A Gnostic Childhood - Gnostic Liberation Front

Spiritualism and Near Death Experiences 

A Gnostic Childhood 

Holger Werner Haffke 

Remembers: 

Book I 

Page I 

Holger's story of the war and after war years in Germany 

Introduction 

Page II 

Schwerin/Warthe - Becoming Refugees 

Page III 

Borken bei Kassel, Post-War Berlin 

Page IV 

Berlin -School in Berlin-Hunger-In Hospital With TB-Fraulein Ziegle 

http://gnosticliberationfront.com/gnostic_childhood.htm 

Page V 

Berlin -Psychic Visions-Jesus Comes Into My Life 

Page 1 of 27 

11/5/2011


Page VI 

Berlin/Erkner Marina/First Love 

Page VII 

Berlin/Uncle Ali, my mentor and Gnostic teacher 

Page VIII 

World Youth Festival in East-Berlin 1951/ Psychic Visions at the River- 

Spree 

Page IX 

"Uncle" Herbert - Schwarza Strasse 7 - Herr Loewy and the Movie Projector 

Page X 

New Friends - Axel, Peter, Waltraut, Karl-Heintz and Carmen - "brown" 

records 

Page XI 

New School - "Helmstaedt"- Kinderheim Lensterhof - June 17, 1953 

Uprising 

Page XII 

Trouble in School - Tutor - Stealing Coal - Gasanstalt - Border-Smuggling 

Page XIII 

New School - New Apartment - 'Scharnhorst Youth' - Deutsche Reichspartei 

Page XIV 

Kalamazoo - American Dreams - Norderney Island 1954 Youth Meeting 

Page XV 

Norderney Continued - 'Wiking Jugend' - 'Der Weg' Journal from Argentina 

Page XVI 

School is finished - Bolle - School for Delinquents - Newspaper route - 

Apprentice in a Bakery 

Page XVII 

1959 - 1960 -Working for ARWA - Applying for a job at US HQ, Berlin, 

Clayallee - 

Job interview at Tempelhof Central Airport, Berlin. Job at US Armed Forces 


Page 2 of 27 

11/5/2011


Laundry 

Andrews Barracks - Working at the laundry and the kindness of a gay coworker 

who became 

a friend and who had been a German P.O.W. in America. - I get the job as a 

fire fighter trainee. 

Page XVIII 

1960 - 1962 - Working at the Fire Department of the US Air Force, civilian 

employee, Berlin-Tempelhof Central Airport. - Rudolf Steiner - Madame 

Blavatsky - Mrs. Eddy 

Vedanta - Theosophy - Christian Science - 

Page XIX 

1960-1962 - Working at the Fire Department 

Learning how to drive on a VW bus, "Shorty", Joining the "Labor Service" 

Page XX 

Working for the US Army's "Labor Service" 

Basic Training-Learning Vocabulary-"Gammling"-Meeting Mormon 

Missionaries 

Becoming a "Mormon"- Soon Becoming a "Jack-knife" Mormon 

Page XXI 

Labor Service - How I finally managed to find a Sponsor 

In America. 

Page XXII 

The Time Has Come..My Departure For The New World 

Propeller Flight on the "Superconstellation" - Meeting and Falling in Love 

With Julia - 

Arrival at Idlewild Airport, New York City - Pennsylvania Railroad to 

Washington - 

Meeting Pastor Schumann - Meeting and Living with "Mama Grey" 

Page XXIII 

Social Security Office - Local Draft Board - Lincoln Rockwell's 

American Nazi Party in Arlington - Working as a "car hop" at Marriott's 

"hot shoppe" 

Postcard from Pete Wagner - Bus tickets to visit Pete in Danbury, 

Connecticut - 


Page 3 of 27 

11/5/2011


and I was part of it for about one year. 

This article is dedicated to Patty Stoops 

a friend of Thelma's whom I met again at these meetings. 

--This page contains an article by Bob Chuvala 

whom I believe to be FFH employee Paul Chuvala's son. 

The article is extensive but my own story 

about being part of this group has not been told yet. 

In Memory of our Beloved Abby 

Introduction 

The new man is still evolving. Indeed, he is not yet visible to everyone, 

for he does not come from the noisy centre which constantly attracts the 

attention of the crowd, but from the quiet periphery. Every new force 

that is designed to topple an age which has run its course comes from the 

periphery of that age with all its dominant values and pseudo-values. It is 

in the moments of great crisis in the emergence of the new that the 

outsiders take on their special function of forming the nucleus of a new 

centre around which the coming world will henceforth order itself. 


- E. Gunther Grundel, The Mission of the Young Generation 

[1933]. 

Page 8 of 27 

11/5/2011


When I grew up during the end of the second World War in 

Germany, with death all around me, I became aware of spirits and 

spiritual beings. I saw apparitions and ghosts of family friends and 

strangers and also experienced somewhat benign poltergeist 

activities. 

Bootshaus (Marina) 'Baeumelburg' 

with my mother and Frau Baeumelburg in 1949 

One experience took place at the marina belonging to a family friend 

at a lake in Erkner by Berlin in 1947. The husband and stepdaughter 


Page 9 of 27 

11/5/2011


of the lady we were visiting had died at this marina in a bunker that 

they had dug out during the war and covered with heavy metal 

plates. A bomb fell right on top of this bunker and killed both of 

them in 1945. When we stayed overnight at her partly destroyed 

house, we experienced nightly poltergeist activity manifesting itself 

as loud banging on the wall with, hammering sounds, and highpitched 

screeching noises. 

There were also moaning sounds and books flying off the bookshelves, 

as well as pictures falling off the walls and photos being 

strewn all over the floors. And we saw ghostly apparitions floating 

through the living room. We did not recognize their features as they 

were too indistinct and vague, but we instinctively knew that these 

were spirits who wanted to be recognized and we took it, that two of 

them were our friends husband and stepdaughter. This activity took 

place every night for at least two years until Frau Baeumelburg 

moved into an apartment in another part of town. 

The author sitting in boat with friends. 

The older lady is "Tante" Baeumelburg. 

In Erkner bei Berlin 1948. 

Through the course of my life I have had many supernatural, 

mystical and spiritual experiences. When I was still young, from six 

to eight years old, I had constant visions of spiritual beings, some 

were relatives who had passed on and others who were unknown to 

me. This happened mostly before falling asleep or upon awaking 


Page 10 of 27 

11/5/2011


during the night. Sometimes I started "day dreaming" and saw 

spirits doing very ordinary things like setting dishes on a dinner table 

or gesticulating while talking to another "person." And sometimes I 

even heard parts of their conversation. Sometimes they disturbed 

and frightened me and other times I was amused by their comical 

facial expressions and words. There were also times when we went 

with our bikes into the forests which surround Berlin and it was there 

that I, when resting in the grass, experienced the re-enactment of 

second World War battle scenes. 

I saw German soldiers in foxholes shooting and eating and I even 

picked up bits of their curses and conversations. I saw some getting 

hit by bullets and I heard their dying screams of : "Mutti!....Mutti! " 

mother !....mother ! And I saw Russian soldiers crawl into the 

battle area, after the German soldiers who were left had retreated, 

and search the dead soldiers for valuables and take their watches 

and rings. These kind of experiences didn t happen all the time but 

often enough to make me see things with a more open mind to the 

supernatural then my friends had at such a young age. 

I had my first truly mystical experience when I was about thirteen or 

fourteen years old. Getting drowsy while reading a book, I passed 

out or fell asleep while hearing beautiful symphonic and choral music 

(Beethoven's Ninth Symphony). Then suddenly I went through a 

tunnel like dark path which had a dim light at its end. 

Gradually the light 

became brighter and 

brighter and I found 

myself at an ocean 

beach. I felt very 

warm and good. As I 

looked into the water 

I saw what I can only 

describe as a 

protoplasm or an 

enlarged single cell. 

And while I looked at 

this cell in 

amazement, I heard a 

very gentle voice saying to me:" Du bist ein Baustein...!" 

Which I can only interpret as: "You are a building stone," meaning, 

I think, that I am part of a structure. I looked around me to identify 

the speaker but I only saw the ocean and the beautiful beach. 


Page 11 of 27 

11/5/2011


In fact, I didn t even see myself. No arms no legs, no body at all. 

When I woke up, still sitting on the sofa with the book on my lap, I 

felt so good and blessed. Everything, even the mundane 

surroundings of my room, seemed "electric" and so very 

alive...vibrating with meaning and love. 

Through the course of my life I have reflected on this first mystical 

experience almost daily. It has given me encouragement and 

strength in times of despair and doubt and it has always encouraged 

me to move ahead with the spiritual quest. It compelled me to seek 

for answers to the meaning of life at a very early age. Of course, the 

answer was given to me in very simple terms: the universe is like a 

structure, and I, as well as everybody and everything else, are a 

vital and living part of this living universe, which is the body of the 

living God and that "death," is nothing but transformation and 

evolution. Like actors on a supernatural stage we "audition" for and 

play the parts which we need to play in order to learn and grow. Life, 

material life on this material plane, and spiritual life on various 

spiritual planes, is serious and yet nothing but "play-acting" in a 

universal comedy which, if misinterpreted by us and taken as 

ultimate reality, becomes a deadly drama absorbing us in its warped 

script like in the suffocating 

embrace of a demon from which 

even our physical death can not 

completely free us, as we must 

learn "to play the game" by the 

rules of the universe in order to 

attain liberation from the bliss and 

the horrors of material life. And the 

most important rule, as I 

understand it is, to Not Ever take 

this material existence too 

seriously.This is not to say that our 

present material incarnation is not 

important, because it really is. No, 

we chose to live here under the 

conditions we find ourselves in and 

must act-out our assigned roles until 

at least this "play" is over. But we 

must not take play for ultimate 

reality and forget that it only is a temporary role which we are 

playing. In other words, we must not identify with the temporary 


Page 12 of 27 

11/5/2011


role we are playing to the extent of believing it to be our ultimate 

and true self. And this can only be done if we really understand that 

the dramas we are acting out here on the material plane are nothing 

more than temporary tools to teach us what is necessary for us to 

learn in order to evolve. Whether we learn from the script which we 

are acting out here or whether we become so absorbed in it that we 

can not rise above the horrors and dualities which come to us as part 

of the play is, of course, up to us and to our willingness to see 

beyond the immediate manifestations and our own pain and 

suffering or even temporary bliss, without becoming completely 

absorbed by them. 

Thus I think that we should not take this temporary drama here too 

seriously, for even this horror-show viewed from a distance, is really 

a divine comedy, if we become capable not only to view the 

immediate stage but also the dressing rooms of the other actors and 

the storage rooms for the props...When we are willing to remain 

distant from the immediate play in front of us and thus become 

enabled to view everything that goes along with a stage 

presentation, actors rehearsing, carpenters and stagehands 

preparing the props, make-up artists and background painters, all 

working very hard to create an ILLUSION so convincingly that it 

becomes reality to the audience. It is all created to touch something 

in us, something deep and sacred which can give us the means to 

learn and hopefully evolve without loosing ourselves in temporary 

roles. 

What more could one want for an answer ! 

Yet, I have still searched for more and more revelations. Sometimes 

they came through other mystical experiences and at other times 

they came through reading books and watching movies. When I got 

older, I recognized the music that I heard, during my first 

experience, as Beethoven s ninth symphony. The "Ode to Joy." How 

much more could have been revealed to me ? My "out of body" 

experience, showed me the oneness of all that is, and the joy of all 

that is, because it is part of the living God. However we look at it, 

and whatever we think, the simplicity of truth is almost comical . 

And I believe it is totally immaterial what we think God is, or how He 

fits into our belief system. The key here simply is how we fit into the 

universe. Can we live love and oneness, or do we hide behind 

religions, dogmas and man-made laws in order to avoid living this 

love for all that is, this oneness with all ? 


