Looking Back, by Fritz Kempner
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LOOKING BACK by Fritz Kempner 2006 The siblings: Martha and Max on my right, Fran on my left, at the 1999 family reunion in Austria. Behind us a genealogical display. For Natalie With thanks to Mike and Linda, Peter and Megan, Nancy and Mary, Nicholas and Julie, for including me in their lives Looking Back 1 1. In the Beginning ... I often find myself looking back. One easy way to do this is to browse through the many letters from my parents, relatives and friends that I still have, going back 75 years. From time to time, for purely practical reasons, I try to reduce their number. Many are hand-written in German, referring to people and events meaningless to others. I do occasionally throw out a few, but only with difficulty. I also find myself looking back when grandchildren - and others - ask, What was it like to grow up under the Nazis? - How did it feel to be in the US Army, fighting against your former country? I don’t have simple answers to these questions. Moreover, just because I have done a lot of reading about the history of the past and especially about the Hitler period, I am today often not sure what were my own observations and what are the opinions of others that over the years I have absorbed subconsciously. Thus my task here is one of constantly sifting and evaluating, and then putting it all in intelligible form. So in a way I am addressing myself, saying, “This is how I see my past today.” In writing this account I have in mind those who may not be familiar with the rise of the Nazis and the events leading up to World War II. I’ve tried to put myself in the place of my grandchildren, who - alas - are being exposed in their lifetime to such an unending story of violence all over the globe that they may well turn away from a study of all history. That would be a shame. It is my hope that by describing my own life and that of my family in its historical setting I will provide them with a meaningful glimpse into what is to them the distant past. The beginning is easy - at least on a personal level. Both my parents were born and raised in Berlin. My father got a law degree and then, for health reasons, was declared unfit for military service and served with the German military government in occupied Belgium 1915-1918. As it happened, he was not a born soldier: he loved to tell how once, upon leaving a restaurant in Brussels, the headwaiter chased after him with these words: “Monsieur has My father Paul & forgotten his sword!” Evidently in Imperial Germany his brother Fritz, c. 1916 2 Looking Back (the Second Reich, see below) men in certain official positions carried swords. His only sibling, my Uncle Fritz, spent the four years of World War I in combat as an officer. My mother, one of five siblings, to all of whom we children came to be close, volunteered as a nurse during that same war. Grandfather Maximilian Kempner was a successful international lawyer. Grandfather Franz von Mendelssohn was director of the prestigious private bank Mendelssohn & Co., that had been in Berlin since 1795. The title of nobility (the “von”) had been awarded by the German Emperor in 1888 in return for the Bank’s services beneficial to the German Reich. (This was the Second Reich, or Second Empire. It was founded after Germany defeated France in the Franco-Prussian War in 1871, with Wilhelm I as Emperor and Otto von Bismarck as Chancellor. The First Reich had been the Holy Roman Empire of Charlemagne, founded in 800 AD. The Nazis called their twelve year rule from 1933 - 1945 the Third Reich, as well as, with characteristic arrogance, the Thousand Year Reich.) My parents were married in Berlin on November 15, 1918, four days after the Armistice was signed to end the war “to end all wars.” In 1919 Franz von Mendelssohn invited my father to join the Bank as partner. My father’s future looked set. And yet it was in 1919 that one of the cornerstones for the subsequent rise of Hitler was laid: the conclusion of the Treaty of Versailles. To be sure, it was harsh, but, unlike what happened at the end of World War II in 1945, the German My father, c. 1935 government was left intact, and Germany, transformed into the Weimar Republic, albeit vastly weakened, was allowed to continue to exist. This enabled German nationalists to raise the shout of Deutschland erwache! (“Germany: Wake up!”) and demand that Germany be restored to its pre-war condition of might. With the widespread economic depression in the 1920’s and the genius (many would prefer the term “deviltry”) of Adolf Hitler in the wings, peace was not destined to last. But all these gloomy considerations had no effect on my early life. In 1921 my parents spent six months in Amsterdam to allow my father to open a new branch of the Mendelssohn Bank in that fair city. He did so, and I was born there April 2nd. In attempting to put my reflections on my life into some kind of order, I turned to Shakespeare’s Jacques for guidance. His seven ages of man, from infant to school- boy to lover to soldier to justice to pantaloon, ending up with second childishness, seemed logic enough: all I had to do was to match the steps in my life to his. Looking Back 3 However, I immediately ran into difficulty: my recollection of my infant stage, with its mewling and puking is zero. Of course I could copy the list of my weekly weight in kilograms meticulously kept up to week 62 in a notebook that somehow has survived to this day. Here it is recorded that I weighed 3.450 kg at birth and had a harelip operation in week 60, at weight of 9.300 kg. (The mustache I have today was intended to keep that fact hidden.) In week 8, at 3.440 kg - evidently after a 10 gram loss - I (was) moved to Berlin. But, sad to relate, this potentially invaluable record ends after week 62, and there is nothing I can do about that. While I indeed have no memory of those early days in Holland, I like to think that they left their mark: I have always had a soft spot in my heart for Holland. My parents had close friends in Amsterdam, Dan and Kikkie Delprat, whom I got to know as I grew up. We remained friends, even though after World War II they refused to speak German with us. What a remarkable illustration of the emotional power of language! Kikkie was the daughter of the portrait painter Jan Veth, whose drawings of my father, of his brother Fritz and of their father Max now hang in our dining room. My parents loved Holland, and even spoke some Dutch. I was proud to have been born in Amsterdam and visited Holland many times over the years. I came to love the canals (the Grachten) of Amsterdam, the ubiquitous bicycles, the countryside of wide open spaces, the Royal Family, the language, and of course the many museums with paintings from Rembrandt to Mondrian. But that was much later. It was in Berlin that I grew up, in the residential area of Westend. Our house, which my parents had built in 1922, did not survive the war, but son Peter describes it aptly from a photo: “it is well-built and modestly refined; stately, with a rambling gait.” There were cooks, servants and governesses and a large garden with a circle of six big horse-chestnut trees; in another part was a huge beech ideal for climbing, as well as all-important space for soccer, boccia, and “Faustball,” (similar to volley-ball). To insure authenticity, I can again refer to a document: a diary I kept from age 6 to 10, miraculously still around. “On February 11, [1928] there was a costume party. All children were dressed up. I was a Tirolese. Martchen and Zissi were dressed as Black Forest maidens. Pappi was a balloon salesman. Who Martchen and Zissi are will be explained later.” I must have had a huge audience in mind! I did indeed give an explanation later. I‘ll update it here: Martchen is my sister Martha, (Mappa), born in 1919, widowed, living in Ottawa, with four Canadian children, seven grandchildren and one great-grandson. Zissi is my sister Franziska, (Fran), born in 1923, widowed, living in Ithaca , New York, with two children in the US and two grandchildren. 4 Looking Back Kempner Family with newly born Max, 1929 February 27, 1929: today we got a little brother - he is so small and so cute. His name is Maximilian. The little brother brought each of us a huge bag of wonderful chocolate. Max now lives with his wife Paige in Vermont; they have three married children and four grandchildren. My diary focuses on vacations. In the summer of 1929 and 1930 there are entries mentioning enthusiastically the family-friendly pink house and surroundings in the Fextal, near Sils Maria in the Engadin in Switzerland, where we spent time every summer until 1939, the outbreak of World War II, and again after the War in 1948 and 1949, when it was sold. My diary lists many of the hikes which The Fextal in the Engadin, SE Switzerland.