — at the Straube Fulfillment Center in
Singapore. All this is possible only because of high speed electronic
connections, instantaneous information exchange unimaginable at
the time of Arthur Rocke. Often times neither the customer nor the
supplier are aware that they are dealing with Singapore, since, for
them, the transaction is local. The new world of global village mar-
keting is here, a new life has begun.
New vistas are opening, and everything moves a lot faster. For
instance, Straube Center Singapore also is the fulfillment center for
intellectual property, such as software and the translation of elec-
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Book Two Illionnaire Handbook chapter thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
Family Get-together
It was a catastrophe, according to several of the participants at
that meeting in Arnsberg, Westfalen on Saturday, January 23, 1988.
Little did they know the extent of it.
Uncle Helmut’s own father, my paternal grandfather, died when
he was 66 years and 9 months old, many of the ancestors before him
at an earlier age yet. For Uncle Helmut, therefore, 75 years was an
accomplishment. It was a once-in-a-life opportunity to celebrate, to
look back and share and look at so much that needed perspective.
January 20, 1988, a Wednesday, was Helmut Straube’s 75th
birthday. For the convenience of friends and relatives, however, the
official celebration was held on Saturday, January 23, 1988, at a
small hotel in Neheim-Hüsten, a small town maybe 15 minutes by car
west from Arnsberg. Helmut and Gerda, his wife, had made every
effort to invite close relatives, including those from far away, to join
in making this a memorable family occasion.
Festive Setting
The party started with a sumptuous luncheon at the hotel. In
the afternoon it moved to the Straube’s large residence in Arnsberg.
Uncle Helmut had prepared well for all aspects of the meeting.
Not only stocking up with delicious food and wine at home, he also
planned to talk to the group about the past, disclose details he had
never disclosed to anyone before. That revelation was likely to be
shocking or enlightening, depending on whose opinions were going
to be aroused. But it was time for the facts to be known. The rest of
the clan should know the truth. He prepared his speech well.
Never did he anticipate what was to happen that evening. Almost
everyone who was expected had shown up, even from afar, including
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my sister from Dresden with her spouse. Making that trip at the time
was not easy since East Germany was a separate country then, and
special permission had to be sought, which was rarely granted, from
the Communist regime for visits to the capitalist West. Nevertheless,
somehow, my youngest sister’s brother did receive East German gov-
ernment permission to attend, and take her along. In contrast, my
brother, also living in East Germany, and his wife, were not granted
that privilege. My West German sister, however, and her daughter,
Martina (24), were able to attend. Living in the West, they didn’t need
anybody’s permission. And also present, of course, were Helmut Jr.
(45) with his wife Gabriele, and Ingrid (42), the children of Gerda
and Helmut, both living in West Germany.
Hildegard and I, although warmly invited, did not make it, for
we couldn’t fit it in our schedule. Actually, Hildegard was in Saipan
while I arrived from Tokyo in New Jersey the day before, on January
22, 1988, and was in our head office there that day. Thus we missed
the disaster, but the waves travelled to us, too. In retrospect, I regret
very much that I wasn’t in attendance that night, for I would not have
allowed the disaster to happen. At least, I would have stood up for
Helmut and let us all hear what he had to say.
Scuttled Announcement
It happened at the end of dinner in Uncle Helmut’s home Sat-
urday night, while he, the honored guest, presided over his brood
at the table. Helmut put down his napkin and wanted to start his
speech. But the visitors were restless, deeply engrossed in all kinds
of unrelated conversations. The most restless were his own children,
Helmut Jr. and Ingrid, who thought that they had heard it all before,
many times, again and again. For example, that during their father’s
youth, every member of the household participated in earning a liv-
ing, that Helmut as little boy had a route for fresh baked buns from
his parents’ bakery to be delivered to customers before breakfast,
which he did before going to school. Helmut Jr. and Ingrid didn’t
want to hear all these old stories again. They showed their lack of
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Sad Conclusion
Everybody gasped. End of the attempted speech. Aunt Gerda
turned to the guests to usher them out of the house. The party was
over, though Martina stayed at her mother’s side and didn’t want
to leave that abruptly. She thought that Uncle Helmut should have
sensed that the congregated guests were going to be bored with his
old stories. Herbert Wiegand, my brother-in-law from Dresden, was
embarrassed to no end, and disgusted with the way Uncle Helmut’s
children were treating him. Yet nobody stood up for the celebrant.
Not even his own wife, who rather acted as if the happening could
be wished away.
Like after a funeral, everybody left, some of them very angry,
most of them deeply saddened, yet vital facts not disclosed as if bur-
ied with the corpse. The visitors went back to the hotel in Neheim-
Hüsten where they were booked for the night. On Sunday, January
24, 1988, they departed for their respective home towns. In Arnsberg
that evening it started to snow.
However, that is not the end of the events as they unfolded. The
truth always wants to come out, and it did, only at a later time, not
to the group for which it was intended but to Uncle Helmut’s nephew
who wasn’t able to make it that night: me.
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Chapter Fourteen
Wrong Blood
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Building on Precedent
In the 1920s / 1930s, however, Europe, and particularly Germany,
couldn’t imagine any other way of seeing nationality than through
blood lineage. It was the perfect setting for discrimination on the
basis of race. And that was really nothing new, for that’s what it had
been since the dawn of time.
Thus, when the National Socialist German Workers Party (Nazis)
gained more and more influence at the end of the 1920s beginning
’1930s, it didn’t take a lot of foreknowledge to understand that racial
background would play a bigger role in Germany soon. The way it was
going to shape up was that the purer the Aryan background you could
claim, the greater your opportunities were in the “1000 year Reich”
ahead (which eventually lasted a mere 12 years). For the others, well,
their rights were going to be less. If they were Jews, they’d heard
“Juden raus” (Jews get out!) already during the ’20s since members
of their race were blamed for profiteering from Germany’s earlier
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Question of Race
Most German Jews, however, didn’t see themselves as Jews, ac-
tually hadn’t done so for a century or more, but saw themselves as
good Germans, coincidentally of Jewish descent. They were on the
side of Germany, not on that of its enemies. Only few Jews saw the
rise of the German swastika as a threat to their life as usual.
And what about all those in-between? Those who had Aryan
blood, but also Jewish strains, maybe Mongolian, Gipsy, Slavic,
whatever? They soon were to find out that clean Aryan blood lines
mattered very much.
Adolf Hitler, like John F. Kennedy, was elected in a free election
with a comparable margin of a simple majority. Except that, once
in power, Hitler and his supporters perverted these powers and
provoked their enemies, culminating in World War II. As Hitler’s
star was rising in Germany, anti-Semitism was rampant, cascading
towards what was going to become the holocaust. In hindsight that’s
what happened. At the time it wasn’t so clear and human hope for a
good outcome is eternal.
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Book Two Illionnaire Handbook chapter fourteen
Buried Secret
Nobody was to know about this, and both Helmut and my father
were to act out the roles they decided to assume. As a result, Helmut
ended up studying medicine while his openly Jewish classmates were
denied such a privilege in Germany. End result for his brother Her-
bert Straube: My father died in a concentration camp when he was
43 years old.
Now, of course, what were for me contradictions at the time of
my early youth, especially the official party line as pronounced by
my father and his actions contradictory to it, started making sense.
Too bad that he ended up paying the ultimate price. In retrospect
it was a deadly game with fire, a Faustian pact which he was bound
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to lose one way or the other. Helmut escaped, maybe just to tell us
what happened.
More Skeletons
As the policies of the Third Reich unfolded, other incriminating
racial evidence came to light in the case of my mother. She and her
5 siblings came from a marriage of a Scandinavian woman and a
man from the East. My grandfather came from a mixture of Mon-
gols, Chinese, Huns and Slavs, precisely those people who Hitler
later determined were subhuman races (Mongols = mongolites), of
no value except maybe as slave labor. To the credit of my father and
the great relief of all concerned, he was able to extinguish all traces
of this background and destroy the evidence. Obviously nobody was
told about this, least we children, but instead everybody bought the
concocted story that Grandpa Vogt had been an illegitimate child,
his parents gave him up and didn’t want to be identified. At that
point in time couldn’t be identified any more. Luckily, my parents
got away with that.
With a cover letter from Arnsberg dated April 17, 1984, Uncle
Helmut sent me a copy of his final update of the family chronicle.
Looking it over today I notice in the epilogue a reference to his
sources, including one which reads as follows: “Those in the ‘Preface’
mentioned handwritten notes from the ’30’s were destroyed since they
were fully taken into consideration and partially written in shorthand,
which nowadays would be undecipherable.” - Aha! Now I understand
why. They were part of the otherwise incriminating evidence which
he and Herbert couldn’t afford to have around.
Attempted Coverup
There are other references in Helmut’s family chronicle which
now become more understandable, such as his pointing out that
names like Samuel were good Christian (not Jewish) names in the
1700 and 1800s. That was the last line of defense he and Herbert used
where the Jewish background showed too much. And he, of course,
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never changed his point of view, for it could have started to unravel
the entire Aryan background logic.
There’s another piece of the puzzle I never could figure out, al-
though the above might point a light in the direction. Non-Jewish
Germans didn’t circumcise their men as a general practice, and, to
my knowledge, they still don’t do so today. So, I’ve always wondered
why I was circumcised and my brother wasn’t. The difference might
just have been my being born in 1929 when the German scene was
relatively temperate, while in 1932, the year my brother was born,
the shadows of the new Reich were over the horizon, and the above
decision had been arrived at in the meantime. Whenever I asked my
parents about the difference I was told that in the olden days it was
believed that circumcision for boys improved their health. It kept
diseases away, yet that this had been found to be an old superstition,
unproven and unwarranted, therefore unnecessary and no longer
part of modern medical practices. My brother just happened to be
born in more modern times, after enlightenment.
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308
Book Three
Deep Inside
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Book Three Deep Inside chapter one
Chapter One
Thinking of Retirement?
Forget it! Retirement is not good for you anyway. Everybody
should know that, but old myths die hard.
Wishful Thinking
I don’t know who came up with the idea that humans should have
a golden age of “retirement” at the end of their lives. Maybe when
this idea was born it was a good one and made sense. The average
life expectancy at that time must have been short, work hard. Retire-
ment at ease must have looked like a wonderful spot at the end of the
rainbow. It was an idealized state to reach, well deserved. I can hear
the politicians of the time waxing with enthusiasm. And the public
bought it. Over time the thought became so ingrained that nobody
dares to think back far enough when it might have been otherwise.