Page 13 of 27 

11/5/2011


You know, it could be all so simple and yet we try to avoid it at all 

cost. We don t really want to come to terms with our place in the 

order of things. We don t really want to face ourselves and take 

responsibility for our actions. Although our actions often have dire 

consequences, and we have to face them and correct them in one 

way or another. But we are truly Loved and we are forgiven and our 

difficulties are taken into some kind of compassionate cosmic 

consideration. 

We are not abandoned in a cruel world as orphans where we have to 

survive through any means necessary. We do not have to 

accumulate wealth here through stealing or hurting others. We do 

not have to participate in wars and 

exploitation. We do not have to mistreat 

our fellow beings, people and animals. 

All we need is to unconditionally love 

and respect other beings, as we are 

loved and cherished and respected by 

God. And I use the term "God" here 

lightly, without much analysis of what 

"God" really means besides that it 

derives to my understanding from the 

term "good." Perhaps in a spiritual 

hierarchy of of incomprehensible cosmic 

proportions, God per-se, is not even a 

single entity or whatever, but just a 

term used to describe the spiritual unity 

of all that is....? Does it matter, is it relevant to our existence in this 

material realm for a certain period of time? I can not possibly see 

any value in Religions as such, besides as aides to keep the masses 

of people submissive to the established power-structure of their 

respective nation and form of government. Religion, in my opinion, 

is indeed "opium for the people," as Karl Marx so clearly stated. But 

he apparently forgot to distinguish between religion and spirituality. 

As clearly "religion" is an all important part of mankind's bondage 

and ignorance in the scheme of exploitation and establishment 

power, so is spirituality without dogmatic fanaticism mankind's 

ultimate liberator. One of my most beloved teachers whom I never 

met in person, but who has dictated words of eternal wisdom on an 

alphabet-board (he adhered to a vow of silence) taught me more 

about life, death and afterlife and about the ultimate meaning of our 

material existence here, then the bible or any other source of 

religious teaching. 


Page 14 of 27 

11/5/2011


This man was Meher Baba who said that he was the Avatar, or the 

Christ of the age. Not wanting to go into this Avatar claim and 

getting hung-up on it, I just want to say that when looking in his 

face as portrayed in so many pictures of him, I have never seen such 

Love and Compassion radiating from anybody's eyes as coming from 

this almost comical looking god-man. He, to me, became the 

expression and the face of God. Not in a fanatical sense of belief and 

surrender though, but as a gentle, loving, compassionate 

"Reisekamerad," (Comrade on the journey). Perhaps this is not 

exactly how he would have liked me to approach his teachings, but, 

reconsidering, I think that he smiles upon me from his high spiritual 

realm telling me again, personally, his famous saying: "Don't worry, 

be happy." 

I have always looked for simplicity on the spiritual path. No occult 

initiations and formulas or mystical fantasies. It is all so very simple. 

As Jesus said: " Love one another as I have loved you." And that s 

all there really is to know. The rest is given to us, as we need it, 

during the course of our lives. 

I have no doubt whatsoever, that this universe is first and foremost 

a spiritual universe. And we can and will have many encounters with 

spiritual beings if we are open to the possibility of their existence. I 

know because I have seen, heard and experienced them. I have 

sometimes, mostly unexpectedly, been guided, encouraged, or even 

chided by them. Always in a gentle, compassionate voice, even when 

I contemplated something reprehensible. Reading what genuine 

mediums have transmitted 

from the "other side," 

about the order of the 

universe, I m always 

amazed at the simplicity of 

their message. It always 

comes down to 

compassion and love. This 

is the measure of all our 

life s worth. Everything 

else is secondary or 

meaningless. Not 

surprisingly, this point is 

also stressed by those who had near death experiences. They too 

understood this as the key to their spiritual evolution. And this 

experience, has usually changed their lives in a very dramatic way. 


Page 15 of 27 

11/5/2011


Suddenly they knew how simple the truth really is, and how they 

could find indescribable joy and bliss in selfless service to All life. 

The following account of my life is the story of my quest for wisdom 

and truth. I call it a " Gnostic childhood," because I believe that we 

are eternal children of God and because my life has always been 

lived in an intuitive sense. Having been a "rebel" since birth and an 

outcast almost as long, I think that there are quite a few people who 

could find my story interesting and perhaps even helpful. Especially 

since my present incarnation came about in a very desperate and 

horrible time and place and took me almost purposefully into realms 

and directions no one could have ever imagined at the time. Even 

though, someone did, an old lady in the back of a store, a 'fortune 

teller,' told me at the tender age of fourteen, that I would be going 

overseas and marry an 'exotic woman,' and that I would have two 

children, a boy and a girl, and eventually be wealthy. Well, I did go 

overseas and marry an exotic woman. A Colored or 'African- 

American' woman and had a son with her. But the marriage didn't 

last more than two years. I also had a daughter when I married 

again a not so exotic woman of Irish, Russian and French descent in 

1978. Unfortunately the part of the prediction about being rich did 

definitely not come true. As a matter of fact, I have always had 

barely enough to just get by, but have never been rich even in the 

most imaginative sense. The only explanation for this false 

prediction could be that by the standards we lived in in Germany at 

the time of the prediction, my standard of life here in the United 

States could be viewed as 'wealthy.' 

Nevertheless, I have always felt guided and protected, even under 

the most desperate circumstances and adventures. Perhaps it is my 

intuitive life-style and my often 'naive' honesty and faith in spiritual 

guides and their guidance which often 'miraculously' led me through 

even the most ugly and dangerous paths and experiences without a 

scratch. Often doors were opened to me as if by miracle and forces 

would move circumstances in my behalf almost forcing me to go in 

directions which contemplated 'rationally' would have scared me to 

death, as I'm not really a brave soul by nature. 

Most people who knew me as a child, young man, and even now, 

either hate me or love me. They saw me as very innocent and pure, 

as a naive, idealistic child and young man even though I was in my 

own opinion far from it. Yet I understand why they felt this way, 

because in a dualistic sense of self perception I saw myself in the 

same light, although I also knew that it wasn't really true. Or was it? 


Page 16 of 27 

11/5/2011


Even today, as I am almost sixty-four years old, many people, 

strangers, acquaintances and friends sense this almost child-like 

innocence in me. Only now, having evolved somewhat and attained 

more self-understanding, I know that it is the reflection of something 

deep and holy. Something so strange and yet so ordinary that I can 

only smile at the implications. It is indeed a spiritual gift which was 

given to me at birth and has guided me throughout the path of my 

life. Being far from 'innocent,' in the sense of the world, I now know 

that indeed I am innocent in the spiritual sense. What a 

contradiction this is, and yet it is the only way I can attempt to 

describe it. 

My first sense of self-awareness as a toddler was that I didn't want 

to be 'here.' I didn't want to be incarnated on this material plane, 

and I believe that consciously or unconsciously I decided then and 

there to 'rebel' at my being here by living with an intuitive 

connection to the spiritual realm as my home of choice. I was then 

and always have been a "stranger in a strange land". In other words 

I kept my distance to material experiences in this life and remained 

with one foot, so to speak, in the spiritual realm, observing, but 

never becoming completely immersed in the 'reality' of life on earth. 

In this sense I have remained untainted by the ugliness, the sexual 

depravities and the destructive manipulations by others in my realm 

of experience. But no matter how ugly the deeds and how 

manipulative my actions, I never remained attached to them or to 

the outcome. It never became a part of me. Being here on earth we 

can't survive unless we 'play the game' at least to a limited extend. 

No doubt, I have done many things that were not only ugly and 

manipulative, but also destructive and hurtful to others. I am no 

angel and no 'spiritual master,' but somehow these deeds have not 

left a mark on me as I have not deeply identified with them. They 

have not become part of my baggage, of my true beingness, as I 

always travel lightly. Being observant and open to my intuitive 

connection to the 'supernatural,' my path has not only led me in the 

direction of spirituality, but also into the netherworld of politics, 

political weltanschauung and, as a natural conclusion, conspiracy 

theories. 

Truth, to find the truth about events in history, motivations of 

political leaders and their actions, as well as the reasons for obvious 

lies and distortions of these events and actions by contemporary 

manipulators and pundits, has always been an obsession with me. 


Page 17 of 27 

11/5/2011


Often I have felt and been guided in my conclusions by an uncanny 

intuitive sense of 'what really happened,' and of my mission to 

disseminate this truth. Being an outcast, I despise tribal alliances 

and lies "for the common good," more than anything else. Therefore 

I have no earthly treasures to protect and no alliances to anyone or 

anything. My only true alliance is with the truth. Is truth relative to 

the 'eyes of the beholder?' Meaning, to our own interpretation of it? I 

don't think so. At least it shouldn't be. Certainly often truth is buried 

under complexities and enormous amounts of deception, but as long 

as truth is viewed and searched for by unattached and honest 

seekers who rely only on the facts and known circumstances. In 

other words, people without an agenda. Truth in itself is neither 

good nor evil. It simply is fact. Of course what people and 

propaganda make out of these facts is another story. If, for 

whatever reason, we are kept from speaking the truth or even from 

finding the truth, either by government laws or by public ridicule and 

condemnation, we are not free, no matter whether our governments 

are in name democratic or not. Facts speak for themselves and are 

thus the truth. When I am told either subtly through brainwashing 

propaganda in the media, or through laws, that my own 

observations are based not on reality, but on a defective state of 

awareness, and that I am not allowed to express them, then I know 

for certain that something ugly and deceptive is going on. When 

political and racial interest groups dictate through pressure and 

defamation what I must think and observe and what I can express 

and what I can not express, what conclusions I am allowed to draw 

from my observations and what conclusions I'm not allowed to draw, 

then I know that I must speak up no matter what the consequences. 

When 'free' countries, such as Germany, France, Italy, Australia, 

Canada and even the 'super-free' US of A throw people in jail for 

their conclusions based on facts and for expressing them, then I 

absolutely know that something is going on behind the scenes which 

can only be called a Conspiracy. 

I am not only convinced that there is a world wide conspiracy to 

establish a 'New World Order,' but am sure to the depth of my soul, 

that this conspiracy has already succeeded. The New World Order is 

here now. It is active and it is turning the world upside down. What 

the Communist International couldn't accomplish, the Capitalist 

International did without the majority of the people even becoming 

aware of it. And thanks to the relentless and synchronized 

propaganda of the Capitalist International media the majority of the 

people aren't even aware of it. At least forty years of deliberate 


Page 18 of 27 

11/5/2011


'dumbing-down' of our young people in public schools and colleges 

has finally come to fruition. We never had dumber people in the 

western world than we have now. Unlimited immigration of third 

world masses into the western countries has destroyed not only the 

soul of these nations, but their infrastructure as well, making the 

original inhabitants helpless witnesses to their nation's destruction. 

Do we dare call it a Conspiracy? 

When the collapse of the 'Communist' Soviet Union came about 

through mysterious manipulations in the realm of finance, mankind 

should have enjoyed peace and prosperity. Instead, the forces 

behind the scenes, apparently the same forces which used 

communism and national socialism for their own ends, became 

suddenly determined proponents of the New World Order. If you 

honestly explore the 'who is who' of finance and plutocratic 

capitalism, you know instantly who and what the force behind ALL 

that is going on in the world right now are. Do you dare to face the 

FACTS and draw your own conclusions? Or do you stick your head in 

the sand and pretend that all is well and that nothing extraordinary 

is going on, just business as usual? 

