Life went on as it had before. We spent most of our time looking for food or gardening in Uncle Ewald’s and Aunt Else’s yard to make sure lots of vegetables and fruit would grow there for us. We did have one strange experience with some boxes of corn flakes the soldiers had left for us. We had never seen anything like them before, and we decided that they might make good soup. Of course, when we added them to boiling water, they simply disappeared. It was a terrible loss of food, but it also was strange, and a little funny that these flakes had not made a good soup for us.
Lots of times we sat and talked with Mrs. Muller. We talked about the American soldiers who had lived with us and had been so good to us, and we also talked about Mr. Muller, how sad it was that he had died in an air raid. We never shared with her how his head had been blown off his body, and I never told anyone that I had found one of his eyeballs along the side of the road a few days later and had buried it.
Whenever it was possible, Mutti and I would walk to Lichterfelde to visit Oma Salzmann, Mutti’s mother, and Aunt Erna, Mutti’s sister. It was quite a long walk so we always stayed overnight, and, most of the time, we also went to see Uncle Hermann and Aunt Dora and my two cousins, Gerhard and Gunther.
On our way back to Buckow, Mutti and I always hoped that my dad might have arrived there. We saw lots of German soldiers walking, trying to return to their homes, not knowing if they still had a home, not knowing if their loved ones had survived. We always talked to them and tried to help them in any way we could. None of them had been in the area in Poland where Dad had written his last letter to us. The names of the missing soldiers, including my dad’s were still continuously being broadcast on the radio.
It had been more than a year since we had the company of the American soldiers at Uncle Ewald’s and Aunt Else’s home, we did not expect to hear from John after all this time. We thought that his relatives probably did not want to help a couple of Germans come to America. After all, the Germans had started the war and many, many American soldiers would never come home again.
We were surprised when I received a notice to come to the American consulate in Berlin to be interviewed by the Consul. He asked me many questions and checked all my documents. When he was reviewing my birth certificate he said, “And, of course, you were never a member of the Hitler Youth?” I answered truthfully that I had been, but that my dad did not let me go to their meetings. He looked at me for a long time and then he said, “If your father did not let you go to their meetings, why did he allow you to join them?” I explained that one did not join the Hitler Youth. At age ten one automatically became a member. He said he had a hard time believing me. He had interviewed a lot of German citizens and none had ever admitted to being a member of the Hitler Youth. He said he would have to look into the matter, and I might or might not be able to immigrate to the Unites States. My membership of the Hitler Youth member might disqualify me from receiving a visa. The interview ended with his telling me that I may or may not be granted another interview.
I guess he decided that I had told the truth. After a long wait, I received a notice to come to the consulate for a complete physical examination. Many more questions were asked but no one ever mentioned the Hitler Youth to me again. I was also given an appointment to come and have my picture taken at the consulate. After that, I was told I could come back in a week to pick up my passport. It meant I had passed all the tests, and I would be allowed to enter the United States. But how would I get there? I still had no ticket.
When I picked up my passport, I learned that a ticket for a flight to the United States on American Overseas Airlines was being held for me at Tempelhof Airport and I should go there as soon as possible. The quota for German immigrants could be met and closed within a few days. I went immediately to the airport and was scheduled to leave in four days – if the quota had not yet been filled.
These four days gave me enough time to say goodbye to the few relatives who had survived the war. The most difficult decision was leaving my mom behind. We talked while holding each other. We kept reminding each other that our separation was a price we were paying for the opportunity of fulfilling my dad’s dream of leaving Germany, leaving behind all the horrible memories we had and starting a new life in the United States of America. We were certain our prayers would be answered and my dad would be coming home soon.
The flight to America took a long time. I was flying on a DC-3, and after stops in Amsterdam and Gander, Newfoundland, I arrived and landed at LaGuardia Airport in New York. I saw the Stars and Stripes flying all over the area. Was it a celebration for the immigrants’ arrival in the U.S.? It was then that I learned that America was celebrating a national holiday.
I had landed in the United States of America on the 4th of July in 1947, on Independence Day.
Afterward
My mom kept waiting for my dad to return, but he never did. We always wondered what happened to him two days after he had written his last letter when the Soviet attacks started. Did he die? Was he wounded? Was his Russian friend Josef there? Maybe he was a prisoner in Siberia. So many questions and never any answers.
A Red Cross letter was written and sent to my mom on the 25th of October, 1975, informing her that in all likelihood my dad had died between January 14 and 31 in 1945. After waiting 30 years to see or hear about my dad, my mom joined me in America.
My Father's Legacy 