Now it’s an entitlement.
The only question remaining is when that glorious period of
retirement should start. Different cultures, different ideas. Maybe,
also, different political or economic requirements result in different
outcomes, some of them quite arbitrary.
During the 1990s in Singapore, for instance, many Chinese con-
sidered the age of 55 the correct time for starting their retirement. It
is common practice there that the children of a couple start paying
toward the support of their parents from the day they receive their
first paycheck. Not to mention that the oldest son is responsible for the
housing of the parents and for taking care of them physically as they
grow older. One of the first issues aging Chinese have been known to
discuss while sipping tea with contemporaries is “how much are you
getting from your daughter” or son—or number of children, each.
It’s a matter of pride if they can demonstrate that their children are
supporting them with high monthly stipends. At that time, US $600
per month, per child, was about the norm. Modern Singapore has
a recently confirmed law on the books compelling children to sup-
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port their parents, under which the parents can sue their children
for adequate support.
If a Singaporean Chinese who followed that thinking and prac-
tice was working beyond age 55, he or she would feel disfavored by
fate. A certain amount of shame might even go with that feeling also,
that the children are not doing as well as they should, and the fam-
ily is underperforming. The rest of the community will look down
on them.
Western Ideas
In Europe children are not expected to contribute to the retire-
ment income of the parents. On the contrary, many parents support
their children way beyond the age of maturity. I know of many in-
stances where parents
paid for the education
and support of their
offspring until the kids
were in their mid-for-
ties. The thinking
there is the opposite
of the Chinese. The
“children” expect to
be supported to the
maximum, never mind
the parents’ needs at
retirement. European
thinking is that the
state is supposed to be
responsible for most
of this, anyway, edu-
cation to retirement,
welfare from cradle
to grave.
In America, many
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retirees dare not spend their well earned money because they’d be
“robbing their children” of their inheritance. Interestingly, there
are offspring who also see it this way precisely, some who even may
sue their parents in order to get that money coming to them at an
earlier time.
Darwinism at Work
When God created man and woman, he didn’t guarantee retire-
ment. Nowhere in the universe is there such a provision. A tree grows
and eventually gets felled, or dies. An arctic wolf either survives by
living a full wolf’s life or he falls behind in catching his prey and
dies. There is no in-between. It’s either live or die. If there were a
state in-between, it might be one of just vegetating along for a short
period until death catches up. Maybe that could be called retirement,
for retirement means having given up on the pursuit of making a
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Book Three Deep Inside chapter one
an orchard with maybe 80 fruit trees, an area for growing our own
vegetables, a section for berries to grow, and an enclosure for chick-
ens which were producing fresh eggs every day. Next to the house,
in the garden, at the border to the fields of roses was a gazebo-like
structure, the roof overgrown with sweet grapes and decorative vines.
It was as idyllic a setting as you could imagine. Plus my grandparents
certainly had the money to afford living in this paradise.
One and a half years later my grandfather died. Yes, most people
die in retirement sooner or later. More likely, however, sooner rather
than later. Not because something was wrong in the paradise they
withdrew to, but because their own system adjusted from GO to
STOP, and the human being is not designed for that.
As Long as it Lasts
Maybe if I contracted Alzheimer’s or another disabling disease,
I’ll have no choice but to retire. If so, so be it, and then yes, making
the best of it in the spirit of the golden years with all the care I can
possibly get is preferable to total disability on its own. Otherwise, if
I want to live, and I certainly do want to live, there is no room for
retirement. It’s the wrong idea, for sure, at the wrong time.
Thus, if you have to retire, plan ahead, do your homework, do
a tryout, prepare yourself, and then choose wisely. If you are not
capable of doing so any more, make sure that there is someone who
can do so for you.
For me, however, as long as I am able to get out of bed in the
morning and count backwards in 7s from 98 down, don’t expect me
to retire. Life is too precious and too short for that.
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Chapter Two
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Disgustingly Fit!?
That’s what one of my contemporaries has been calling me all
along, disgustingly fit. But he has no idea.
During my early years and immediately after WW II, I was run-
ning scared for my life. In the age range from 33 to 64 I was running
scared for failure to perform in all that was asked of me, and more
so what I was asking of myself. But since age 65, I am no longer
scared at all, no matter what. How relaxing and at ease tasks can
be accomplished now! In hindsight, I should have been that relaxed
and uninhibited all my earlier life. How much further I could have
gone, and enjoyed it so much more!
Therefore, I can prove health is a precondition for the enjoy-
ment of happiness. If you want to go to the limit in whatever you
want to achieve, contribute, and/or enjoy, the first requirement is
robust health. Without health, it’s going to be a drag. You won’t get
very far, and others may even push you around. Nobody needs that.
Consequently, I always was aware of the fact that my body as well
as my mind need to be thoroughly tuned. No fooling around here. It
got to be the real thing.
Some people can take this philosophy to extremes and become a
Mr. Atlas or a self-centered hypochondriac, just living for their health.
If it gives them satisfaction, fine with me, but that’s no way I see my
conditioning for health and happiness. For me it’s merely the foreplay
to the real action, yet playing it all along as best as I can.
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More on Diet
Being extremely fortunate in this department, I went from the
kitchen of my mother to that of my wife, who was, and is, super health
conscious in all respects. Hildegard learned to cook from her mother
and in school, but, as she grew up and discovered that eating healthy
is quite different from what she learned, made great efforts to study
and find what would be best for her and me. Which, by the way, means
that what each of us eats is not necessarily the same at all and most
of the time, actually, is distinctly different. For example: Hildegard’s
favorite food is natto (fermented soy beans), which is nowhere in my
diet. I, on the other hand, eat lots of poi (starchy, liquid pudding of
ground taro root), particularly for breakfast, which Hildegard rarely
touches. Hildegard likes to prepare food for me, so she says, and I,
at best, do the dishes. Wow! Lucky fellow, eh!
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Exercise Choices
All through my life I kept active physically as well as mentally,
outside of what my job was or the duties I was pursuing. My body
and mind cried out for that. I needed, and still do need, both types
of exercise just to keep sane, at least so it appears to me. And what
a difference it does make!
By inclination and experience I’ve found the types of exercise
which do the most for me and give me great satisfaction. They are:
Tai-Chi, swimming, and dancing. Each individual really has to find
his or her own preferences. So, mine are in no way better than oth-
ers. They may be totally unsuitable for someone else. For me, they
worked, and keep working.
Tai-Chi
Tai-Chi, one of the martial arts, is wonderful for harnessing your
inner energy, putting you in control of your body and mind, making
you move smoothly and giving you balance. Tai-Chi can be practiced
anywhere—indoors, outdoors, together with others or by oneself. You
won’t need equipment. Nor do you have to follow a time table if you
don’t want to. Just anywhere, anytime will do.
Swimming
Swimming wakes you up and lets you swim with the turtles and
the dolphins. At least, where I am right now in Hawaii. But even in a
pool, swimming is easy to do and available almost anywhere. I swam
my entire life wherever I was, in ice cold or nicely warm water, with
others or by myself. When I get into the water, the rest of the world
stays behind and my mind is free to visit whatever topic I want to deal
with, in depth or be open to let come to me. I never swam competi-
tively, just for the fun of it, until one day in the year 2000 when my
son, who is an accomplished Ironman at least twice, pointed out to
me the Hawaiian Yearend Biathlon. Dave knew that I was a regular
swimmer and he thought of it as a family thing, doing something
together, father and son. He told me that the Biathlon could be done
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Dancing
There are many forms of dancing one can pursue. All I did and
am doing is social dancing,—Ballroom and Western, as well as Line
Dances. Social dancing allows you to float across the floor to bouncy
or soothing music with a curvaceous gal in your arms, or not, if that’s
what you prefer. Or, if no dancing partner is available, line dances will
do, which means dancing by oneself in a group, following the steps
of a leader. One of the best known melodies used for line dances is
“New York, New York.” But there are many, many more, plus they
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Chapter Three
Soul Searching
Curious Kid
I’ve always been curious about the shape and form of the soul.
When I was 5 years old I had heard the word “soul,” and asked
my mother: “What is the soul?” Others used the word but I had no
idea what it meant. My mother, who was a professional nurse, cer-
tainly had to know.
Mother answered: “Everybody has a soul.”
I wanted to know more than that: “But what is it? If everybody
has one, where is it in your body? ”
She said: “Nobody has ever seen it, but it’s there.”
I didn’t give up: “But you’re a nurse in the operating room. You’ve
been there when they open up people and look for things inside.
Wouldn’t someone have come across it?” In my mind I was search-
ing for something like an appendix or other anatomical part, and my
mother certainly must have known.
Mother explained: “No, they’ve looked, but nobody has yet found
a physical soul. It’s there, you just can’t see it.”
The conversation went along that line for a while and this little
boy ended up not much wiser than he had started out with, except
that there was mystery about the soul. It seemed unexplored and
unexplainable. There was a soul, each of us had one, but what was
it and how could you find it?
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thing which only humans possess or also animals, maybe even plants,
or the whole universe. Leibnitz (Gottfried Wilhelm von Leibniz, 1646-
1716) referred to it as the “automaton spirituale.”
Gun powder was invented in China many centuries before it came
to the western world in the 14th century. The Chinese used it early
on in firecrackers and rockets. Their rocket design of that time was
the shape of a cigar with a hollow center starting, maybe one third
down from the tip of the rocket. In that hollow the thrust developed
to propel the rocket. That’s why the Chinese called it the soul, for it
was the soul which provided life and direction to the rocket.
No Soul, No Nothing
From the early Chinese rocket we’ve learned that there is nothing
physical that is the soul. Or, at least, it can be just an empty space
like in the rocket’s hollow. But it sure can get active in there. Once
the soul comes to life, there is force, power, direction, character. It
can act as a single unit or in unison with others. It’s like a computer
program, just thoughts in themselves; however, well articulated to
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Sticking Around
One day your soul, presently living within you, can join them.
Thus, even what you might not be able to carry out today, you might
have a chance to help accomplish through others later on. We are
the same blood and flesh, anyway.
I personally know some of the friendly souls and angels, plucking
away for me, preparing the way, and helping to keep me from harm.
They are the souls of my mother and father, for instance, physically
long passed away, but yet so near in thought. They are also the souls
of teachers and bosses, also long dead, but the souls still around, very
actively trying to help me see what needs to be seen, to understand
and act in harmony with the universe.