If one is willing and able to face facts which can only be described as 

absolute evil, one can find who the perpetrators of this 'sudden' 

paradigm shift are. About eighty years of desperate plotting and 

planning, manipulating, blackmailing and bribing of entire national 

governments has finally paid off. Like frogs in a pot of water, heated 

up gradually, the masses of people have been ever so slowly 

conditioned to not even trust their own sense of right or wrong, nor 

to sense the rapidly approaching boiling point of their once 

'comfortable' existence. Conditioned to hear, see and speak 'no evil,' 

they dare not to complain about their gradually increasing pain and 

fear. Confused by the "politically correct" propaganda relentlessly 

thrown at them through electronic media, press and movies, they 

bury their heads, mind and spirit into the two-dimensional world of 

television, movies and sports; idolizing the sports-superstars and 

Hollywood crowd, created by the 'Agentur,' as substitutes for their 

own miserable and meaningless existence. 

All this has happened right under our noses and the blueprint for it 

has been known since the early 1920's. It is all written in "The 


Page 19 of 27 

11/5/2011


Protocols of the Elders of Zion," a mysterious book outlining what 

was going to happen, and what consequently DID happen. The 

protocols have been declared a forgery in a Swiss court in 1937, but 

what does this mean? Are we really so dumb that we would assume 

for one minute that the 'Agentur' could not and would not influence 

the court findings? 

I can only say: read them and draw your own conclusions with an 

open mind towards the picture conveyed in it's somewhat archaic, 

stilted language. There is no doubt in my mind that the protocols are 

neither a forgery nor a willful deception. They are EXACTLY what 

they purport to be, a blueprint of the New World Order, nothing 

more and nothing less. 

Being an 'outcast,' I don't care what happens to me. I have found 

comfort when I served in the army as well as under all kinds of 

adversarial living conditions. Having seen an entirely different and 

BETTER world, on two continents, I think I know what I'm talking 

about. Having escaped the proverbial frog-pot by the grace of God, 

I'm still awake enough to pass on to those who want to listen, who 

and what the dark forces are that destroyed not only Western 

Civilization, but who are also hell-bent on destroying every trace of 

western man and the once flourishing societies which he created. 

Genocide can be committed through outright murder, like the 

murders of his people by the communist leader Pol-Pot in Cambodia 

or by African tribes killing other tribes, or it can be committed by 

destroying a whole civilization through mass immigration and 

enforced 'political correctness' which means nothing more than 

denial of obvious facts in favor of propaganda. 

Destroying man's bond to his culture and heritage is genocide 

through alienation. It reduces the birthrate because rational and 

intelligent people refuse to bring children into an ugly, shiftless and 

hopeless world. 

When I came to America from Germany at the age of twenty-two, I 

knew no one in this country and had almost nothing in terms of 

money to back me up. Still, I had something much more valuable: 

love and respect for all people, including myself, and an open mind 

to learn different ways and a new language. But I also carried with 

me a stigma imposed upon me not by my deeds or personality or 

even race, but by being born in Germany and thus being a German. 

This stigma was with me, in my mind and I carried it around with 

me like a monkey on my back. Why was it there? Because I 

accepted the propaganda about Germans being evil warmongers and 


Page 20 of 27 

11/5/2011


coldhearted, racist mass murderers of Jews and other minorities. 

I don't think anybody who has not been in my shoes, or in the 

shoes of other sensitive Germans can imagine what this is like. 

This inferiority complex was like a mental illness which eventually 

subsided through the generosity and unconditional acceptance of me 

on my own character and merits, by the truly wonderful people of 

this once great country. 

America and the American people in the early 1960's were 

everything I had hoped and imagined they would be, and so much 

more. 

I had nothing and I was a nobody and yet the majority of people in 

this country received me with a warmth, generosity and willingness 

to help which can only be called "unbelievable" by today's 

standards.-But still, I carried this monkey of being German on my 

back, despite the fact that nobody here, ever, had given me any 

reason to feel inferior because of my nationality! 

So what is my point then in relationship to what is going on in this 

country now,-in this dreadful time of "political correctness" and New 

World Order frenzy? 

-I brought all this up, in order to show that I can truly empathize 

with the "black experience," and that I understand their 

predicament, imagined or otherwise. 

If demagogues and perverted leaders had told me that I should 

reject assimilation in this country because they hated and despised 

me as a German, I might well have believed them. But, being that I 

was all alone and on my own, I had to assimilate and I wanted to 

assimilate, because I was shown a new way of life which was much 

superior and so much more sensible than what I had experienced in 

my native country. 

No, I didn't know much about American politics, corruption and 

crime...but I knew what I felt in the depth of my soul living amongst 

a truly compassionate, kind and wonderful people.-People who often 

went out of their way to help me, a total stranger from a maligned 

country. 

This is what I knew and loved about America and its wonderful 

people. But if I had been overcome and surrendered to my inferiority 

complex about being German, I would have remained blind to what 

wonderful gift was offered to me so freely. I would have doubted the 

sincerity of strangers and questioned their motive, in a state of 

topsy-turvy self-doubt and self-hatred, and thus reject everything 

offered as being poisoned by hypocrisy and pretense. And this is 

exactly what I feel is happening with black people, especially the 


Page 21 of 27 

11/5/2011


young black people of America today. 

Of course there is injustice and prejudice in even the best societies. 

But people can overcome prejudice by their example and individually 

prove that neither race, national origin nor the perceived stigma 

attached to these concepts are valid. 

A black friend said to me once: "I wished that you could only be 

black for a week," and I said to him: "I wished that you could be 

white for a week." 

This is what America has become, one nation divided by races, 

misperceptions, demagoguery and 'cultures'. No more: "One Nation 

under God," -but many interests, artificially promoted and inflamed 

by the New World Order cabal, to serve their nefarious purpose of 

destroying the once most evolved and free nation through division 

from within. 

Perhaps it is already much too late, but we must tackle the 

problems of this Nation with total honesty and trust our sense 

perceptions in order to save it from the tentacles of this New World 

Order octopus. 

Black and White must come together instead of moving further 

and further apart. There might be many characteristics which divide 

us, but with even a little honesty, humor and willingness to work 

together, we have many, many more characteristics which can bring 

us together in harmony.....if only we can get rid of the "monkey on 

our backs." 

Considering myself a heretic and born rebel, I nevertheless can 

appreciate a stable and healthy society. After all, my personal path 

is just that, -- personal. It is grounded more than anything else in a 

deep sense of spirituality which I call "Gnosticism." Whether this is 

scholarly correct I really don't care. One thing I know though is, that 

this country, this America, has been my destiny from birth. I have 

found here what I could have never found in Germany or anywhere 

else, --myself. It used to be a place, almost a sacred refuge, for 

even a rebellious spirit like me. A place where I could be free to be 

myself and to evolve on my own terms and pace, and as I see it now 

falling apart through malicious leaders, corrupt to the core, I'm not 

only heart-broken, but angry beyond words. -This country, my 

home, died with the assassination of president Kennedy, a slow and 

agonizing death lasting over many decades culminating in the 

presidency of George W. Bush, which to me seems like the final 

mockery, by the New World Order cabal, of this once esteemed 

office as head of a free and democratic people. 


Page 22 of 27 

11/5/2011


Perhaps by telling my story which isn't in any way remarkable but 

perhaps interesting to kindred spirits, I can leave something 

meaningful or even inspirational behind. 

This picture is symbolic of the America I knew and loved. 


Page 23 of 27 

11/5/2011


I'm the little guy on the left 

Here I am a fire fighter employed by the U.S. Air Force at airport 

Tempelhof in Berlin. This picture is taken around 1960. I was the 

youngest in the department at the time and probably ever. It was a 

great job with a very 'Kameradschaftliche' atmosphere. I remember 

a few names of co-workers and friends such as: Herr Kurtzweg (a 

friend and I can't think of his first name he was also called (shorty) 

because Kurtz means short in German. And Herr Gaertner and 

Robert..B.(can't remember his last name) and Heinz (Heini) Schultz, 

and Olaf who had just returned from Australia, also Walter (who 

cooked for us during our 24 hour shifts) and Herr Fiegert (Fickie)..... 


But I shall write about that later.... 

Page 24 of 27 

11/5/2011


Picture on left shows the author in 1973 

Picture on right shows me in 2000 with my beloved 'comrade' Barky 


The author in Arlington, Vermont 1996 

Childhood 2" 

Page 25 of 27 

11/5/2011



Uwe Nolte: Erzengel Michael (Archangel Michael) 

Page 26 of 27 

11/5/2011



Part II 

Alpha 

file:///C:/Users/Holger/Documents/My%20Web%20Sites/a_gnostic_childhood2.htm 

Page 1 of 18 

11/5/2011


I think my father is marching on the right behind the soldier on the 

horse. 


Page 2 of 18 

11/5/2011


Picture of my father, Werner Haffke, my mother, Brunhilde Haffke 

and me, taken probably in 1942 

at home in Schwerin and der Warthe 

I was born in "Schwerin an der Warthe" during the second World 

War in 1941. It was "given" to Poland in 1945 and is now called 

"Skwierzyna". It was a 

German garrison town 

where my father, who was 

a "career soldier" since the 

"100 000 Mann Heer" of 

the Weimar Republic, was 

stationed as a 

"Stabsfeldwebel" which is 

equal to a "sergeant 

major". My mother told me 

that he hated the Army 

and had only joined during 

the Weimar Republic 

because there were no other jobs available. He was a very loyal man 

to his troops and refused an offer to become an officer because he 

didn't want to be separated from his men. He served during the Finish- 

Soviet war under General Mannerheim in Finland. In August 1943 he 

was shot in the abdomen by the Soviets on a reconnaissance mission 


Page 3 of 18 

11/5/2011


in Salla, Finland which is close to Murmansk and died of his wounds in 

a military "Lazarett" after a few days of intense suffering. Before his 

death he was awarded the Finish "Freiheits Medallie" (Freedom 

medal) by General Mannerheim. My mother told me that he had a 

quite expensive Kodak camera with him which was never returned to 

her, because it was stolen by the very "comrades" for which he gave 

up his chance to become an officer. Although General Mannerheim is 

still honored and revered in Finland, we have never received any 

recognition or even kind words from Finland. My mother also told me 

that they named a small bridge after him which is located in Salla. I 

don't know whether this bridge is still there bearing our name or 

whether in the years after the war, when Germany became a "pariah," 

the "Haffke Bruecke" was re-named again. 

My mother and father in the "Maerkische" forest surrounding Schwerin 

in 1939 before I was born and before the the outbreak of World War 

II. A peaceful scene that should soon be disrupted by the war and the 

subsequent shipment of my father and his unit to Norway and Finland 


Page 4 of 18 

11/5/2011


The building on the right is the garrison apartment building where I was born. 

Marktplatz (Market Square) Schwerin. 

A place I still remember after more than sixty years. We used to go to the "drug 

store" on the left 

and I remember them having little wooden toy boats for sale 

of which my mother bought me one to play with in the bath tub. 

Rathaus (Town Hall) Schwerin 

with marker on right pointing to the next largest 

city Landsberg. 


Page 5 of 18 

11/5/2011



Page 6 of 18 

11/5/2011


Schwerin was a garrison town where my father served as a "drill 

instructor 

and later became Sgt. Major. 

Schwerin 

This is Schwerin and der Warthe with the "Warthebruecke" 

crossing the river Warthe in foreground. I was only four 

years old when I saw this beautiful town in the German 

"Warthegau" the last time, but it's peaceful beauty shall 

always remain in my memory as "home" and as a reminder 

what evil was done to the German people by the allied 

representatives of the One World Cabal. 

Now, having shown and described the background of my earliest 

childhood, I shall go into more detail about my life. I was born on 

November 26, 1941 at 8:05 am. Having already described my mother 

and father to some degree, I'm going to talk about my earliest 

memories. 


