When Kennedy Went to Berlin
Chapter 4 — Rite of Passage?
In the summer of ’63, when school was in recess, Klaus wandered into the daily Kaffeklatch looking for a bit of Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte or Apple Strudel or Schnecan, which was his favorite.
The Kaffeeklatsch was a mid-day ritual gathering around coffee and desserts where the elders sometimes sang songs and bickered over details about the war — where they were and when things happened. Klaus liked the songs but didn’t pay much attention to the discussions they had because they were mostly in German; his native language was becoming more distant to him since immigrating to America. His father was adamant about everyone learning to speak English.
Josef left the old country behind and insisted they were Americans now. “Time to act like Americans,” he said.
Maria and her sisters continued speaking the language when Josef wasn’t present. Perhaps out of spite or comfort. Either way, they didn’t stop.
The gathering featured various family members who rotated in and out depending upon the day. The numbers would vary from two to as many as five, and they could get quite loud and passionate. When someone like Nosy Myra, the neighborhood gossip came over, the passion subdued, and the language switched from German to English. Myra’s curiosity triggered deeper probing about the war and Maria was reluctant to speak about her experience, but acquiesced.
When Klaus’ sweet tooth kicked in, he dropped by, grabbed a morsel, and moved down the hall to his favorite corner of the house. Within earshot, he overheard words like Hitler and SS, and heard phrases he found disconcerting.
“They jammed them into the boxcars.”
“The Nazis threw them down on the ground.”
“I saw them shoot one of the Jews in the head.”
Joseph never talked about the war, so Klaus only heard the subject mentioned at the Kaffeeklatsch.
After a summer of hearing enough snippets of stories, Klaus mustered up the courage to ask his mother about her experiences.
“What was it like during the war, mama?”
“Why do you ask such questions, Klaus?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“It was bad.”
“I heard you talking to aunt Frieda about the Jews,” said Klaus.
“I don’t want to talk about that. Why don’t you go out and play?”
The ploy of asking Klaus to go out and play often worked, but not this time. He had something more disturbing on his mind.
“I’d rather stay here and talk to you about the war, mama.”
“Why do you want to talk about that?” Maria said.
“I don’t know. Kids at school call me a Nazi, and I don’t know what that is.”
“WHO? Who calls you a Nazi?”
“Some kids.”
“Does your teacher know this?”
“Oh, she doesn’t care. She won’t even get my name right. She calls me Claus — like Santa Clause. What’s a Nazi?”
“I’m going to have to have a talk with that teacher of yours.”
“No, mama, don’t! What’s a Nazi?”
Just the sound of that word coming from her son sent Maria into a panic. She knew Klaus had probably heard the word, but she hoped there was enough distance from the war that people in America were more acceptant of Germans and not equating them with the atrocities of the regime.
“A Nazi is a bad person, Klaus.”
“But what is he?”
“ During the war, we were controlled by the Nazis. Soldiers.”
“Who was Hitler?”
Maria knew that eventually, she would have to talk to Klaus about the war and what she witnessed, but she had hoped he would be in his teens before she broached the subject.
“You heard your aunt Freida talking about Hitler?”
“ I did,” said Klaus.
“Hitler was the leader of Germany.”
“ Oh, like Kennedy,” said Klaus.
“No! nothing like Kennedy. Hitler was…… a tyrant. He built an army for battle and called his soldiers Nazis. They were horrible. They did things I will never tell you about. Things children shouldn’t know about.”
In her early 30’s, Maria was still coming to grips with the atrocities in her hometown. A childhood interrupted—a painful dichotomy of indoctrination and reality. In many ways, she was still a child herself.
Klaus knew the pain in his mother’s voice. He sensed it all too often. He would come to understand how the war shaped her thinking and brought forth fears that she did not want to re-live. There were secrets she kept; that the entire family kept. He would eventually uncover some of them.
In his adult years, he would come to understand the collective German Angst.
“When someone calls you a Nazi, ignore them, Klaus.”
Klaus wanted to take his mother’s advice. Still, the school bullying compelled him to want to go deeper into understanding what happened during WWII, the players, and what his family experienced. He was the only immigrant in his class. At times he felt isolated.
There was a girl that sat two rows down from him. He wondered if she felt isolated. Hardly anyone spoke to her. She was Jewish. He wanted to know more about her and why the bullies also made fun of her.
“What about the Jews, mama?
“Another time, Klaus.”
“Another time.” If it wasn’t another time, it was, “Why don’t you go out and play?”
Klaus didn’t feel connected to anything. He had a German name, a German heritage but didn’t speak the language anymore. He knew no family history and kids at school called him a Nazi. He still carried a green card and his parents weren’t American citizens. His mother wouldn’t talk about the war, and his father was always working.
Klaus took his piece of Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte and retreated to the comfort of his room. He turned on his black and gold Emerson transistor radio. Emile Ford’s popular song “Does Your Chewing Gum Lose Its Flavour on the Bedpost Overnight,” was playing.
“Oh me, oh my, oh you
Whatever shall I do?
Hallelujah
The question is peculiar
I’d give a lot of dough
If only I could know
The answer to my question
Is it yes or is it no…..”
Klaus finished his cake. The song ended. He turned off the transistor radio. Looked up at the ceiling fan and tried to process it all.