There are still many more, I know for sure, reaching back through
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the ages. These souls have been working with others before, but now
they are working with me. They expect nothing physical in return,
just want to see their own thoughts realized. This is also how I am
free to adopt my own supporting souls, regardless of whether they
were previously related or not. They’ll come and support me any
time. The truth is, we are all one big family, you just need to go back
far enough. And we, in fact, can be “one heart and one soul.”
Soaking up Strength
Did you ever doubt that there is a God? You are not alone. But
once you find him or her or it, and you are connected, in your own
very special way, the power coming to you can be truly electrify-
ing.
Just open your eyes. Looking at the sky with powerful telescopes
you’ll find that the universe is continually creating new worlds and
old ones are disintegrating. Somehow, we all can agree that the uni-
verse itself is eternal, chaos, order et al. If it is eternal, then there is
no beginning and no end, or the other way around, the beginning,
as well as the end, are today.
Which is another way of saying that what you see is what you
get. Finding your soul mates and allowing them to find you builds
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Chapter Four
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car. Nowadays, the route we chose would be called the “classical tour
of Italy,” or something like it.
Our itinerary included Milan, Verona, Venice, Padua, Pisa, Flor-
ence, Siena, a ride through Tuscany, along the Tiber river valley
to Naples, then Sorrento and by hydro-foil to Capri, and finally 3
days in Rome. We did the museums, saw the sights, such as Milan’s
“Duomo,” Leonardo da Vinci’s “Last Supper,” the Doge’s Palace
in Venice, the Bridge of Sighs. We went to the Lido, in Pisa to the
Leaning Tower (leaning at 10 degrees), saw Michelangelo’s “David”
in Florence, visited Pompeii, in Rome the Sistine Chapel, the Colos-
seum, and many more highlights of history.
Along the way we had many wonderful tête-a-têtes, such as the
one in the Ristorante Sempione at San Marco 578 in Venice, where
we stopped for dinner on May 10, 2001, just the two of us, on a table
next to a door-sized open window, framed with live flowers, a couple
of feet above one of the canals where gondolas with happy lovers and
singing gondoliers were passing by leisurely. It couldn’t have been
more romantic and most enjoyable.
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We had met with Nulf A. Schade, the current pastor of our church
in Frankfurt, before we went to Italy and had told him why we came
to Europe this time and that we wanted to attend his service on our
50th wedding anniversary. Nulf was delighted and asked whether it
would be all right if he called us to the altar after the regular service
to celebrate the event and bless us again. Of course, this was all right
with us, but little did we know, nor did he know, how this event would
play out with the congregation.
Happy Day
On another sunny Sunday morning just like 50 years earlier,
this time May 20, 2001, we came to church, together with Walter
and Elisabeth Schmitt, (a former colleague of Hildegard at the time
when we got married) and my sister Elfriede, who resided in nearby
Offenbach. This meant one witness was there from each side, the two
women also equipped with cameras ready to shoot. The large tower
bells were ringing overhead. The church was crowded, standing room
only, with an overflow of young people, parents, grandparents, little
kids shuffling in the aisles. It was the day of confirmation service.
We took our seats at the center aisle in the very last row in the back
of the church, at the central portal, which had been kept open for
Hildegard and me.
When the church bells stopped ringing, the organ started with
“Amazing Grace.” Everyone got on their feet, and the young pastor
led the procession of 19 confirmands through the portal, down the
center aisle, to the stage. The service began and had many partici-
pants. There was frequent singing, not of conventional hymns, but
well-known songs, such as “Kumbayah-my-Lord, Kumbaya,” the
pastor leading with his guitar, backed up by a choir, other musicians,
and the organ. It was like a revival meeting, lots of beat, lots of clap-
ping. One by one the confirmands were called up, briefly reviewed
for the benefit of the congregation, and then confirmed. There was
handshaking all around with parents and friends. And then, when
everybody thought it was over, the pastor quieted down the masses
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with an announcement:
“I have a very special surprise for you today,” he began. And
while a hush fell over the audience he explained that “50 years ago
this day, in front of the same altar, two young people were married,
one whose profession was listed then as student and the other as
secretary.” Nulf had looked up the church records and found some
more details which he shared with the community. “Now they live
in Hawaii” he said, and a loud sigh went through the masses. “They
are here today,” and then he asked us to come up to the altar.
Hey Jude...
While Hildegard and I slowly went down the aisle, the orchestra,
accompanied by the organ, played “Hey Jude...” my favorite Beatles
song, also their longest. How could he have known!?
The congregation spontaneously rose, clapped and cheered loudly
as we reached the altar. Tears welled, not only in our eyes. The pastor
beamed. He said a few words, gave us a copy of our wedding records
of 50 years ago as well as a certificate of the 50 year anniversary cel-
ebration, together with a book and a photograph of the feet of some
of his confirmands superimposed on the globe as seen from space.
He then blessed us, and again to uproaring applause, we returned
to our seats in the back.
Then the pastor distributed one long stemmed rose to each
confirmand, and after that came up the aisle to us to hand one
rose each to Hildegard and me. Afterward, he led the procession of
confirmands out of the church, followed by the congregation, empty-
ing the church through the center aisle, starting with the front rows,
until the church was empty. As they passed by us, people were pushing
and shoving to shake our hands, emotion still running high.
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church administration. She had no idea what was up, but when she
found out, Gustel came over and introduced the community members
who lined up to us. Being in the last row, we were the last to leave
and met with the pastor and other well wishers again outside. Lots
of photographs were taken.
Eventually we were driven away to a nearby Yugoslavian restau-
rant, recommended by the pastor, where we had made a reservation
earlier, to have lunch with the Schmitts and Elfriede. And that was
it.
Two days later we flew back via Newark, N.J. to Honolulu, a long,
long flight. Upon arrival we dropped our baggage and I got into my
swim trunks, went out to the beach and swam a mile in the warm
ocean. A milestone had been passed. Welcome back to the Pacific
world! New tasks ahead.
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Chapter Five
Hawaii
dancing maidens in grass skirts may be the cliche, but it’s not too
far-fetched a description of paradise. The aloha spirit is alive and
well in Hawaii.
It wasn’t always so, and the more fascinated by Hawaii, the more
I felt compelled to dig deeper and back into Hawaiian history.
Polynesia
Hawaii’s history before the Europeans arrived is shrouded in
legends. The islands were settled in the course of centuries by Polyne-
sians who were believed to have originated in southwestern Asia. Bora
easily comes to mind. The songs of Hawaii tell stories of travels in
long canoes, using stars and ocean currents as navigational guides.
It is alleged that some Spanish ships visited Hawaii in 1555. But
the first recorded European visit was that of Captain James Cook,
an Englishman, in 1778, who was killed on Hawaii’s Kealakekua
Beach in 1779.
The present Hawaiians’ ancestors were fierce seafaring warriors
who had their own slaves. Their leaders murdered those commoners
who had the audacity to violate a taboo, such as getting in the way
of an “alii’s” (royalty and noblemen) shadow. Every 5th fish caught
belonged to the chief. Women were not allowed to eat with the men.
Nobody but the “alii” could own land.
After the Europeans’ arrival, Hawaii quickly developed into a port
of call. A minor chief by the name of Kamehameha rose to power
through a series of campaigns conquering all the Hawaiian islands,
except Kauai, and by 1810, he established his sovereignty over the
group. This was the beginning of the Kingdom of Hawaii.
By then many foreigners had come to Hawaii, and in 1820 the
first group of New England missionaries arrived. They established
schools, learned the language and were the ones to reduce Hawai-
ian language to written form. A new era had started for the islands,
brilliantly described in James Mitchener’s book “Hawaii.” More on
Hawaii’s colorful past can be found in “Shoal of Time,” a history of
the Hawaiian islands, by Gavan Daws.
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Decisive Influences
Another page of Hawaii’s history was turned on December 7, 1941,
with the Japanese surprise attack on Pearl Harbor which plunged
the United States into World War II.
To give you a better sense of what Hawaii was like during the
beginning of the 21st century, here is a brief, and in no form com-
plete, description of its music, for most everyone has heard Hawaiian
music. The Hawaiian heritage builds very much on its music and
might be the easiest way to introduce anyone to the islands with the
Aloha spirit.
You may be surprised, as I was to learn, how much German in-
fluence there was, and still is, in Hawaii. I am not talking about the
commercial influence, of which there was plenty, also. For instance,
in 1848 a German ship captain, Heinrich Hackfeld, arrived in Hawaii
to go into business. Gold had just been discovered in California and
supplies were few. So Hackfeld began shipping shovels, tents and
other paraphernalia at tremendous profits. Because anti-German
sentiment was high during World War I, Hackfeld changed the store’s
name to Liberty House, after Liberty bonds. Until very recently,
everybody visiting the islands was likely to shop at Liberty House,
recently acquired by Macy’s of New York and its name changed to
“Macy’s.”
But following is a glance at some of the best known Hawaiian
music;
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influences, plus the invented instruments, the ‘ukelele, the slack key
guitar and the steel guitar.
Kamehameha V wanted a royal band like those that existed in
Europe. So, he imported a brisk little man with a sweeping mustache.
His name was Heinrich Berger, from Germany. He was called ‘Henry’
Berger in Hawaii, and eventually became known as the “father of
Hawaiian music.” His musical influence was very much felt from
1872 to 1915, even much longer, way past his retirement years, until
the day of his death in 1929, blind and frail, but surely not deaf.
Berger conducted more than 32,000 band concerts, arranged
more than 1,000 Hawaiian songs, helped compose many of them.
He himself created 75 original Hawaiian songs, many of them still
popular today.
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royal Hawaiian composers at the time, Lydia was the only one who
had any formal musical education. She studied both piano and organ
under Captain Henry Berger.
“Beyond the Reef,” another famous song of Hawaii, was com-
posed by Jack Pitman, a haole. “Haole” is the Hawaiian word for a
Caucasian. Only much later was “Beyond the Reef” translated into
Hawaiian and is now also sung in Hawaiian.
The “Kamehameha Waltz” was written by Charles E. King,
another haole, who contributed more to the Hawaiian musical de-
velopment than any other single composer.—Kalua—“This is the
night of love, the shining hour of Kalua,” was written by Ken Darby,
still another haole. “Across the Sea” was written by Ray Kinney and
Johnny Noble.