Page 7 of 18 

11/5/2011


Being about two years old, one of my first memories is that I'm laying 

on my back on awakening and looking at the fascinating designs on 

the ceiling. I remember being always fascinated with the different 

faces that I could detect in the cracks and lines. Suddenly I thought 

with real disgust, something like: " Oh no, here I am again back on 

this earth and I didn't want to come back." This thought has remained 

with me all my life and I can't imagine how a child of two could think 

in such terms. But it is absolutely true. 

Other thoughts are more pleasant, such as memories of the 

beautiful pine forests surrounding Schwerin and the walks we took, 

with friends and visitors from Berlin, in those peaceful surroundings. I 

remember playing with friends and being taken to outdoor restaurants 

to drink "Brause" while the adults had coffee or 

beer. One day my mother took me to a "laundry 

mat," a forerunner of today's system which 

consisted of one room where you cooked the 

laundry in a large vat then rinsed it with handcranks 

and took the laundry to a huge "Mangel" 

which was a monstrous machine with two or 

more large drums rotating....I remember being 

very fascinated with these workings and wanting 

to explore them in more detail. Thus I put my 

head very close to the rotating drums to get a 

better look, while my mother was busy bringing 

more laundry in from the other room. I went closer and closer to these 

fascinating contraptions and suddenly experienced a pull beyond my 

control which brought my head right into these rotating drums. Of 

course, the drums were close together and my head would not have fit 

between them, but, nevertheless, my hair was pulled in and my head 

got somewhat "mangled." Screaming, "Mutti, Mutti...," my mother 

came running and had to shut off this machine in order to free me 


Page 8 of 18 

11/5/2011


from its grip. Thank God, things weren't as bad as they looked, but a 

small part of my head was squeezed and even temporarily de-formed. 

Today I would surely have been taken to a hospital to be observed for 

internal injuries, but in those days we just simply went home and 

thanked God that nothing more damaging had happened. I did have a 

dent in my head which I outgrew eventually. Perhaps it is this accident 

which opened some "psychic" abilities within me of which I already 

spoke. 


Page 9 of 18 

11/5/2011


Berlin-S-Bahnhof "Braunauer Strasse" 

Later Bahnhof "Sonnenallee" 

1943-Visiting my Oma and Opa. 


Page 10 of 18 

11/5/2011


Exorcism 

Another story which seems important in retrospect, was my total and 

in-explainable "infatuation" with a woman named Frau Koch. She and 

her husband lived next door to us in the military apartment building 

and I was drawn to her as if by a supernatural force. She was a good 

person and surely didn't do anything consciously to alienate me from 

my mother. But I remember distinctly that I wanted her to be my 

mother and live with her. My mother was the kindest and most loving 

mother one could hope for and yet I wanted nothing more than to 

have Frau Koch as my mother. I was only about two years old or even 

younger, when this strange "spell" occurred, which lasted until we left 

Schwerin. Frau Koch, which means "cook" translated, had a collection 

of cook-books with pictures of pots and pans and vegetables made 

into characters which one can find in children's books. These pictures 

were "supernaturally" fascinating to me and I couldn't get enough 

looking at them as they seemed to touch upon something very deep 

within me. As strange as it might sound, these colorful drawings of 

"humanized" pots and pans and vegetables enraptured me into a state 

of love for Frau Koch and hatred towards my mother. All I wanted was 

to be with Frau Koch and with those beloved cook-books. I screamed 


Page 11 of 18 

11/5/2011


in terror whenever Frau Koch left from visiting us, or when we left her 

apartment to go back to ours. I screamed for Frau Koch and threw 

tantrums whenever we were separated. Just like a "normal" child 

would react when his real mother would leave him with strangers. My 

mother was horrified and confused as to what she had possibly done 

to bring about such alienation and even hatred within me. Frau Koch 

seemed embarrassed and also horrified by my behavior. I can 

remember the pictures in the cook-books, but only in a very general 

sense without details or emotional attachment. But when I look at 

pictures of Frau Koch holding me, I still experience a faint longing to 

be with her. Finally my mother decided on somebody's advice, to get a 

"healer and exorcist," who would "speak over" (Besprechen) people 

with ailments like warts and whatever. Although I remember 

absolutely nothing about it, he performed an "exorcism" on me and 

prayed for my release from this "bondage" to Frau Koch. 

I don't think that it was very successful since the "bond" was only 

broken when we left Schwerin. Frau Koch and her husband ended up 

in the city of Rostock, as they left on a previous train to ours. That this 

was a strange and extremely upsetting case of "alienation" which even 

baffles me to this day should be quite clear. Does it have to do with 

reincarnation or something mystical? I absolutely think so. My mother 

thought that Frau Koch was a natural witch, who unconsciously put a 

spell on me because she was jealous since she couldn't have children 

of her own. Perhaps that is true. I simply don't know the answer and 

since I am the object and "key" to this phenomenon, it will probably 

remain a mystery for the rest of my life. One thing I know though, my 

relationship with my mother was never as close as most child-mother 

relationships are. I could even go as far as saying, that I always held 

something like contempt for her, despite her being a truly wonderful 

mother to me. 


Page 12 of 18 

11/5/2011


We become Refugees 

"Fluechtlinge" 

Fleeing the approaching Russians 


Page 13 of 18 

11/5/2011


The Schwerin train station from which we left our beloved 

home in the winter of 1944-45 with only a wooden crate of our 

belongings which my mother had pulled on a sled to the 

waiting train accompanied by the frightening sounds of 

artillery and tank fire in very close proximity to us. With the 

Russian army, less than 10 miles away, we knew that this was 

the last train to leave and that this was our last chance to get 

out alive. 

My father fell in Finland in August 1943. The war was coming closer to 

home with each day and the population of Schwerin gradually 

prepared to evacuate the town. I remember a cold and snowy day in 

February 1945, in the early hours of darkness, when my mother 

grabbed me and we ran to the train station where a train was waiting. 

When we got there she put me up into a compartment and told me 

that she still had time for her to run back and get at least some of our 

belongings to take with us. In the background we could hear Russian 

artillery and tank fire. The sky had turned blood-red not very far from 

us and everybody was scared out of their wits. I overheard talk of 

death and rape and torture and not even knowing what those words 

meant, was affected strongly by the 

general hysteria surrounding me. I 

was, for the first time in my life, alone 

with complete strangers, hysterical 

strangers, and I began to cry and 

carry on calling for my mother. I 

remember being very, very afraid that 

the train would take off with me on it 

and with my mother left behind. 

Then, finally, my mother came to the 

train pulling a sled with a large 

wooden crate on it. Some people 

helped her to get it on the train, and shortly after, this last train out of 

Schwerin took off. 

In the compartment, my mother became friendly with a lady seated 

next to her who was Frau Beumelburg, who owned a marina in Erkner 

by Berlin, and with a man who was a "Reichsbahn" employee who 

lived in Borken by Kassel in the western part of Germany. As we were 

moving along through the night, I began to enjoy the ride. Our 

destination was Berlin, probably 120 miles or so away from Schwerin. 

Suddenly we heard artillery fire and the train came to a dead stop. 


Page 14 of 18 

11/5/2011


Bullets came zinging through our compartment and we all dropped to 

the floor. Everybody began screaming in fear as suddenly a railroadman 

ran through the compartments calling for anybody who knew how 

to operate a steam locomotive to come forward since the original 

operator was shot to death and the Russians would soon get to the 

train and kill us all, or worse. 

The man whom my mother had befriended, Karl Bott, from Borken by 

Kassel, jumped up and ran to the locomotive. Soon thereafter we 

suddenly felt the train jerking and beginning to move. Thus, Divine 

interventions, seems to have taken this train of refugees under its 

protective wings. I remember looking out of the compartment windows 

and watching the night landscape. When we came over a bridge, I 

remember seeing a train below us and thinking it was a toy train 

because it looked so small. 

When we got closer to Berlin, we saw 

the whole city lit up in red like a 

flaming inferno. Nothing but ruins and 

desolation. The train was destined for 

Berlin, Bahnhof Zoo, and we slowly 

pulled into this train station which was 

in utter ruins. Thus, Herr Bott, our 

locomotive operator, kept on going and 

thus, our "journey of the damned" 

continued towards Borken, where our locomotive operator lived with 

his family. Thus we ended up in the town where I would experience 

the end of the war and the American occupation......and my first days 

in school. 

I must mention here that the reason we were destined for Berlin was 

that my mother's parents, my grandparents, lived in Berlin where they 

had a bicycle store in Berlin-Neukoelln, Braunauer Str. 208. The name 

of the street was changed after the war's end to "Sonnenallee." But, I 

am getting ahead of my story, as I shall speak more of Berlin and my 

grandparents later. 


Page 15 of 18 

11/5/2011


This could have been us, if we hadn't caught the last train out of 

Schwerin. 

The picture shows murdered German civilians in Nemmersdorf 1944. 

To continue go to page III of "A Gnostic Childhood" 

Return to Page I and Index 


Page 16 of 18 

11/5/2011


For more extensive information on Schwerin an der Warthe 

and many pictures of Schwerin then and now as Skwierzyna go to this 

outside LINK: 

http://www.skwierzyna.net/schwerin_warthe.htm 

http://polishpoland.com/polish_ancestors.htm 

Map of Schwerin and surroundings: 

http://www.skwierzyna.net/schwerin_warthe_map.jpg 

Many pictures were supplied to me by Simon from the Skwierzyna Net, 

to whom I want to express my heartfelt gratitude for his kindness 

and helpful correspondence! 


Page 17 of 18 

11/5/2011



Part III 

We Arrive In Borken Near Kassel 

Page 1 of 9 

The final days of the war were frightening because of the constant bombings of cities such as Kassel and Fulda. 

We heard the bombers coming and didn't know if they would bomb Borken or keep going. They sounded like a 

huge swarm of bees approaching and my mother would grab me and run with me to the "Bunker" where the 

townspeople would seek shelter and protection during these attacks. Even though Kassel and Fulda were quite 

some distance away, we could feel the ground in the bunker shaking when the planes dropped their deadly 

loads. 

When the Americans came to Borken, they confiscated all radios and "valuables" such as watches and nickknacks. 

Herr Bott, a man of conscience and generosity put us and Frau Beumelburg up with members of his 

family of which there were many all over this small town. We lived with Frau Ursula who was the wife of Herrn 

Bott's brother or something like that. I shall be eternally grateful for their help and caring, especially since they 

too had so little left. 

Hunger was our main concern, and I remember going with my mother and Frau Beumelburg, who was "Tante" 

Beumelburg to me, through the wheat-fields looking for wheat kernels that had fallen to the ground which we 

were allowed to pick up and which my mother would later grind into a resemblance of flower. I think, she even 

collected enough to take it to a flower mill and have it ground there at times. 

We ate soups made out of this flower with bread crusts, which we had been given by toothless neighbors who 

were unable to chew the hard crusts and I ate my first orange by being given orange-peels, from which we 

removed the white lining. Even though it tasted bitter, I liked it very much because it seemed so "exotic" and 

http://gnosticliberationfront.com/a_gnostic_childhood3.htm 

11/5/2011


Page 2 of 9 

unavailable. 

The American soldiers were okay for the most part. What stands out in my mind were the black soldiers who 

seemed very kind and considerate and without the "victor's" attitude. 

I remember when my mother took me to a huge indoor swimming pool where I ran around playing with other 

kids when I suddenly ran right smack into a guard rail made of iron. Having broken my nose and bleeding 

profusely, I screamed as loud as I could under the circumstances, when a black US Army medic came running 

to me, picked me up, hugged me and calmed me down. He put a butterfly on the open wound on my nose and 

ran off to get me ice packs. Then he gave me my first chocolate, Cadbury chocolate, and I was in seventh 

heaven. He also introduced me to the joys of Wrigley's juicy fruit chewing gum. I still love the taste and smell of 

juicy fruit gum to this day. 

Never shall I forget the loving kindness of this black American soldier. Sometimes, on our walks searching for 

wheat, we came across old fox-holes,- US Army dug-outs from the final days of WWII, 

in which I discovered discarded comic books like 'Sad Sack' and 'Superman.' 

I still remember the smell of the cheap pulp paper of these comic books which amazed 

me to no end. 

Sometimes, playing with other kids, we would go to the garbage dump and find Third 

Reich memorabilia such as Hitler Youth albums and daggers and German Army helmets. 

I would gather albums and helmets and daggers and carry them "home" to the Botts' 

house where my mother would turn pale and run them back with me to the dump. 

Everybody was desperately afraid to be branded as a Nazi if they were found in 

possession of these items. 

Tante Ursel's husband was suddenly arrested and put into a concentration camp run by 

the allies for former Nazi's. He had been denounced by one of our neighbors who had a grudge against him. 

Being just an unimportant follower, he was released after some time and told us about the horrors he 

experienced there. Such as the torture to get information about things he couldn't have any knowledge about. 

When he came back he was a changed man, ugly and mean-spirited. Once, after I drove him crazy with 

questions, he picked me up and sat me down on a hot stove to shut me up. 

I was a hand full in those days, always talking and asking questions, always wanting to KNOW why things were 

the way they were. 

One time we were walking on main street in Borken, when we saw a group of American soldiers hanging 

around in front of a building. I, brazen as I was then, ran across the street to them and asked them in my best 

English for chocolate. These soldiers were hot-blooded Puerto-Ricans or Mexicans who found me utterly 

obnoxious and pulled their revolvers out pointing them at me and telling me to get lost. I would have nothing of 

it and kept on badgering them for candy, when my mother came running to grab me by the arm and pull me 

forcefully away from them. I felt deeply hurt and embarrassed and threw a fit by letting myself fall on the road 

screaming my heart out. 


11/5/2011


II shall never forget the generosity and kindness of black American soldiers! 

Another time we walked by a US Army motor pool and I ran up to a jeep and climbed in it sitting behind the 

wheel like a real trooper. My mother, in deep fear and embarrassment, tried to pull me out of the jeep but I 

would have nothing of it, holding on to the steering-wheel for dear life. Soldiers came running and tried to coax 

me out of the vehicle but I wouldn't budge. Even the promise of candy didn't override my desire to drive the 

jeep. 

Finally a GI indicated to us that he would give me a ride in the jeep if I sat in the passenger seat. I somehow 

trusted him and he really did drive me around for a little while while my mother stood pale in fear and 

embarrassment. This is understandable now, when one realizes that this was an "occupational" army which had 

orders not to "fraternize" with the "enemy." Given the language barrier and my irrational behavior in those 

"heady" days I understand now that we were in true danger of being arrested or even shot by an overzealous 

GI. 


Going to School 

Page 3 of 9 

11/5/2011


Page 4 of 9 

I hated school with a passion. My first day in April 1946 was a total disaster despite the "Schultuete," a coneshaped 

paper container usually filled with candy and small toys, which every German first grader gets from his 

parents on his first day. 

Of course, there wasn't much in this large cone since we didn't even have enough to eat. But, somehow, my 

mother and friends and neighbors came up with some things which they thought would get me on a happy start 

in the world of "organized" learning. 

Not so, I felt completely lost in the huge class-room which served not just one grade but four or even more. 

The whole thing went over my head and I was completely overwhelmed by the amount of kids, the noise and 

the orders given to four or more grades in one classroom. Not knowing if the teacher was talking to us, which is 

me, in the first grade group, or to the other bigger kids from other grades, I became totally disillusioned with 

school and 'organized' learning, -a feeling and attitude which would stay with me for the rest of my life. 

Something mystical or strange at least, happened one day as I was with a friend, Karl-Heinz Zach and his 

mother wanted to take a picture of him with his German shepherd dog standing by a fence close to his home. I 

suddenly felt something within me say: "This looks like America where you must go to establish......" I can't say 

"what" I was to establish, because I don't want to cause myself any problems now, as stupid people might hold 

it against me. 


11/5/2011


The day came when Tante Beumelburg left us to return to Berlin-Erkner in order to take care of things at the 

marina she owned. It seems that conditions had somewhat improved in Germany to the point where one could 

travel again by train if one was able to secure the necessary military government authorization papers. My 

grandparents had also contacted my mother by mail, or vice-versa, that things were o.k. with them and that 

my mother and I should come and live with them. 

After some time passed, my mother decided to risk the trip with me and move to Berlin. I remember very little 

of this trip only that we had to change trains many times and that we had to wait in Goslar for another train 

connection. In Goslar we had to spend the night in the train station packed with refugees. We had some thin, 

watery soup in the station restaurant and I remember that it tasted like water with lumps of something 

swimming in it. 


Page 5 of 9 

11/5/2011


These are my friends from Borken in 1950. 

'Tante' Ursel sent me this picture to Berlin with the caption 'Kennst Du noch welche'? Herbst 1950. 

Of course since we left in 1947 they have grown a lot but I still remember Karl-Heinz Zach 

and another fellow named 'Friedhelm.' 

This is the questionnaire (Fragebogen) my mother had to fill out 

to "prove" that she wasn't a "nazi". After a period of time she received 

a kind of passport with her picture on it, as proof that she had been "cleared". 


Page 6 of 9 

11/5/2011


Above are the remnants still in my possession of this "clearance" passport. 


Page 7 of 9 

11/5/2011



Let me continue my story: 

Page 8 of 9 

11/5/2011



Part IV 

Berlin 1947 

This is the "Reichstags" building with an immobilized tank in front 


Page 1 of 13 

11/5/2011


Homeless people in the streets of Berlin 

Page 2 of 13 

Berlin was in ruins when we arrived there after an endless seeming railroad ride in compartments with wooden 

seats, overcrowded, smelly with its load of refugees, displaced persons (DP's) which consisted mostly of women 

with crying children. I thought it quite fascinating to walk through Berlin's ruins, with tanks and other war 

equipment all over the streets and didn't mind at all that we had arrived in a hell of hopelessness, poverty and 

despair. 

My grandparent's bicycle store was in Neukoelln, Sonnenallee 208. Behind the store, was their "parterre" 

apartment which was unbelievably cold, damp and small. I slept on top of a bunk bed in a room just big enough 

to hold this metal contraption and my mother slept below. The reason it was so cold in this apartment was, that 

coal which was needed for the one "Kachelofen" that was supposed to heat the entire apartment, was a rare and 

very expensive commodity in 1947 and my grandparents could only manage to get enough coal to use on 


11/5/2011


Page 3 of 13 

"special days." But, even with plenty of coal, this one and only stove which was located in the living room, could 

not possibly heat the entire place. 

Thus my grandfather put up a cast iron stove in the 

shop itself and this little monster burned anything, 

throwing out wonderful, radiant heat in abundance. He 

used partitions to give this area, where the stove was 

located, a sense of privacy where customers, of which 

there weren't exactly plenty, in those days, couldn't see 

us as we were sitting there around this wonderful 

source of warmth and togetherness. 

My grandfather, Hermann Becker, was a big man of a 

slow and stoic disposition, which drove my 

grandmother, Marie Becker, absolutely crazy. On top of 

this, he was deaf in one ear and his right arm was 

somewhat lame which came from a gunshot wound to 

his upper arm many years ago. This gunshot wound 

was the reason that he had become a "Socialist" in the 

early part of the century. 

As I gathered from various sources, mother, aunts and uncles, my grandfather as a young man, after 

apprenticeship as a mechanic, got a job as a chauffeur for a rich industrialist. There he lived in the rich people's 

house and took also care of odd jobs. One day, the rich people and some of their friends with the aristocratic 

"von" in front of their names, were out on a hunt and my grandfather was supposed to pick some mushrooms in 

the surrounding forest. As he bend down to pick some, a shot was fired and hit him in the arm. The people he 

worked for apparently took care of his injury without an adequate follow up by a doctor in order to save money. 

Thus his arm didn't heal the way it should have and became something like seventy percent paralyzed. He could 

move his arm only with a conscious effort and his hand was frozen in a position which made it look a little like a 


11/5/2011


claw. 

Needless to say, he didn't receive any financial aid or support from these people or the government because, 

since they were wealthy and "titled" aristocrats, and he was only a "commoner," and had no legal rights under 

the Kaiser's government. This experience led him into the fold of the Socialist Party, which was actually called 

SPD, Socialdemocratische Partei Deutschlands. Being of a stoic disposition, 

he never went further than that. As he couldn't identify with the more 

radical elements and movements of his days, like the Communists, 

Trotskyites or Anarchists. He was true to the SPD until the day he died in 

1969 and subscribed faithfully to their daily newspaper in Berlin called 

"Vorwaerts," which means "Forward," through all the years it was 

published, which means, that this paper was forbidden to publish during the 

years of Hitler's regime. 

My grandfather hated and despised the nazis, because to him, they 

represented the same nationalism and elitism which was part of the 

Kaiser's time and had caused him so much suffering. 

Page 4 of 13 

My grandmother was of a fiery, temperamental disposition. Looking like a 

"gypsy," with black hair and olive skin, she was quick and easily angered. 

Her hand would lash-out before her mind could tell her not to. 

My mother hated her and tried to avoid her whenever possible because of 

the abuse she suffered as a child and even young woman from her 

explosive temper which often resulted in physical and mental abuse. Yet I 

liked her very much and I developed a way to deal with her which amused 

her and often made her laugh. Since I was quick tempered also, even as a 

young boy, it seems that I instinctively understood her problem of being 

surrounded by slow and plotting people which every once and a while would 

lead her to emotionally explode in a temper tantrum. 

She loved it when I made fun of her and called her "theatralisch." I probably meant "theatrical," and still don't 

know if there even is such a word as "theatralisch." But seeing her amused reaction I from then on knew how to 

remain on her good side, even when an emotional outburst from her frightened everybody else. 

She and I formed a true friendship based on our similar emotional make-up and mutual understanding. She 

often took me to the movies, the matinee showings, later on when movie theaters popped up all over the 

neighborhood, and send me every afternoon to the nearby bakery to get cheap baked goods like "Schnecken, 

Amerikaner and Pfannkuchen." We would then sit around the stove in the store and eat these "delicatessens" 

while listening to the radio. But I am getting ahead of my story, since this all came later when things improved 

and we were able to get food and coals freely. 

In the picture above are my grandmother seated with my aunt Gerda on her lap and my mother standing on a 

foot-stool behind her. On the left is my uncle Harry who was a superb aircraft mechanic and who was last seen 

being marched by Russians in a column of prisoners through Berlin to disappear forever. 

He was neither involved with the nazis, nor even a member of the military since he had a heart problem. We 

have never heard from him again nor have the Soviets admitted his existence. His only crime was that he was 

relatively young, German and at the wrong place at the wrong time. 

When will the allied victors ever admit the cruelties and murders committed by these "liberators"? Since 

millions of innocent Germans were abducted to forced labor in the Soviet Union, France and even England, and 

with those unfortunates who were enslaved by the Soviets to never be heard of again, when will there ever be 

an outcry or even official acknowledgement in their behalf? 

But German lives came cheap in those days and the deceitful government plutocrats of the Federal Republic are 

either unwilling or too immersed in kissing up to these former allied criminals to make waves. They much rather 

pay out huge sums of money to foreigners who claim to have been forced to work as "slaves" in German 

factories and constructions during wartime than to ever investigate and speak-up for the millions of Germans 


11/5/2011


who were not only abducted, but never returned alive from their Soviet captors. 

Page 5 of 13 

After we arrived in Berlin to live with my grandparents, my mother had to register me with the nearby 

school which was the "Hertzberg Schule." This was devastating to me because I hated school ever since my 

experience of the multiple classroom and its chaos in Borken. Although this school had individual class rooms for 

every grade, I still didn't like the inhibiting environment and the "forced" learning even under these different 

circumstances. Many of my class-mates seemed so unruly and violent, which made me feel like I definitely 

didn't belong there. 