“Tiny Bubbles” written in 1966, by a mainlander, Leon Pober, is
the song which made Don Ho famous and is closely identified with
Hawaii. Now it is also sung in Hawaiian. “I am Hawaii” is the main
theme of the movie “Hawaii.” The score for the picture was composed
by Elmer Bernstein, lyrics added by Mack David in October 1966.
Anyone can see from this that many individuals from non-Hawai-
ian stock contributed significantly to Hawaiian music and, to a large
degree, created the main themes which are considered to represent
typical Hawaiian music today.
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his German ancestry, but his songs and his relationship to the rest
of the world are exclusively Hawaiian. Maybe that’s what the spirit
of Hawaii can do to people so inclined. They just claim one side of
one’s ancestry, and everything else is forgotten, or purposely swept
under the rug. Yet the fact is that we are all one human race with
lots of variations in color, shape and intellect. Whatever we choose
to be is left all up to us.
Making a racial statement, even if it is well intended or just a step
of one-upmanship, will always tend to limit one’s future development.
For instance, still staying with the Hawaiian music scene as an ex-
ample, “Iz” was a famous 800 pound Hawaiian male singer. His full
name was Israel Kamakawiwo'ole and he died of respiratory failure
on June 26, 1997, at age 38. His 17 year old daughter Ceslieanne
had a baby girl in 2000, who she named Kiara Kaleinanihiwahi-
waakawainohiaokauanoelaawehiwaonalani Parker-Kamakawiwoole.
Question: How much of a Hawaiian statement can you make and
where will it take that child?
Absorbing Aloha
Today’s Hawaii, like its music, is very much the product of many
non-Hawaiians who adopted the islands’ Aloha spirit, which in itself
is a deep felt, friendly welcome to others, closeness to nature, and the
understanding for sharing resources. However, some full blooded,
as well as other highly diluted native Hawaiians, haven’t reconciled
themselves with the way Hawaii has turned out to be today, a State
of the United States of America. In a perfect world, the acquisition
of Hawaii by the U.S.A. would have been less tumultuous and less
contentious. If today’s America could roll back the time, it certainly
would and should. One thing is for sure, though, even if the Americans
had stayed away. Hawaii would have been taken over in one form or
another by maybe the British, the Russians, the Germans, the Japa-
nese… just to mention a few of the real contenders at the time. And
if that had happened, it is doubtful that today’s Hawaiians would be
better off than they are under the “Star Spangled Banner.”
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Crisp Criteria
So even in paradise, not everything is as peaceful and wholesome
as it could be. Maybe those militants will wake up some time and go
for the real thing instead, which is performing the American way, not
being limited to the horizon surrounding their shores, contributing to
the overall well being of the nation, including their islands. At least,
that’s the way I would do it if I were of Hawaiian descent, which, on
the surface I am certainly not, but who knows?
Instead, right now perceptions are being pursued by some who
believe they have a sufficiently high Hawaiian blood content, such
as trying to obtain free education for one’s children at the famous
Kamehameha School in Honolulu. It has a mega million endowment
from the Bishop Estate to provide the very best possible education
for all the children of Hawaiian ancestry. At this point in time, to be
considered “of Hawaiian ancestry” and thus qualify for the school,
means your blood has to be a 1/32 Hawaiian ratio or better. One
thirty-second is about 3% of your blood! Plus no proof required. All
you need is to say so. It is comparable to the year 2000 census of the
U.S.A. where anyone could fill in anything they wished. Just say-so,
or worse still, political preference, is enough.
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Fundamental Advantages
So, with all those highly emotional and politicized problems
named above, why would I choose Hawaii as the best place on earth
to live versus it being wherever I was hanging my hat? For a number
of reasons:
To me, first and foremost, Hawaii is American, which is the big-
gest blessing of them all. This, to me, means it is open, it is free. It
is protected (as it was in WW II at great human and financial cost to
ALL of America). It is part of the American national infrastructure,
the political and legal systems. Its economic strengths were built by
immigrants and still, Hawaii welcomes immigrants.
Next, its location halfway between Asia and North America makes
it the natural bridge for the two continents, and in a way, for the
world. Japanese, Chinese, Tagalog are spoken as well in Hawaii as
is English. Asian, European and North American cultures mix freely.
Cross cultural pollination thrives. You’ll find as many cuisines in
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seem to be surfing forever. And I often wonder how they do it. They
just love it. I know many people who go surfing before the sun comes
up or after it sets, either before they go to work or after they are
done at the office. And I know people who do nothing but surf, day
in, day out. It’s their life. Great lifestyle—if you can have it! It’s not a
regular routine for me, but I, too, like catching the waves when they
are high. Most of the time, however, I merely swim and wave to the
surfers as they paddle out on their boards while it’s still dark in the
morning. I routinely do swim between 1 to 2 km every day around
sunrise, for sure. Where else could I have that kind of luxury, right in
front of my office and home? And as far as I am concerned, nowhere
else can beat that. Hawaii, even with the undercurrents of human
strife, unsatisfied local ambitions, and its government’s unfulfilled
economic development dreams, is still paradise to me.
By the way, every so often a shark takes a bite out of a surfer’s
surfboard, or out of a surfer. In the early morning, or at night, are
their preferred feeding times. Close to the shore, however, the water
is shallow enough that 12 foot sharks normally don’t like going there,
although it has happened. A patient reminder that even in paradise
there still are perils. So, to be on the safe side, I do most of my swim-
ming along Ala Moana Beach which is protected by a long reef. More
than 14 large green turtles are living and swimming there, too, for
the same reason.
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Chapter Six
American by Choice
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Made in U.S.A.
Is this decadence in the making or is it already here? It could be
the result of living in a fortress for too long, for knowing all the hu-
man rights to claim but few of the duties to perform, which go along
with every right. Following such a self-centered course for a society
includes losing its immigrant culture and values, disavowing “Give
me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe
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free…,” the “golden door” closing, and the lamp going dark.
Is that America? For some it is, and for others it is worse. You just
need to read the daily newspapers. The United States government
is supposed to be kept in check by a triumvirate of balanced power:
Congress, the President, and the Supreme Court. In fact, however,
the press has assumed more power than any one of the three pil-
lars of government. It is free to sound off, right or wrong, in most
cases with no penalty for untruth or bias, all “protected by the First
Amendment.” Since bad news sells best, guess which happenings get
top billing, and which slant is applied to the rest?
Entertainment as King
In order to keep the masses content in ancient Rome, entertain-
ment became one of the top priorities in many lives. That included
among many other “sports,” the gladiators who tore each other apart
in the arena of the colosseum, as well as wild animals loosened against
captured foes.
In the Rome of today, which is U.S.A., to some degree and in
slightly different form, that tradition has been taken up by at least
part of the press where the “news” becomes the ultimate form of
entertainment.
Like any good thing, news as a form of entertainment can be
overdone. A free press is admirable and highly desirable, but with
this precious right goes a duty to the unfettered truth, nothing but the
truth. Factual reporting, instead of bias, should be the rule. Opinion
interwoven with facts ought to be identified as such.
News and entertainment are contradictions in themselves,
although they get mixed all the time. News might be amusing or
anxiety arousing in itself, but the purpose of entertainment cannot
possibly drive the news. At this point in time, however, no constraints
whatsoever exist. If there were constraints exercised, that news is
unlikely to sell. Yet selling it is its entire purpose. That’s why many
times the news is entirely misleading, that’s why we have spin doctors
nowadays… make-believe and entertainment. That is a dangerous
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Competitive Advantage
The same applies to education. America as a country spends the
most money per capita in the world on the education of its children.
And yet, it comes up with very low academic scores, frequently
graduating virtual illiterates. The best educational performers in
the country most often come from private education and from the
parents who have supplemented ordinary school education with their
own additional input.
There is a lot of narrow-mindedness around, where the advance-
ment of gifted children is considered unequal, where mediocrity is
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Twisted Tongues
Language, suddenly, is another challenge for America. Many
home-grown Americans don’t know their own language well. They
can’t read or write. They have trouble even with pidgin English. And
yet, government policy, anxious to gain votes, tends to favor making
more languages acceptable to be taught in school for communicating
with the government, for applying to whatever entitlements someone
might be able to reach. The end result of this can only be unemploy-
able graduates who can’t work in a job which requires the country’s
main language. ONE common language is a rudimentary require-
ment. Second and third languages are wonderful additions, and help
in the comprehension of other cultures and the rest of the world, but
only if they come on top of the country’s common language.
In Singapore, signs at the bank tellers say “Speak Mandarin first!”
And that is in a country where four languages are basic, taught and
spoken everywhere. (They are: Mandarin Chinese, Malay, Tamil,
and English).
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The Bad
The crimes committed by Americans are as appalling as those
committed by criminals elsewhere, maybe proportionally worse, and
more numerous. For sure they are better recorded and widely publi-
cized. Justice is not rendered equally, although that’s what the U.S.
Constitution demands and efforts are certainly made to accomplish
this goal. Indeed, as not only the U.S Supreme Court Justice Thur-
good Marshall noted, there is yet a long way to go.
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One of the United States strengths is that most of its people want
to be Americans, even though they happen to be born in America.
Most of the harm that has been brought to the U.S. originates from
people who didn’t care a fig about their being American.
Their crimes were not only against fellow Americans, such as
supplying the atomic bomb secrets to the Soviet Union. This feat,
for example, was accomplished by Klaus Fuchs and Ted Hall, and to
some extent with the help of
Julius and Ethel Rosenberg.
Hall, an American aca-
demic, ended up never
even being charged. He
was allowed to live out the
rest of his life unbothered in
the United Kingdom while
the Rosenbergs died in the
electric chair in 1953.
The discovery of crimes
against humanity is not
restricted to the individu-
als who were on trial in
Nuremberg after World War
II. They were already being
committed in the United
States before, and more so
United States President Ronald Reagan after, the American Civil
War, particularly in the form
of lynching black people,
and the criminal mistreat-
ment of Jews, Catholics and others.
Only 23 years after the lessons of World War II, American soldiers
raped and executed Vietnamese noncombatants, including women,
children and the elderly in what became known as the My Lai mas-
sacre with over 500 dead on March 16, 1968. Regarding this holo-
caust-like event, only one American soldier, Lt. William Calley, was
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ever tried and convicted of a crime and served all but 6 months in
jail. The remaining perpetrators, conspirators and accomplices of this
gruesome act against humanity were allowed to go free and to con-
tinue with their normal lives. Similarly, as the accused in Nuremberg,
when asked why they did what they did, they simply said, they were
merely following orders. Justice looked the other way.