In those days boys and girls were taught in separate class rooms and were even segregated by separate school 

entrances. We saw and could possibly interact with the girls only during the main break in the school-yard, but 

we didn't even do that because of peer pressure and uneasiness with girls. 

The boys who would have wanted to play with the girls didn't dare to because the rest of the boys, the bullies 

and rowdies, would have made their school days a living hell of teasing and beatings. Thus we even played in 

segregated areas. I often secretly glanced over to where the girls were grouped admiring their gracefulness and 

beauty. Awestruck by their appearance, my heart pounded faster and faster and it seemed like a desire to be 

with them would drive me insane. On the other hand though I had to pretend that girls were nothing more then 

laughable and stupid "Mieken." 

Our teacher was "Fraulein" Ziegle who was a wonderful and generous person. She inspired me and I studied 

and did my homework with extra care. So I did quite well in school despite my unhappiness with many of my 

class mates. I also made some lasting friends. There was Joachim Bandmann, who lived close to me and was a 

comfortable boy to hang-out with. We remained friends through all of our school years and beyond until I left 

Germany for the USA in 1963. 

Then there was Eberhard Galinski, a Jewish boy, whom I liked very much because of his seriousness and 

intelligence and who also didn't seem to fit in with the general crowd in our class room. 

Juergen Lehmann and Herbert (I can't remember his last name) were also part of our group as well as some 

others whose names I have forgotten. 

This was second grade in 1948 and I realized that I had a talent for drawing and writing essays. I would often 

be called to the blackboard to draw something and everybody seemed to be in "awe" of my talent. This gave me 

a boost in self-esteem which I needed very badly because I had developed a case of "shyness" that became 

almost debilitating. I don't know what its cause might have been, but I became so painfully introverted and 

afraid of everybody that it robbed me of many opportunities even throughout my later life. It is not that I was 

afraid of others physically, but that I was afraid of what they thought about me. Feeling so inferior not because 

of the awareness of my own shortcomings, but because I always felt so much out of place. I just "knew" that I 

didn't belong where I was and with the people I was thrown-in with, that I became deathly afraid that they 


11/5/2011


Page 6 of 13 

would detect this and ridicule me as only children can. One factor seemed to be that I could always sense what 

other's thought about me and themselves. Which means, perhaps, that I could sense their inner pain and their 

deceptive acts of violent behavior to cover it up. I felt their pain and was moved by their struggle to cover it up 

into such an emotional turmoil that I could only react the way any child can react in such a situation, by 

withdrawing and covering up my own vulnerability by whatever means possible. Since violence was abhorrent to 

me, I chose to withdraw from my surroundings as much as I could. Seeing myself as a "freak," mentally and 

physically I was convinced that I was crazy and that I looked so ugly with a long nose and too large head that 

others must surely be repulsed by me in every way. Of course it didn't help that I saw visions of people and 

landscapes which quite often shocked the hell out of me and that I could "read" other's intentions and secrets. 

But of this I shall talk more later. 

Here is my third grade class in 1948. 

I attended (reluctantly) the "Hertzbergschule" located at the Hertzbergstrasse in Berlin-Neukoelln. 

Even after 53 years I still remember a few names. 

Our teacher was "Freulein" Ziegle. I am in the third row, fourth from the left...-The one looking so serious and straight at the camera. 

Next to me is Gerhart (Nettie)....who was very girlish acting and probably the first 'gay' person I have known. He is on my left. 

Some kids carrying aluminum pots (Essentoepfe) which were required to bring with us to school in order to get our hot soup for lunch 

which got us through the worst hunger of those grim days. Is there anyone out there who went to school with me? 

First row third from left is Eberhart Galinski. Next to him is Ralph ...? Farther over in the 'lederhosen' is ...? Reisner and next to him 

is Armin Krueger 'Kruecke' and then a fellow named 'Siebert'. My best friend Joachim Bandman is in the last row far left. 

The one prevailing factor of my existence in this world then and even now is, that I felt completely alone and 

out of place, wherever I went. And it was, nor is, never because I feel myself "better" than others or more 

enlightened. It seems to be quite the opposite. I feel so inferior to the ways of the world and am barely able to 

cope with life and the demands of existence as a man, husband and father on this planet. Beginning with the 

memory of my first conscious thought as a toddler, that I didn't want to be here again, right to today, where I 

still have a difficult time being part of what life demands of me to be, always feeling as an "outsider," as a 

"stranger in a strange land." 


11/5/2011


Sometimes we would go to the garden plot my grandparent's had, not too far away in Baumschulenweg, where 

we could enjoy sitting around in the sunshine and eating some of the fruits and vegetables which they had 

planted. We would walk there in about 30 minutes, passing through the border into East Berlin which was only 

visible in those days by the presence of a large white signs with writing in three languages on it, informing 

people that they are now leaving the American sector. In later years this border would become more and more 

difficult to cross. At first there were east German police there, called "Volkspolizei," who could and would stop 

people randomly and ask them for identification papers and look through their handbags or other belongings. 

Later these border points became more secured by narrowing the road with bob wire. We were always 

respectful and uneasy with police, even in West-Berlin, but these young East-German cops were feared by 

everybody, not the least because of their ability to arrest people and put them away somewhere in East 

Germany. Still, the joy of being out in nature was more persuasive than our fear of the East German border 

police and we went there as often as we could. 

One day, while we were at the garden, I felt suddenly like the whole world 

was starting to spin around me and that I had no strength at all. All I could 

do is, drop to the ground unable to move feeling sick all over and frightened 

beyond description. I don't remember much of what went on with my 

mother and grandparents, except that they took a little cart with four metal 

wheels into which they squeezed me somehow, pulling me back towards 

Neukoelln and Kreutzberg to the Urban Krankenhaus, the nearest hospital, 

which probably took about one hour. 

I was so weak that I couldn't even talk nor move my limbs but I still 

remember the bumpy cart and the pain every cobblestone caused me as 

they dragged me along. I remember a huge room at the hospital where I 

was x-rayed and where also lots of other people were treated. 

It was cold in there and I was shaking all over. I had a high fever and was 

delirious and so very afraid of everything around me. After X-rays and 

examination nurses took me on a stretcher across the street to a wooden 

barracks-like building which was the "children's hospital." 

No regular sized bed was available and I had to be placed into a crib for 

which I was, naturally, too big. So I had to be placed on my side with my 

legs bent. After a horrible night a regular bed became vacant and I could 

move into my new, much more comfortable, lodging. 

It turns out that I hat contracted Tuberculosis of the "Hilusdruesen," a term 

which still baffles me. But this is what it was and after a few weeks I began feeling much better. The food was 

excellent by the standards of 1948 and I still remember the joy of eating soup with whole, canned, American 

potatoes which I can taste with pleasure even to this day. 

We had six of us boys in our room and developed quite a camaraderie and friendship between us. All in all I 

think that I spent at least nine month there, having a great time playing with car models from America and 

drawing many pictures and eating such wonderful food. 

My teacher, Fraulein Ziegle, came to see me almost every other day bringing with her such wonderful gifts as 

Wrigley's gum, candy and chocolates as well as toys from America. She had relatives in the United States and 

received packages with these goodies on a regular basis. Thus she was able to bring me these wonderful gifts at 

a time when one could get such things only on the black-market at a cost the average person couldn't possibly 

afford. 

I clearly remember the first time when I was allowed to get out of bed after more than six month in the 

hospital. Two nurses were holding me up and I thought that I had lost my ability to stand up and walk. But after 

more of those attempts and exercises I gradually regained some strength in my legs and was able to slowly 

walk again. 

When I returned after nine month to the damp, cold and cramped home of my grandparents, I wasn't exactly 


Page 7 of 13 

11/5/2011


happy. At the hospital I had so much attention and friendship with the other boys in my room, that coming 

"home" was a very depressing experience. 

Black market in post war Berlin 

Just a few more pictures... 

Berlin 


Page 8 of 13 

11/5/2011


1948 

My grandparent's bicycle shop in 1948, located in Berlin-Neukoelln, Sonnenallee 208. I am standing in the door. 

The small windows are substitute windows from the original large ones which were broken from the bombings. The 

space to the left, next door, used to be an apartment house which was destroyed. There was a huge pile of bricks 

behind the kiosk which you can see partially, in which we kids played and looked for building materials made out 

of metals like zink, copper and lead which we could sell for a few pennies. 

Across the street was a huge "Gas-Anstalt" where they made city gas out of coal. Also in close proximity were 

tanks and a crashed American bomber plane in which we kids played. This was before this picture was taken in 

1948. By 1948 everything was already cleaned up and removed. 

Although, not too far away, in Berlin-Treptow, there was a tank "Friedhof" (cemetary) or junk yard in which one 

could play with hundreds of Russian and German tanks. 

On the left shows what my grandparent's bicycle store looked like around 1926 

showing my grandparents, my mother and my aunt Gerda. 

The building to the left of my grandparents' store was completely destroyed 

by bombs during WWII. I remember climbing over mountains of brick and rubble 

looking for zinc and copper there until it was cleared up. 

On the right shows my grandfather in his store during the 1950's and this is 

how I always remember it. 


Page 9 of 13 

11/5/2011


Here I am, in the dreaded classroom! This picture was taken in 1948 or 49. It seems like nobody knew how to 

cut hair in those days. I hated my haircut and sometimes had to put soap in it to keep it in position. The 

sweater with the embroidered anchor was my pride and joy and I only wore it to school for special occasions like 

picture taking day. This picture also was taken at the "Hertzberg Schule" in Berlin-Neukoelln. 

Probably 1948. 

Look at the patched-up bullet holes from 

the final days of WWII three years earlier 


Page 10 of 13 

11/5/2011


Class photo taken probably in 1948 with our teacher Fraulein Ziegle at the Hertzberg Schule. I am the halfhidden 

little fellow in the third row from front at the far right by the window. 

This picture was taken shortly after my almost deadly bout with TB which landed me for at least nine month in 

the Urban Hospital in Berlin-Kreutzberg. 

1952 

My grandparents Herman and Marie Becker on the right, my mother on the left with "Uncle" Herbert Haase (of 

whom I shall write later), my aunt Gerda Traenkle, Tante Thea and her friend Herr Mueller, in my grandparent's 

garden plot (Schrebergarten), Kolonie "Roter Stern," in Berlin-Baumschulenweg (Treptow) in, probably, 1952. 

As one can see, things were already much better in Germany since the starvation years of the 1940's. This 

"Schrebergarten" was located in the Communist, Russian occupation, part of Berlin, thus the name of the 

"Kolonie, Roter Stern," 

which means "red star." 

Though my grandparents lived in the American sector, Neukoelln, they were allowed to own and visit their 

garden property. 

Of course this all changed after August 13,1961 when the "Wall" was built overnight and people from West- 

Berlin were no longer allowed to enter East-Berlin. I shall write more about this garden later. 

1954 

Page 11 of 13 

This is my best friend throughout my childhood, Joachim Bandmann (Bandi) and his beautiful, superbly 

intelligent sister Doris at their "Einsegnung," (confirmation) probably in 1954. I had a hopeless crush on Doris 

which was to my heartbreak not reciprocated. They lived also in Berlin-Neukoelln, Sonnenallee and later moved 

into a development in Berlin-Britz where this picture is taken. 

After I emigrated to the United States I lost contact with them through my own laziness. Perhaps, chance of 

chances, they will see this picture and contact me. The last I know Bandi was living in Munich, Germany and had 

gotten married. But this is all way ahead of my story on the next page. 