The saving grace for America, however, in the case of the My Lai
murders, is that several of the American helicopter crew members
who happened to come across the murderous actions in progress were
able to intervene and save some of the intended victims. Special credit
for this goes to Warrant Officer Hugh Thompson, a true American,
while the perpetrators were Americans in name only.
Much later, other real Americans who learned of the incident had
the courage to bring it to the attention of the public and the powers
that be. The authorities and the military tried to first squash the
news. But, eventually, they had no choice but to deal with the shame-
ful event. Maybe that’s the American difference, that there are good
individuals who are willing to stand up for American ideals, against
their own, and in the process risk their own lives to try and do the
right thing, no matter what personal consequences. In the end, the
bad is not allowed to be swept under the rug. The good guys, who
more often than not are the little guys, do have a chance to stop the
mayhem and set the stage for a better tomorrow for all of us.
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ordinary people can do great things. It’s the country where every
one is allowed to make as great a contribution to the community, or
the world, as he or she are capable of. There is no discrimination
against good will or talent. Everyone is believed capable of greatness
in his or her own way.”
America, therefore, is a special and unique place. Apart from
having its own uncounted opportunities for individuals to make them
their own, American society allows and encourages people to create
their own.
Yet America is America because of its immigrants. Each of its
states, including Hawaii, is what it is because of the immigrants who
came and made it what it is, a paradise on earth. This immigration
meant a rebirth, then—human, political and economic of dimensions
nobody had ever believed possible before. It still is doing so today and
can continue doing so in the near and distant future. The American
formula does work. However, it is easily forgotten by those longing
for the process to stop and hang on to a precious, past glorious time.
But really, having it all now means leaving nothing for the future.
It’s a sure sign of a star burning out.
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Wishing to Volunteer
Nowhere else in the world do people volunteer as much as in the
United States of America. Volunteering manpower, raising money,
coming forth freely to help others, their communities, the world com-
munity, not just their own families, but the human family—that is
America. Entirely of their own free will, year after year, Americans
produce and give away to education, charities, churches and for un-
countable other noble causes, more value than many of the world’s
nations gross national product. THAT is one of the key characteristics
of an American. Americans are ready to serve for an unselfish, greater
purpose, to make this a better world, and as a result, they do.
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Chapter Seven
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Why Happiness?
When the American Founding Fathers wrote the Declaration of
Independence, “Pursuit of Happiness” was substituted for “Prop-
erty,” according to Pilon, not to denigrate material wealth but to
indicate a broader concept of materialism. Pursuit of happiness
included not only being a farmer but also engaging in commerce,
providing services, and using the creative faculties to generate what
we nowadays call “intellectual property.” Or, as P. J. O’Rourke con-
cluded in a December 3, 2001 writing, “… it turns out, our country
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sage “All Americans must die” was found scrawled on a toilet mirror
of the aircraft. As a result, the flight was diverted to Keflavik airport
in Iceland where the cabin was thoroughly searched, as well as the
passengers and their hand baggage thoroughly examined. Nothing
discriminatory was found, and the flight proceeded to Orlando. End
of incident, four months after September 11.
But why would someone put such inflammatory graffiti on a mir-
ror? Obviously it must be someone with deep-seated hatred for Ameri-
cans. Who could say that it came from a non-American? Whether
non-American or definitely American, there is no doubt about it:
Hating Americans is a deep-seated feeling, for whatever reason. And
it wasn’t just a one time experience. It seems to be prevalent with a
wide variety of people.
Anti-American prejudice is not and was not limited to those who
misrepresent themselves as martyrs for Allah. A very similar event to
the World Trade Center bombing took place in Oklahoma City on
April 19, 1995. The perpetrators were young Americans, Timothy
McVeigh, a decorated Gulf war veteran, and co-conspirator Terry
Nichols. Eventually caught and tried, the unanimous jury verdict for
Timothy McVeigh was death by lethal injection. Six years, one month
and 23 days after his truck bomb shattered the Alfred P. Murrah Fed-
eral Building in Oklahoma City, federal prison authorities placed a
needle in Timothy McVeigh's right leg and pumped a deadly stream
of drugs into his veins. Independently, while in jail, Terry Nichols
threatened to starve himself if he didn’t get a higher-fiber diet.
That’s a snapshot of pre-September 11, 2001 America.
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anywhere else in the world, nor for other people’s bondage or new
forms of slavery. To the contrary, without American prosperity, the
developing world would be far worse off. Americans should have said,
but didn’t, that any moment any country in the world could begin to
fully share in that prosperity by simply changing its own repressive
political, economic or social system to emulate America’s.
A lot more than the innocent victims of September 11, 2001 died
that day: America’s belief in its physical invincibility, it’s naivete,
it’s blind pursuit of its own happiness. Its beauty grew a little more
mature. Its wealth was realized as more vulnerable, closer at hand
rather than everywhere and unlimited. Yes, America turned a page,
and everybody saw it. The United States of America is older now,
and I think, wiser also.
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Book Three Deep Inside chapter eight
Chapter Eight
Paradise Found
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There is Light
The rational mind—and science in particular—will not accept
anything but solid, visible and repeatable truth. Even the most
clever say-so or representation is not acceptable, because, in the
end, it could be a fraud, even if dispensable like a magic spell. At
least my childish mind told me that the picture of God in a human
body and clothes, sitting in clouds or on top of Mount Sinai is out.
Furthermore, I questioned why God should be a HE. God could
very well be a SHE. Actually, that might make more sense to me, I
thought, because it’s the females who give birth, not males, although
one could say that the male sperm starts at least the creation of a hu-
man being. But then it needs a well-prepared and receptive human
egg. And the entire process of creation—never mind God’s alleged
creation of the earth in 7 days (another allegory?)—is carried out by
a female, not the male. In my mind at least, the SHE deserved more
credit for what comes into this world. Ergo, at least to me when I
was a child, God could as well be female. Needless to say, that idea
didn’t sit well with most authorities on the subject. So, most of the
time I kept that thought to myself.
Looking back in human history becomes more bizarre. Different
groups saw God in the form of an animal, or there was a plurality
of gods, and they came in the body of different mystical animals.
The exception to this is Islam, where no visual images are tolerated
whatsoever. Yet there was always a God, and since the human mind
somehow needed a picture to associate with, if necessary, a picture
was made up. Those who considered themselves as priests of God
treated children, as well as grownups, like children with a vivid
imagination lacking in fully developed observation power. One of
the foremost commands of almost every religion then prescribed: You
shall not have any other Gods beside me! And every thought other
than that was evil, often asking for severe punishment.
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worry jealously that one or more of her disciples may go and wor-
ship the wrong idol, because anyone turning away from the truth is
bound to suffer the consequences, anyway. That’s like telling a driver
to watch out for the road. It’s obvious. Otherwise, he will hit a tree
pretty soon. Bad choices turn in bad results. Nothing is more obvious
than that. Sinners do so at their own risk.
Imagining God in a particular form or face is benign, actually
for most of us, very healthy. After all, we need to know that there
is a purpose to our existence, and a powerful God we can visualize
helps our minds to deal with what otherwise we are unable to grasp.
Therefore, I endorse almost any form of religion and have the high-
est respect for every one who submits to a higher being, whatever
the choice.
Most often that choice was made for us by our parents. Or maybe
some missionaries or other agents of a prevailing religion talked us
into it. Or we were attracted on our own, or had a dream. It really
doesn’t matter. Following the Lord or Allah or Buddha is our divine
right, and exercising it can prove to us, as well as to others, that we
are decent individuals, a worthy part of this earth and the brother-
hood of men (sorry—women, too, of course).
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like being at all. Actually I find this most unlikely, although yes, She
can be represented in the body of a man, for instance, or an animal,
or a rock, or in any form this universe contains.
By way of elimination we can define what God is not. That list
would be long. Instead, God ultimately must be a force, probably way
beyond our comprehension and understanding at this time, although
we can try. God could be an idea, a thought, a law. Naturally, God
must be super powerful and thoughtful, that's for sure, for there is so
much energy in the universe which seems to be almost everywhere
in one form or another, and governed by eternal laws, which, to me,
means by thought.
Forever is Now
Why do we have to die? Why can’t we go on living forever? Or
do we? Machines wear out, it seems, regardless of how well they
were designed. But there are some things that seem to go on forever:
ideas and energy. Even Socrates tried to convince his followers that
he wasn’t going to die, for his thoughts would be with them. They’d
be thinking his thoughts, and they’d pass them on to others. Until
his ideas die, Socrates would live. Actually, even if his thoughts were
abandoned, they were necessary and helped in the formation of oth-
ers. And that is how it appears to me: life, in the form of ideas and
energy, does live forever.
“Why do we have to live, then?” you may ask. Nobody told us the
purpose, but it appears to me that a mechanism, when it is designed,
by whomever it is designed, even if it develops by default, the resulting
design serves a purpose. It is primarily the features of a machine which
decide what the machine can be used for, even if we were not told of
the purpose. From this, then, I do assume that we were created for the
purpose of making the best use of whatever we’ve got. The miracle of
creation, not of machines, but living beings, cannot possibly be an ac-
cident or mere imagination. That’s maybe as close to God as we can
come with scientific reasoning, which obviously is highly inadequate.
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In a line of art, such as painting, music, acting etc. This is the job
for the muses and emotions.
To me, these three formats actually can work very well simultane-
ously, throughout one’s life. Not everyone may be able to accomplish
this. However, speaking for myself and some of my friends, I have
noticed that there is a need within us to satisfy these three lines of
professions. Furthermore, adequate training from early youth, sus-
tained interest, and the possibility to apply ourselves in the various
sectors, have a very practical advantage: a person of this type will
never be without a paying job, regardless of where he is and what
are the times. Also, he will never be without personal satisfaction in
life, and have lots of friends.
I know, for instance, a lawyer who served his apprenticeship as a
carpenter before studying law. He is also an accomplished violinist.
There were times after the World War II when there was no need
for his legal services. But there was need for carpenters. Today he is
a successful executive, and plays the violin with some of his friends
for his own satisfaction. I could name many examples of fortunate
people whose parents, or who themselves were farsighted enough to
get such a triple education, or got it by accident, and I haven’t met a
single one of them who hasn’t benefited greatly from this three-way
approach to education. Also, their children are benefiting. Further-
more, a person with active interest in the three basic fields of human
endeavor is seldom alone, nor biased with a single-track mind.