11/5/2011


Continued on part 5 of "A Gnostic Childhood" 


For more information on post-war Berlin and Germany 

please read Freda Utley's superb book: 

THE HIGH COST OF VENGEANCE 

on this website. 


Page 12 of 13 

11/5/2011

Gnostic Child 5 


Part V 

Berlin 1947 - 1948 

Having missed about three-quarters of a year in school, I was told by 

my mother that I had to do the third grade over again, which made me 

sick in heart and soul. I had my friends and my beloved Mrs. Ziegle as 

teacher and couldn't bear the loss of them and the embarrassment of 

staying back one year. Begging my mother and promising that I would 

study real hard, my mother managed to convince the principal to let me 

remain in the third grade class of Fraulein Ziegle. As it turned out in the 

coming school years, this was a big mistake because I couldn't catch up 

with the curriculum, especially in arithmetic, which would later prove 

devastating for the rest of my life. But, at the moment, I had won a 

victory and was happy to return to my old class. 

Around this time I experienced a tremendous increase in my psychic 

development and saw visions of people and war occurrences on a 

constant basis. 

Especially at night, just before falling asleep I would see a barrage of 

pictures which often scared me to death. These visions are buried deep 

in my soul and I only remember some of them vaguely. Perhaps it was 

to protect myself that these, often horrible visions, disappeared from my 

conscious memory. Sometimes even a school trip by S-Bahn to the 

Grunewald, which is a large forest in Berlin, threw me into a sudden 

state of sensitivity to my surroundings which brought me flashes of 

visions which often scared me or made me feel very depressed. 

I never mentioned these experiences to anyone, because I knew 

instinctively that nobody would understand and that others would 

perhaps even laugh at me and call me crazy. 

My fear of ridicule and embarrassment had developed into a full fledged 

case of an inferiority complex which would remain with me through my 

entire life. 

These psychic visions didn't help me in the least as I, deep down, felt 

like I must be crazy or at least very "odd," and that other people would 

noticed this and think of me as a "freak." 


Page 1 of 8 

11/5/2011


Thus I came to consider myself more and more as an "outsider" who 

carried a secret with him, which, if discovered, would humiliate him 

beyond imagination in the eyes of classmates, friends and family. Yet, I 

also felt in a strange sense "superior" to my friends and even to most 

adults. This was not so much a conscious awareness, as it was an inner 

certainty which every once and a-while would come to my rescue when I 

felt completely useless and overcome with self-doubt. 

Jesus Christ 

This is the picture of Jesus Christ which touched me the most. It 

is from "the book" which is probably the most influential book of my 

childhood and later life. 


Page 2 of 8 

11/5/2011


Under the pressure of conflicting emotions, psychic visions and my ever 

present inferiority complex, I turned more and more to books and 

magazines for escape. 

My grandparents had a book-shelf full of books in the hallway of their 

apartment and I often went through it looking at the titles and trying to 

discern what they were all about if I was able to read the words and 

understand their meaning. Many of the books and magazines there had 

to do with early aviation and must have belonged to my missing uncle 

Harry. I liked to look at them and imagine myself being able to build and 

fly these strange looking planes. 

One book in a green cover caught my attention, because it was full of 

pictures which touched me deeply. It was a Catholic religious primer, a 

school book teaching children about "God" and a savior named "Jesus 

Christ." And it is this Catholic catechism which would become one of the 

most influential books in my spiritual development. 

I was drawn Instinctively to explore the pictures and laboriously read 

this book with the developing zeal of a fanatic. Especially the drawings 

of Jesus and the story of his love and compassion seemed to make me 

aware of something beyond the limited range of childhood awareness as 

I read about and suffered the beatings he received from the soldiers and 

high-priests at the time of His crucifixion. Reading about Jesus 

mystically carried me into a dimension which explained the evils of this 

world to me, which I could already relate to because of my own 

suffering. 

Whenever the pain of life and the feelings of my own inferiority as an 


Page 3 of 8 

11/5/2011


'outsider' became too much for me to bear, I would read the story of 

Jesus' suffering which would make me cry and sob from the depth of my 

young heart and soul. 

Jesus was my friend, confessor and savior in the truest sense of the 

word. 

This love of Jesus has never changed through the years and is as strong 

today as it was then. 

Perhaps I am more jaded now, but then, in 1947-48, I experienced 

Jesus without prejudice, doubt or criticism. 

When my mother died in 1980 and I went to Berlin from the United 

States in order to dissolve her household, I found this cherished book 

again and brought it back to America with me. Hoping to re-connect to 

it's deep emotional impact which it had on me as a child, I was 

somewhat disappointed when I looked at it again after so many years 

and didn't feel much at all. 

Nevertheless, this book is the book of my life in a mystical sense and I 

only wished that I could experience the same "mystical" state of 

unconditional awareness now, as I did when I read it as a child. 


Page 4 of 8 

11/5/2011


These pictures are taken from "the book" which has the German 

title: "Biblische Geschichte fur das Erzbistum Breslau," published in 1930 

by Herder & Co. GmbH, Freiburg im Breisgau. 

At that time, reading the book, I wanted nothing more than to become a 

disciple of this "Jesus" who inspired me to live a life according to his 

teachings as I understood them as an eight year old boy. 

My mother and grandparents became worried that I would end up, at 

such a young age, with a mental disease called, "Religionswahn," which, 

roughly translated means something like "religious mania." 

True, I was on my way to become a fanatic, but something within me 

has all through my life protected me and guided me through the 

dangers of the spiritual path. 

The simplicity of Jesus and his teaching and His suffering on the cross 

for all mankind was in my heart and soul, not denominational concepts 

or theological doctrine of which I knew nothing at the time and for which 

I still have no use nor patience. 

My mother was religious in a very broad and un-denominational sense 

which in German would be called "Gottglaubig," which simply means 

that she believed in God, but was otherwise not connected to any 

doctrine or denominational faith. What my grandparents believed in, I 

don't really know. Although I assume that, because of my grandfather's 

'Socialism,' he didn't really believe in anything of that nature. 

Thus it is quite understandable that they all were quite puzzled and 

disturbed by my constant talk of Jesus and my clumsy attempts to 

emulate Him. 

How should they deal with this behavior in an eight-year old? Wasn't I 


Page 5 of 8 

11/5/2011


already 'peculiar,' with my inferiority complex and sometimes odd 

questions? 

Eventually they must have decided to 'let it ride,' and see what would 

happen, because I don't remember them trying to ridicule or discourage 

me in any way, except for occasionally trying to explain to me that what 

one reads in a book doesn't necessarily mean it is true. 

Yet nothing could take away from me my love and admiration for Jesus. 

Being willful by nature and not easily dissuaded from my beliefs, it 

would have been hopeless anyhow for anybody to force me or attempt 

to convince me to change my ideas. Most likely it would have resulted in 

the opposite and led me an a path of actual fanaticism. 

Until I read this book I had a strong desire for possessions and money. 

Always trying to get money from everybody in my family and even 

strangers and constantly counting it and straightening the paper bills, 

my grandfather often joked and called me a "kaupler" and little Jew. -I 

should mention here that my grandfather was neither a "racist," nor an 

"Anti-Semite," and that such talk meant really nothing more than that 

Jews were excellent business people and bankers. 

Sure, there were jokes at the expense of Jews, the same as there are 

jokes about the peculiarities of Germans or other nationalities and races, 

but I don't think this as wrong or evil. As long as it is just good-natured 

observation and needling, without hatred. 

I have been called names like "kraut" and even "nazi" here in the 

United States and it never bothered me at all, because I know that this 

is what people immediately think when they find out about my German 

origins. What is the big deal? It's all part of our human experience and 

usually these people learned to recognize me by my own personality and 

character, often telling me, after feeling comfortable with me, that I just 

didn't fit their image of Germans. 

Of course, their 'image' of Germans was molded by the allied 

propaganda of two world wars, and had little relevance to facts. Should I 

be angry at their ignorance and thus close the door in their face, so to 

speak, -leaving them to their false beliefs? Or should I be tolerant and 

even laugh at their image of Germans, while proving to them that 

Germans were just people like anybody else with faults and 

characteristics which easily lend themselves to jokes and criticism as 

well as admiration. 

Some things are outright lies and other things, referring to nationalities 

and races, are quite true. We all have to live with genetic imprints, 

mannerisms and common characteristics. Can't we just recognize them 

for what they are and be freely able to make light of them? 


Page 6 of 8 

11/5/2011


That these traits are not necessarily the whole person should be 

obvious and if people are unable to see the "whole picture" right away, 

it certainly doesn't mean that they are racists or Anti-Semites, or 

German haters, but that they simply are not very bright. 

Propaganda is an evil that we all should recognize and understand.- 

Especially political propaganda, aimed at mobilizing people against an 

'enemy,' who has done them no personal harm, is mostly a mixture of 

outright lies and exaggeration of facts into hate inspiring distortions, 

aimed at the 'lowest' instincts of our human nature. 

Anyhow, my grandfather called me a little "Jew" in good-natured fun 

and I didn't even know what a "Jew" was. 

Naturally I asked him, but he wasn't able to explain it to me 

satisfactorily. This happened because I was after money 'like the devil 

after a soul, (Wie der Teufel nach der Seele), before I read about Jesus 

Christ. 

When I started to emulate Jesus as a 'disciple,' I took all my money 

(which wasn't worth anything since, unknown to me, it consisted of old 

German 'Reichsmark' and gave it with a grand gesture to my mother, 

instructing her solemnly to give it to the poor, because I didn't need it 

anymore as a follower of Jesus. 

Strangely enough, this attitude has become part of me ever since. Even 

'psychics' have told me that I need to change my attitude towards 

money and possessions in order to draw the 'good things' in life to me. 

During the readings I knew immediately what they were talking about 

and where it originated. 

Still, even knowing this, I have a difficult time with money, income, 

possessions and worldly power even now. 

To Continue "A Gnostic Childhood," Go To Page 6 



Page 7 of 8 

11/5/2011



Part VI 

Berlin 1947-49 

Berlin -Erkner 

Bootshaus (Marina) Baeumelburg 

Picture shows my mother, myself and Frau Gertrude Beumelburg with the 

marina in background, taken in 1949. 

Far back one can see three stalls of the outhouse. To the right of this picture, 

but not shown, is the air-raid shelter which Frau Beumelburg's husband had dug 

out and which he had covered with a heavy steel plate. When a bomb fell almost 

on top of it, the bunker collapsed and Herr Beumelburg and their adopted 

daughter were killed instantly. I don't know why Frau Beumelburg was in the 

area of Schwerin at the time of the bombing, but it most certainly saved her life. 


Page 1 of 19 

11/5/2011


Some time after our arrival in Berlin in 1947 my mother was able to write to my 

'aunt' Beumelburg and get an answer from her with the invitation to come and 

visit her. 

Erkner was located in the Soviet "Zone" surrounding Berlin. It is about one hour 

and twenty minutes away from us by S-Bahn, which is an electric train system 

going all through Berlin and its suburbs. The 'S' stands for 'Stadt' which means 

city and thus one could call it 'city-train.' 

Thus we decided that the next school summer-vacation would be a good time to 

visit her. This was the summer of 1949. Erkner is located by the beautiful 

"Daemmeritz See" which is a large lake connecting to other lakes and rivers 

outside Berlin. It was located in the Russian zone and therefore we were 

somewhat reluctant to travel there into the 'heart of the beast,' so to speak. 

When we arrived at 'Bahnhof Erkner,' which is a rather large train station, as it 

also serves as a regular train station for the 'Reichsbahn'. We walked past a 

newspaper kiosk which sold cheap looking communist propaganda magazines 

and of course the communist city papers 'Neues Deutschland' and 'Berliner 

Zeitung'. 

The station was plastered with communist propaganda posters and banners 

which gave it all an ominous sense of oppression and fear. 