Identity Counts
This, then, brings me to the subject of nationality, a subject
of equal importance with some people as the color of somebody's
dress or skin. Wars have been, and still are, being fought because of
“nationality”. I happen to have a belief in this matter. Nationality
is a necessary step in the formation of the human society, the same
as city states of Europe were at one time of essence to the European
development. I was happy to give up my German nationality when I
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Just for Today
amo, amas, amat;
amamus, amatis, amant…
you and I understand:
Win
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Appendix
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Appendix More Relatives, American Pioneers
American Pioneers
For closer study of the European branches of my family tree please
consult Helmut Straube’s family chronicle (Familien-Chronik der
Familien Straube-Peuckert, Arnsberg, May 1977). Helmut meticu-
lously covered each family member and actual relationships. He also
described some of the American relatives, the ones he was able to
track and trace or those he knew. However, in this chapter I intend
to provide a closer look at a couple of my Americans relatives who
somehow left a larger profile than the others.
In my examination I discovered one thing is for sure: My Ameri-
can part of the family is markedly different. They had to be, because
they are the same people who packed up in the old world, if there
was anything to pack, and left their homeland for a new start in the
New World. Our American branch, compared to those left behind
in Europe, consisted of risk takers, and as it turned out, risk shapers.
Like other immigrants from all over the world who chose to come
to America, they came with an open mind, worked hard, learned,
adapted, and had the stamina to follow things through. Intelligent,
diligent immigrants became a super charge for a thriving nation.
If this special characteristic should ever change in America, it then
would become just another country with just a normal supply of
oxygen to its blood.
Emma
The information that follows was obtained from Helmut Straube’s
chronicle and translated by me:
Emma Pauline Weber, nee Straube, was born September 26,
1863 in Obergruna, Saxony, and died January 1, 1942 in Harlin-
gen, Texas.
In order to achieve the professional and social standing of their
parents, Emma, like most daughters of country folks, had little or
no choice but to go to the city and find a job as a maid. This meant
committing herself to serve for a specific period of time, about one
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or more years.
Emma, like other
w o m e n o f h e r d a y,
had a job as a maid, of
which, unfortunately,
most details were un-
known. About 1882,
at the age of 19 years,
Emma emigrated to
St. Louis, Missouri,
U.S.A. About 1885,
she married a former
acquaintance from Re-
insberg, Saxony, near
Obergruna, Moritz
Weber, a carpenter.
Emma was described
as determined, hard
working and thrifty.
And as a result her
family prospered.
The marriage pro-
duced four children, three girls and one boy. For some unknown
reasons, the marriage broke up later. During the Prohibition period
her husband was alleged to have entered the moonshine business.
During the time of inflation around 1923, Emma visited Dresden.
A picture still exists of that occasion.
Her daughter Helen, married name Scheu, also visited Dresden
with her two daughters during the 1936 Olympics.
Paul
Paul Oswald Straube was born May 27, 1874 in Obergruna, Sax-
ony, and died March 3, 1953 in St. Louis, Missouri.
Paul served a plumber apprenticeship in Siebenlehn. About 1892,
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Appendix More Relatives, American Pioneers
at age 18, and upon a suggestion from his sister Emma, he followed
her to St. Louis U.S.A.
There is little known about his professional activities. It is alleged
that he had his own business with a number of employees, while at
the same time, he ran a gym (German Turnverein) full time.
He visited Germany twice, about 1901 and 1908.
In 1912 he married Agnes, nee von Eckhart.
Since they had no children of their own, they adopted Delphine,
who was a daughter of Agnes’ deceased sister.
Agnes was called Alice by all of us. She was an intelligent, able
woman. She was the one who primarily supported our relatives in
Germany after the 2nd World War. She died in 1965 at the ripe old
age of 97, her faculties intact until the very last minute.
End of translation from
Helmut’s chronicle.
What follows is some ad-
ditional information obtained
from Delphine Nordstrom, nee
Straube, the adopted daughter
of Paul Oswald Straube and his
wife Agnes, nee von Eckhart
— see separate mention.
Paul Oswald Straube,
Emma Pauline Weber (nee
Straube), and her children
Hattie (Hedwig Elizabeth),
Olga, Helen, and Richard,
all lived within streets of each
other in St. Louis.
Helen became Helen
Scheu and had two daughters.
Delphine said Helen was ex-
tremely well off, but she didn’t
know why or what Mr. Scheu
did for a living. All she remem-
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bers from her time as a young teenager is that the Scheus lived in a
beautiful, large house. According to Delphine, Helen’s husband had
either died or she was divorced.
Alice
“Aunt Alice” was a wonder-
ful woman, a femme fatale in
their time, and a pioneer in
many ways, far ahead of her
time. Although there was a 61
year gap in our age difference,
right from the very start she
and I had a very special rela-
tionship. We understood each
other as though we were con-
temporaries. We both saw the
world as a big bowl of cherries,
and both pretty much from the
same perspective. Aunt Alice
never grew old — frail, yes, but
kept her mind sharp as that of
a full time professional until the
day she died at age 97.
My personal experiences
with her as reported here are
supplemented by input from
her stepdaughter, Delphine.
Aunt Alice, or Agnes von Eckhart, was born on January 17, 1868,
in Chicago. She died on February 19, 1965, in St. Louis, Missouri.
To me she was Aunt Alice Straube, the wife of Uncle Paul Straube
(see above). Although all her official records showed her name to be
Agnes, nevertheless, all through her life everyone called her Alice
instead of Agnes.
Aunt Alice was married twice before she, at age 44, and Uncle
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Appendix More Relatives, American Pioneers
Paul, a bachelor age 38, married in 1912. Her first marriage had
been to a high official of the Canadian Roalroad who must have been
much older than she and quite wealthy. Alice lived in Canada with
him until he passed away. Then she moved back to Chicago where
she married someone whose brother was a major political figure and
whose name is still unknown to me. The two brothers got involved
in some shady deal which eventually went bust. And, as a result, her
2nd husband committed suicide.
As happens all the time still, nowadays among after-hours ath-
letes, also then, the couple met at the gym. In this case the German
Turnverein in St. Louis where each went to work out. Both of them
were in great physical shape, and their attraction was immediate.
Their marriage lasted for 41 years until Uncle Paul’s death in 1953.
Aunt Alice survived him by 12 years, until 1965. And it was during
that short span of time that I got to know her.
When she met Uncle Paul, her full time job was that of a depart-
ment store buyer for the May Company in St. Louis. Talking about
a two income couple, in 1912 Aunt Alice and Uncle Paul were a two
income family couple, already way ahead of more modern times.
There may have been a lot of discrimination still in place against
women then, but not for Aunt Alice. She was the first woman in the
State of Missouri to receive a driver’s license. Alice then drove what
she referred to as her “open machine.” Although in her eighties, she
had her own car, a DeSoto DeLuxe. She would reluctantly cede the
seat behind the steering wheel to Delphine or others, like me. Once,
on the way from St. Louis to Chicago, I was behind the steering wheel,
carefully driving along just below the speed limit, Aunt Alice sitting
beside me. As soon as we hit famous, and fast moving, Route 66, she
exclaimed in reference to my timid handling of the car: “Let her out!
Let her out!” I could see in my mind what a fireball she must have
been in her husband’s life, and obviously still was, never mind the
police which might have been chasing us soon if we had been going
as fast as she would have preferred. Yes, Aunt Alice was a driving
force in her lifetime.
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European Family
not recognized elsewhere
Casper
Translation from the original entry in Polish of W. Kopalinski’s
writings found in an archive in Warsaw:
STRAUBE, Casper (a German pronunciation of the name is given),
originally from Bavaria, Germany, a traveling printer, who very
likely sojourned in Augsburg, Dresden and Leipzig and in 1473
stopped at the capital city of Cracow, Poland, where he took
upon himself printing books under the commission from the local
Bernardin friars. He printed 4 works: “Almanach Cracoviense”, a
wall calendar for 1474, imprinted on one side, recognized to be
the very first work printed in Polish; “Opus Restitutionum” (about
restitution, usury and excommunications) by Franciszek de Platea,
in 1475; “Explanatio in Psalterium” (A Psalter explained) by Jan
Turrecremata, about 1476; “Opuscula” (minor theological works
by St. Augustin), 1476-77. He didn’t put his name or date on any of
his prints. The subsequent fate of the print master and his editing
house are unknown.
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Appendix More Relatives, European Family
Karl
Karl Straube, organ-
ist as well as leader of the
Thomaner Choir and Ge-
wandhaus Conservatory in
Leipzig (Saxony), was born
January 6, 1873 in Berlin
and died April 27, 1950 in
Leipzig.
Up to the middle of the
18th century the organ was
considered “queen of mu-
sic instruments” but then
lost its central position as
a tool of the musica sacra
because of new secular de-
velopments. Only a hundred
years later the organ and its
potential were rediscovered,
to a large extent because of
Karl Straube and his per-
formance of Bach cantatas.
Straube succeeded in freeing
Bach’s organ music from its traditional interpretation by utilizing
all new technical possibilities of the modern sound pioneered by the
orchestras of Wagnerian music. Lifelong he worked on the modern
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Appendix More Relatives, European Family
The result was that until 1939 he was able to continue his work.
However, his continuing antifascist leanings did not remain a secret
to the party. Straube did not only refuse to go to party gatherings,
he also continued his association with Jewish friends and colleagues.
After a confrontational power play, he handed in his resignation. Until
1948 he remained organ music teacher at the conservatory and tried
to promote the education of church musicians, even if the pressures of
the regime required him to camouflage specific teaching subjects.
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August 2001
01 Wednesday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and cut peach and pineapple
pieces.
Some walnuts. Rice milk. Green tea.
Morning snack (about 11 am)
A medium sized banana
Lunch (main meal of day)
Butterfish with rice, Ogo, pickled turnips. Bean-broth soup. Fresh
cherries for dessert.
No afternoon snack.
Dinner (about 6-7 pm)
Baked potato with steamed red pepper and onion greens. A teaspoon
of Tahini as topping. One glass of red grape juice.
Late night snack (maybe 10-11 pm)
Some soy-yogurt with banana slices.
02 Thursday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and blueberries. Some walnuts.
Rice milk. Green tea.
Morning snack (about 11 am)
A medium sized banana
Lunch (main meal of day)
Salmon with baked potato, cooked spinach. Onion-broth soup.
Fresh cherries for dessert.
No afternoon snack.
Dinner (about 6-7 pm)
Baked potato with steamed onions and green beans. A teaspoon of
Tahini as topping. One glass of red grape juice.
Late night snack (maybe 10-11 pm)
Some soy-yogurt with fresh Kiwi fruit pieces and banana slices.
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03 Friday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and blueberries. Some walnuts.
Rice milk. Green tea.
Morning snack (about 11 am)
A medium sized banana
Lunch (main meal of day)
Butterfish with baked potato, lightly cooked beansprouts. Nine-
grain soup. No dessert.
No afternoon snack.
Dinner (about 6-7 pm)
Cooked crisp rice with boiled onions and green beans. A teaspoon of
Tahini as topping. One glass of red grape juice. Half a piece of bread
with almond butter.
Late night snack (maybe 10-11 pm)
Some soy-yogurt with fresh Kiwi fruit pieces and banana slices.
04 Saturday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and blueberries. Some walnuts.
Rice milk. Green tea.
Morning snack (about 11 am)
A banana
Lunch (main meal of day)
At Zippy’s: Broiled salmon with lemon, broccoli and brown rice. No
dessert.
No afternoon snack.
Dinner (about 6-7 pm)
Baked potato with cooked spinach and fresh tomatoes. A teaspoon
of Tahini as topping. One glass of red grape juice. One slice of bread
with almond butter, wrapped in Nori. Green tea.
Late night snack (maybe 10-11 pm)
Some soy-yogurt with fresh Kiwi fruit pieces.
05 Sunday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and blueberries. Some walnuts.
Rice milk. Half a slice of bread with sunflower butter. Green tea.
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06 Monday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and blueberries. Some walnuts.
Rice milk. Green tea.
Morning snack (about 11 am)
A slice of bread wrapped in Nori.
Lunch (main meal of day)
A cup of nine-grain soup. Tofu burger (from tofu and oat flakes
baked in Canola oil) with potatoes au gratin, garlic, and corn with
tomatoes. No dessert.
No afternoon snack.
Dinner (about 6-7 pm)
Brown rice with lightly cooked beansprouts. A teaspoon of Tahini
as topping. One glass of red grape juice. One slice of bread with
almond butter, wrapped in Nori. Green tea.
Late night snack (maybe 10-11 pm)
Some soy-yogurt, plain.
07 Tuesday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and blueberries. Some walnuts.
Rice milk. Green tea.
Morning snack (about 11 am)
A slice of sourdough bread, plain. Cup of green tea.
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08 Wednesday
Breakfast
Poi with granola and one teaspoon flaxseed meal. Also peach slices
as well as pineapple pieces. Some walnuts. Rice milk. Green tea.
No morning snack (about 10.30 am) but cup of green tea.
Lunch (main meal of day)
A cup of tomato soup. Bento box with butterfish and rice. Cooked
carrots and peas. No dessert.
Afternoon snack (about 5 pm before swim)
A banana.
Dinner (about 7-8 pm)
Sushi with Ogo and fresh tomatoes dunked in Tahini. One glass
of red grape juice. Piece of bread with almond butter, wrapped in
Nori.
Late night snack (10-11 pm)
Soy-yogurt with pear slices.
09 Thursday
Breakfast
Poi with granola and one teaspoon flaxseed meal. Also peach slices
as well as pinceapple pieces. Some walnuts. Rice milk. Green tea.
No morning snack (about 10.30 am) but cup of green tea.
Lunch (main meal of day)
A cup of tomato soup. Tempura with fried rice, carrots and peas.
No dessert.
Afternoon snack (about 5 pm before swim)
A banana.
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10 Friday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and pear slices. Some walnuts.
Rice milk. Green tea.
Morning snack (about 10 am)
A granola bar.
Lunch (main meal of day)
Half a cup of Tomato soup. Tofu burger (from tofu and oat flakes
baked in Canola oil) with fried rice and cooked carrots with peas. A
slice of bread with almond butter, wrapped in Nori. Green tea.
Afternoon snack (about 5 pm before swim)
A banana.
Dinner (about 7 pm)
Potatoes au gratin with steamed bean sprouts and corn. One glass of
red grape juice. Rice pudding with cut-up apple pieces in it.
Late night snack (maybe 10-11 pm)
Soy-yogurt with sliced banana.
11 Saturday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and apple pieces. Some wal-
nuts. Rice milk. Green tea.
Morning snack (about 10 am)
Several Graham crackers.
Lunch (main meal of day)
Garlic Mahi Mahi with brown rice and mixed vegetables. One lichee
for dessert. Green tea.
Afternoon snack (about 5 pm)
A banana.
Dinner (about 6 pm)
A banana rolled into a saltless tortilla with fresh tomatoes. One glass
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Appendix Personal Health Data
of red grape juice. One slice of bread with almond butter, wrapped
in Nori. Another half slice of bread with sunflower-butter. Green
tea.
Late night snack (maybe 11 pm)
Soy-yogurt with sliced banana.
12 Sunday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and apple pieces. Some wal-
nuts. Rice milk. Green tea.
Morning snack (about 10.30 am)
A few Graham crackers.
Lunch (main meal of day)
A cup of beansprout broth. Apple pancakes with cooked carrots and
peas.
No afternoon snack.
Dinner (about 6 pm)
Apple pancakes with fresh tomatoes. One glass of red grape juice.
Late night snack (maybe 10-11 pm)
Slice of bread with almond butter, wrapped in Nori. Soy-yogurt with
sliced banana. Green tea.
13 Monday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and apple pieces. Some wal-
nuts. Rice milk. Green tea.
Morning snack (about 10 am)
Several Graham crackers.
Lunch (main meal of day)
Cup of bok choy broth. Mahi Mahi with Okinawa potatoes and bok
choy. Green tea.
No afternoon snack.
Dinner (about 7 pm)
Fried rice with steamed green beans and fresh tomatoes. A teaspoon
full of tahini. One glass of red grape juice.
Late night snack (maybe 10-11 pm)
Soy-yogurt with sliced banana.
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14 Tuesday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and apple pieces. Some wal-
nuts. Rice milk. Green tea.
No morning snack.
Lunch (main meal of day)
Cup of bok choy broth. Apple pancakes with cooked carrots and
onion grass, garlic. Green tea.
No afternoon snack.
Dinner (about 7 pm)
Sushi with bok choy and fresh tomato. One glass of red grape juice.
One and a half apple pancakes. Green tea.
Late night snack (maybe 10-11 pm)
Soy-yogurt with sliced banana.
15 Wednesday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and apple pieces. Some wal-
nuts. Rice milk. Green tea.
Morning snack (about 10 am)
Graham crackers. Green tea.
Lunch (main meal of day)
A cup of bok choy soup. Ahi sashimi with fried rice and sauerkraut.
Green tea.
No afternoon snack.
Dinner (about 6 pm)
Okinawa potatoes and cooked cut-up carrots with a teaspoon of ta-
hini over it. One glass of red grape juice. One apple pancake. Green
tea.
Late night snack (maybe 10-11 pm)
Soy-yogurt with sliced banana.
16 Thursday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and apple pieces. Some wal-
nuts. Rice milk. Green tea.
Morning snack (about 11 am)
Graham crackers. Green tea.
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17 Friday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and apple pieces. Some wal-
nuts. Rice milk. Green tea.
Morning snack (about 11 am)
A slice of sourdough bread, plain. Green tea.
Lunch (main meal of day)
Cup of refried bean soup. Ahi sashimi with Okinawa potatoes and
sauerkraut. Green tea.
Afternoon snack (about 5 pm before swim)
A banana.
Dinner (about 7 pm)
Fried rice with tomato and cucumber salad, a teaspoon of tahini.
One glass of red grape juice. A piece of bread with almond butter.
Green tea.
Late night snack (maybe 10-11 pm)
Soy-yogurt, plain.
18 Saturday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and apple pieces. Some wal-
nuts. Rice milk. Green tea.
Morning snack (about 11 am)
A banana.
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19 Sunday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and fresh, cut-up star fruit.
Some walnuts. Rice milk. Green tea.
No morning snack, but green tea.
Lunch (main meal of day)
Cup of refried bean soup. Lightly cooked Ahi with white rice and
eggplants. Green tea.
Afternoon snack (about 5 pm before swim)
A banana.
Dinner (about 7 pm)
Okinawa potatoes with steamed spinach salad, garlic and tahini.
One glass of red grape juice. One slice of bread with almond butter,
wrapped in Nori. Green tea.
Late night snack (maybe 10-11 pm)
Soy-yogurt with sliced banana. A slice of bread with sunflowerseed
butter. A cup of hot water.
20 Monday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and fresh, cut-up star fruit.
Some walnuts. Rice milk. Green tea.
No morning snack, but green tea.
Lunch (main meal of day)
Cup of refried bean soup. Tofu with white rice and eggplant, garlic.
Green tea.
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21 Tuesday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and fresh, cut-up star fruit.
Some walnuts. Rice milk. Green tea.
No morning snack, but green tea.
Lunch (main meal of day)
At China House: Egg drop soup, Chinese buffet with chicken, dump-
lings, egg fu young, fried rice, fried noodles, green beans and other
green vegetables. Sesame ball with bean paste inside. Hot water.
Afternoon snack (about 5 pm before swim)
A fresh peach with tahini. Green tea.
Dinner (about 7 pm)
One and a half slices of bread with tofu spread (tofu, tahini, and
lightly cooked onion grass) Fresh tomatoes and cooked eggplant.
One glass of red grape juice. A slice of manna bread. Green tea.
Late night snack (about 11 pm)
Soy-yogurt with sliced banana.
22 Wednesday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and fresh, cut-up star fruit.
Some walnuts. Rice milk. Green tea.
No morning snack, but green tea.
Lunch (main meal of day)
A cup of spinach broth with semolina. Bento box with butterfish and
rice. Green tea.
Afternoon snack (about 5 pm before swim)
A banana rolled into a saltless tortilla with almond butter. One glass
of red grape juice.
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23 Thursday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and fresh, cut-up star fruit.
Some walnuts. Rice milk. Green tea.
Morning snack (about 11 am)
Two oatmeal cookies. Green tea.
Lunch (main meal of day)
A cup of spinach broth with corn meal. Pollock (fish) with Okinawa
potatoes and green bean and garlic salad. A peach with tahini for
dessert. Green tea.
Afternoon snack (about 5 pm before swim)
A banana rolled into a saltless tortilla with almond butter. One glass
of red grape juice. Some rice pudding. Green tea.
Dinner (about 7 pm)
Vegetable tempura, sushi, steamed cucumber slices. Green tea.
Late night snack (maybe 10-11 pm)
Soy-yogurt with fresh peach.
24 Friday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and fresh, cut-up star fruit.
Some walnuts. Rice milk. Green tea.
No morning snack, but green tea.
Lunch (main meal of day)
A cup of spinach broth with corn meal. Pollock (fish) with pasta,
tomato sauce, and green bean and garlic salad. A peach with tahini
for dessert. Green tea.
Afternoon snack (about 5 pm before swim)
A banana rolled into a saltless tortilla with almond butter. One glass
of red grape juice.
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25 Saturday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and fresh, cut-up star fruit.
Some walnuts. Rice milk. Green tea.
No morning snack, but green tea.
Lunch (main meal of day)
A cup of spinach broth with corn meal. Pollock (fish) with pasta, and
corn on the cob. Green tea.
Afternoon snack (about 4 pm before swim)
A peach and a banana with tahini. Green tea.
Dinner (about 7 pm)
Poi bagel with tofu spread (tofu, tahini, and lightly cooked, grated
cucumber) with snow peas and one large fresh tomato. One glass of
red grape juice.
Late night snack (maybe 10-11 pm)
Soy-yogurt with sliced banana.
26 Sunday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and fresh, cut-up star fruit.
Some walnuts. Rice milk. Green tea.
Morning snack (about 11 am)
Several Graham crackers. Green tea.
Lunch (main meal of day)
At Compadre’s: Fresh avocado with black beans and salsa. Cup of
hot water.
No afternoon snack.
Dinner (about 7 pm)
Okinawa potatoes with snow peas and one large fresh tomato. Half
a poi bagel with almond butter. One glass of red grape juice. Green
tea.
Late night snack (maybe 10-11 pm)
Soy-yogurt with fresh peach.
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27 Monday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and fresh, cut-up star fruit.
Some walnuts. Rice milk. Green tea.
Morning snack (about 11 am)
A slice of cantaloupe. Green tea.
Lunch (main meal of day)
A cup of snow pea broth. Tofu/tomato mix with pasta, chick peas,
and green beans. A fresh peach with tahini as dessert. Green tea.
Afternoon snack (about 5 pm before swim)
A banana.
Dinner (about 8 pm)
One hashed potato patty (baked in Canola oil) with snow peas and
several small fresh tomatoes. A slice of bread with almond butter.
One glass of red grape juice.
Late night snack (maybe 10-11 pm)
Soy-yogurt, plain. Half a cup of hot water.
28 Tuesday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and fresh, cut-up star fruit.
Some walnuts. Rice milk. Green tea.
Morning snack (about 11 am)
One oatmeal cookie. Green tea.
Lunch (main meal of day)
Half a cup of snow pea broth. Steamed salmon with couscous and
fresh beansprout salad with garlic. No dessert. Green tea.
Afternoon snack (about 5 pm before swim)
Rice pudding and one banana. One glass of red grape juice.
Dinner (about 8 pm)
Eggplant with tahini, and green beans with chick peas. A slice of
bread with almond butter. Green tea.
Late night snack (11 pm)
Soy-yogurt, plain. Half a cup of hot water.
29 Wednesday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and fresh, cut-up star fruit.
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30 Thursday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and fresh, cut-up peach. Some
walnuts. Rice milk. Green tea.
Morning snack (about 10 am, after one and a half hours tai-chi)
One 1.7 oz soy protein toasted nuts and cranberry bar.
Lunch (main meal of day)
A cup of oat flakes in vegetable broth. Tofu/ogo mix with couscous
and rye berries, spinach. A fresh peach with tahini as dessert. Green
tea.
Afternoon snack (about 5 pm before swim)
A banana.
Dinner (about 7 pm)
One hashed potato patty (baked in Canola oil) with spinach and sev-
eral fresh, small tomatoes dunked in tahini. One glass of red grape
juice. One slice of bread with almond butter. Green tea.
Late night snack (maybe 10-11 pm)
Soy-yogurt with a slice of fresh cantaloup.
31 Friday
Breakfast
Poi with one teaspoon flaxseed meal and fresh, cut-up cantaloup
pieces. Some walnuts. Rice milk. Green tea.
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418
Appendix Author's Sources
Authors’ Sources
Book One
Chapter 1
Encyclopedia Americana, 1959 Edition.
Twelve Signs of the Zodiac
http://www.astrology-online.com/persn.htm February 20, 2000
Lau, Theodora. “Chinese Horoscopes,” Harper & Row 1979.
Meyers Konversations-Lexikon, Bibliographisches Institut,
Leipzig und Wien, 1896.
Chapter 2
drefa Produktion und Lizenz GmbH. “Geschichte Mittel-
deutschlands,” Leipzig, February 5, 2000.
Encyclopedia Americana, 1959 Edition.
Encyclopaedia Britannica, http://www.britannica.com/, Febru-
ary 12, 2000
Historic Bach cantatas, http://www.jsbach.org/historic.html,
February 12, 2000
Kopalinski, W., PIW. “A Dictionary of Myths and Traditions
of Culture,” Warsaw, Poland, 1985, pp.1110-1111. ISBN 83-06-
00861-8
Mitchell, Lt. Col. Joseph B., and Sir Edward S. Creasy. “Twen-
ty Decisive Battles of the World,” The Macmillan Company,
New York, 1964.
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Chapter 3
LaSalle Extension University, “Success” Magazine, 1964
Straube, Frida, geb. Vogt. “Ahnen-Pass,” Dresden, 1936.
Straube, Herbert. “Ahnen-Pass,” Dresden, 1936.
Chapters 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
Straube, Win. “Blame it on me,” manuscript, 1967.
Chapter 10
Straube, Manfred. “Recollections,” written in Dresden, Ger-
many, February 1996. Translation by Win Straube 2000-01-18.
Chapter 1/15
Straube, Hildegard. Honolulu, 2000-07-16.
Book Two
Chapter 4
Straube, Helmut. “Family Chronicles of Dr. Helmut Straube,”
Arnsberg, Germany. Translations by Win Straube.
420
Appendix Author's Sources
Chapter 5
Pegasus International Corporation, corporate records 1951 to
1975.
Chapter 6
Davidson, Harold F.; Cetron, Marvin J.; Goldhar, Joel D.
“Technology Transfer,” Noordhoff International Publishing,
Leiden, The Netherlands, 1974.
Chapter 7
Straube, Win. “Day-Timer” entries March 1973.
Chapter 8
Gallina, Michael N., New York City, June 7, 2001
Sablan, David Mangarero, Saipan, June 27, 2001
Chapter 9
Pennington Borough Records, Straube Center, 1985.
Straube, Win. “Day-Timer” entries November 1985.
U.S. National Debt Clock, http://www.brillig.com/debt_clock/,
July 13, 2000 and August 23, 2002.
Chapter 10
Fritz, Georg. “Die Chamorro. Eine Geschichte und Ethnogra-
phie der Marianen,” Ethnologisches Notizblatt, Berlin, 1904.
Kluge, P.T. “The Edge of Paradise,” Random House, New
York and Toronto, 1991.
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Chapter 11
Encyclopedia Americana, 1959 Edition.
Government of Singapore. “The Next Lap.” 1991
Grolier Multimedia Encyclopedia, 1997 Edition.
Straube, Win. “Day-Timer” entries December 1986.
Chapter 12
New York Times, Sunday, September 21, 1952.
Chapter 13
Lengert, Elfriede. Telephone interview, January 23, 2000.
Straube, Win. “Day-Timer” entries January 1988.
Chapter 14
Straube, Win. “Day-Timer” entries May 1990.
Book Three
Chapter 3
Straube, Win. “Day-Timer” entries August 1989.
Chapter 5
Bishop Museum exhibits, Honolulu, Hawaii, May 15, 1998.
Encyclopedia Americana, 1959 Edition.
Mello, Jack de. “Music of Hawaii,” The Mountain Apple Com-
pany, Hawaii, 1999.
422
Appendix Author's Sources
Chapter 6
Bilton, Michael, and Sim, Kevin, “Four Hours in My Lai.”
Viking, New York, 1992.
CNN News. “Are U.S. Schools Safe ?” June 23, 2000.
Starr, Kenneth. Independent Counsel, “Referral to the United
States House of Representatives pursuant to Title 28, United
States Code, § 595(c),” September 9, 1998.
Warren, Earl, Chairman; Russel, Richard B.; Cooper, John
Sherman; Boggs, Hale; Ford, Gerald R.; Dulles, Allen W.; Mc-
Cloy, John J., “The Warren Commission Report,” The Warren
Commission, U.S. Government, Washington, DC, September
24, 1964.
Woodward, Bob, and Bernstein, Carl. "All the President's
Men," The Washington Post, 1974.
Chapter 7
Forbes ASAP, Winter 2001, “The Pursuit of Happiness”
Chapter 8
Straube, Win. “Blame it on me,” manuscript, 1967.
Appendix
Chapter 1
Straube, Helmut. “Family Chronicles of Dr. Helmut Straube,”
Arnsberg, Germany. Translations by Win Straube.
Chapter 2
Straube, Helmut. “Family Chronicles of Dr. Helmut Straube,”
Arnsberg, Germany. Translations by Win Straube.
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424
Appendix References
References
* Antisthenes
Greek philosopher; born Athens c444 BC; died there after 371
BC
Antisthenes studied first with Gorgias and later with Socrates,
and after the death of the latter he founded his own school in the
Cynosarges, a gymnasium for Athenian youth who had foreign moth-
ers. His teachings were based on the principle that virtue alone is the
foundation of happiness and that virtue arises from knowledge… He
is considered the founder of the school of Cynics.
** Cynics
An unorganized sect of Greek philosophers who followed the
teachings of Antisthenes of Athens and Diogenes of Sinope. The
Cynics derived their name either from Cynosarges, a place where
Antisthenes lectured, or directly from the Greek word for dog (kyon,
kynos), which may have been applied because of their rejection of all
modest conventions and adoption of many shameless practices. Cyn-
icism’s tenets evolved from the eudaimonistic doctrine of Socrates,
who professed that happiness necessarily results from virtue alone and
that virtue, being the knowledge of what is good, was the sole end of
life. The one-sided interpretation of this theory by Antistehenes led
to Cynicism, from which the later school of Stoicism derived much of
its moral philosophy… To the early Cynics we owe two great ideas;
first, the responsibility of the individual as a moral unit, and second,
the supremacy of the power of the will.
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