When we went out of the main door into the semi-circular street in front, we 

had first to decide whether we should turn left or right. My mother said that 

going to the left made more sense and thus we began walking. 

Erkner smelled of tar and the fishy odor of the nearby lake. A factory on our left 

must have been the reason for the tar smell and to our right we could see the 

beautiful Daemmeritz See which looked overgrown with algae and bamboo 

plants called "Schilf". 

We had to pass over a temporary looking wooden bridge to get onto main 

street. A few ruins were visible but much less than in Berlin proper. Still, 

everything looked depressingly in disrepair. We were searching for "Beethoven 

Strasse," and after asking somebody, we found it easily. 


Page 2 of 19 

11/5/2011


Russian Soldiers 

Tante Baemelburg was outside doing some work in the 

yard and, dropping her tool, came running towards us 

to embrace and hug us in complete joy. She lived in a 

small 

house 

next to 

the 

marina 

and the 

house 

had 

received 

some 

damage 

also 

when 

the 

bomb 

fell on the dug-out shelter killing her husband and 


Page 3 of 19 

11/5/2011


step-daughter. 

Actually it was a terrible mess leaving only a couple rooms and the kitchen 

livable. Every once in a while we could hear the distant sounds of explosions, 

which my aunt explained as coming from Russian soldiers throwing hand 

grenades into the Daemmeritz lake in order to kill fish to eat. 

This was scary and yet fascinating to me. I had developed a terrible fear of the 

Russians from very early on, overhearing when family or friends talked about 

what horrible things they had done to the German people when they took over a 

town or village. 

The words rape (which I didn't understand, but which sounded ominous), 

nailing people by their tongues to doors and other unimaginable atrocities were 

talked about in whispered conversations since I was three years old. Coupled 

with my experience on the train leaving Schwerin, I had no doubt about their 

truthfulness. 

This fear was reinforced, when we, after a few days in Erkner, ran into a bunch 

of them on main street. 

They looked like wild beasts and that's the only way I can describe their 

appearance and they behaved even worse. 

Actually, they weren't even 'Russians,' but looked more like descendants of 

Genghis Khan with their unwashed and unkempt looking Mongolian faces. 

Worse than wild animals, drunken, in uniforms which looked not only filthy but 

also much too large for their size, they were harassing passers-by and scaring 

the hell out of everybody around.-Screaming Russian and German words I had 

never heard before, they were attempting to find women and more booze. 

Luckily a Russian jeep appeared suddenly and three, what appeared to be 

officers, got out and began grabbing them and starting to beat on them, while 

another vehicle appeared to take them away. 

Later I heard that corporal punishment was a common practice in the Red Army, 

and I assume that these drunken soldiers would receive a definite measure of it. 

-But I also heard stories where Russian soldiers shared their meager rations 

with the population and sometimes even received severe punishment for their 

kindness. 

All I can say now is that they were often primitive peasants who treated the 

German people almost the same way as they would treat their own people. 

These poor souls were whipped-up by propaganda, generated by the Soviet 

propaganda minister, Ilya Ehrenburg, who actually ordered the rape and 

degradation of the German civilian population... 

.... Kill, kill, you brave Red Army soldiers, kill. There is nothing in the Germans 

that is innocent. Obey the instructions of comrade Stalin and stamp the fascistic 

beast in its cave. Break with force the racial arrogance of the German women. 

Take them as your legal loot. Kill, you brave Red Army soldiers, kill! Ilya 

Ehrenburg 1945. 


Page 4 of 19 

11/5/2011


Ironically, Ehrenburg was Jewish and Jews would later also become victims of 

Stalin's paranoia. 

Thus, most of those Mongolian-Soviet soldiers saw no wrong in torture, rape and 

murder of the civilian German population. --Plus, one has to bear in mind that 

Russian soldiers as well as the Russian civilian population was treated worse 

than horribly by the German army and the NS regime which was an atrocity in 

itself. 

So what could we expect? 

Be that as it may, to propagandize RAPE as an official policy is beyond my 

capacity to understand. 

Whoever argues against race and genetics should look at this man. 

Although an avowed Communist he remained in heart and soul 

a Talmud Jew spewing hatred beyond reason. Who else would use RAPE of females of all ages 

as spoils of the victor?? 

Poltergeist 

Our first night at the marina was memorable indeed. Probably around midnight 

the whole place became a hive of "poltergeist" activity. 

We heard hammering and mumbled words, objects began to move inexplicable 

and pictures were falling off the wall. 

I woke up by all the commotion and saw my aunt Baemelburg and my mother in 

panic. 

Of course they tried to convince me that the noise came from people working 

across the lake, but their whole demeanor and visible fear couldn't fool me even 


Page 5 of 19 

11/5/2011


at that age. 

Having had many visions and "psychic" experiences already, I knew instinctively 

what it was all about. 

I saw books being pushed off a book shelf just as if somebody had moved his 

hand and arm behind them and just thrown them on the floor in front of the 

shelf.-Except there was nobody there to have done it. 

I think the whole experience lasted for a couple hours and we did not go back to 

sleep that night. 

I overheard my aunt explain to my mother that this took place almost every 

night ever since she returned to the house from Borken and that she had people 

pray in it and done some other things to stop this manifestation, but to no avail. 

Obviously, she said, these things are caused by the spirits of her husband and 

step-daughter to get her attention, but she didn't know what she could do to 

give them peace so that they could move on. 

Eventually I would see them both in visions before falling asleep and I know 

that they tried to tell me something, but what they said seemed to go over my 

head. I just couldn't make out what they were attempting to tell me. 

This poltergeist phenomenon happened every night while we were in Erkner. 

After a few days though, we got somewhat used to it and it didn't seem so scary 

any more. Especially since we 

had an explanation for it's 

occurrence and felt so sorry for 

these two souls who had died 

such a horrible death and were 

now in what seemed to be a 

limbo. 

I prayed a lot there in Erkner to 

my beloved Jesus and I hoped 

desperately that I could help 

them through my prayers. But 

the activities kept on, night after 

night. 

We awoke to it and tried after a 

while to go back to sleep. 

Sometimes I know that I fell soon 

back asleep and sometimes I just laid in bed praying and seeing 'things' which 

eventually seemed to put me back to sleep again. 

My aunt and my mother too, often fell asleep again soon, despite the 

hammering and whispering sounds. We apparently were getting used to it. 

I just didn't like to have to sleep in a room alone. That scared me an awful lot. 

Aunt Beumelburg was very interested in "metaphysics" and Spiritualism. 


Page 6 of 19 

11/5/2011


Often she would tell stories she had heard and read like the "sixth and seventh 

books of Moses" and of her having been to séances and other occult things. 

This was before and during the war and not after the war. She was a jolly, 

easy-going woman whom I liked very much. 

My days at the marina were adventurous and happy. 

There was an old wooden Kayak, a 'Paddelboot,' which I could use freely. 

I paddled with it on the Daemmeritz lake through thick bamboo plants coming 

out of the water everywhere and fished with a stick that had a rope and bent 

nail attached, never catching anything. 

When I later read "Tom Sawyer" and "Huckelberry Finn," I would easily connect 

to their adventures because of my vacations at the marina. 

Everything, everywhere in Erkner, was wild and in complete neglect which might 

seem awful to adults, but to a young boy it was absolute heaven. 

The only thing I missed were other kids to play with. There just seemed to be no 

kids at all in the neighborhood. 

True Love 

Then, one day, a couple of 'waifs' showed up. Brother and sister,-Horst and 

Helga Runge. 

I think my aunt had talked to somebody and mentioned that she would like 

some kids to come around to play with me. 

We were all poor and dressed raggedy more or less, but Horst and Helga were 

even worse off it seemed. 

They were desperately poor and hungry and starved for attention. 

I immediately liked them both very much and we had many days of happy 

togetherness at the marina. 

They usually stayed all day with me and we had great adventures together as 

only children can. 

I was fascinated and smitten by Helga who seemed beautiful and yet also not as 

girlish as other girls. She was what I would now call a 'tomboy' type who had no 

qualms about doing anything. 

Helga liked me too and thus we both developed our first 'crush' on another 

person. 

Sometimes we would walk hand in hand and even get 'Goosebumps' when we 

touched each other. 

Holger and Helga, even our names seemed to be in harmony. 

The world looked good in deed! 

It seems even more interesting that my mother later told me that she and my 

father had hoped to have another child, a girl which they would have named 


Page 7 of 19 

11/5/2011


Helga. 

Of course, this couldn't come about since my father's death two years after I 

was born. 

So here was my 'mystical' Helga with whom I experienced my first true love! 

We became inseparable which made Horst feel left out. 

Eventually he would come around only occasionally while Helga came every day 

to play with me. 

I was completely innocent to the ways of the world, just a little boy who had 

grown up in a relatively protected environment. Helga was worldly wise beyond 

her years, as children growing up neglected and extremely poor usually are. 

I admired her and looked up to her like to a big sister, although she was the 

same age or even one year younger than I. Naturally, because of this, she was 

the leader and inspiration of our adventures together. 

Her personality was a mixture of girlish kindheartedness and boyish toughness 

and daring. 

Nothing could stop her once she decided to do something. 

She radiated a sense of inherent intelligence coupled with a rowdy exterior as 

one finds rarely in young girls and she was always hungry to learn and listen to 

stories with the fascination of a deprived soul, coupled with a world defying 

temperament, she was exactly what my soul craved for. 

She was my 'Helen of Troy,' my first and perhaps only true love. 

Humiliation - Defiance - Gnostic Awakening 

It is only natural that we began to feel each other in other places of our bodies 

than by holding hands. 

There was such a thrill, such an electrical current, to each secret touch as I had 

never known before. 

Of course we were too young to have truly 'sexual feelings,' but there was 

definitely an already manifesting sense of sexuality in us at such a young age. 

We were eight years old and she might even have been only seven, but we 

couldn't keep our hands from each other because it felt so good and so 

'forbidden.' 

My mother and aunt were blissfully unaware of our affection for each other and 

the physical explorations that went with it. Although they must have become 

suspicious eventually because on one ominous, black day, our love would be 

discovered and severely punished by forced separation. 

Yes, even today, I feel embarrassed, not by what we 'did,' but by the way we 

were made to feel when we were discovered and humiliated by my mother and 


Page 8 of 19 

11/5/2011


aunt. 

Our love was pure and we didn't see much wrong with exploring our bodies 

besides knowing that adults wouldn't approve. Even at age eight, we knew that 

we were doing something deliciously thrilling and secret of which the adults 

around us wouldn't approve. -Something so wonderful and overpowering that it 

couldn't be 'bad.' 

Yet what these adults made out of it and how they humiliated us and made us 

feel 'dirty' and evil, would have an effect on us for the rest of our lives. 

My relationship with my mother became almost completely non-existent after 

this incident. 

I simply resented her for the rest of her life. 

Not that I displayed obvious hate towards her, but something within me died 

and I had lost all respect for her. 

Of course, I couldn't have analyzed it then like I do now, but she became a nonentity 

to me and I would never respect her word nor her actions. 

This is sad, because she was a truly good person who wanted to protect me 

from everything which could possibly hurt me. Instead she inflicted such a 

wound in my heart and soul that I could, subconsciously, never forgive her. 

Even if I wanted to it wasn't possible. We would never be close again. 

Even before this occurrence I had a certain attitude of resentment towards her, 

a distance, if you will, which now had become an unbridgeable gulf. 

To this very day, Helga is in my heart and soul and I have desperately tried to 

find her in other women to no avail. 

What happened is really not much to tell. 

Helga and I were in my bedroom playing with little cars and other toys as it was 

a rainy, cold day. 

After 'accidentally' touching each other while moving the toys around, we 

decided to get undressed and see each other completely naked. 

We were laying on the floor together, naked and feeling each other's genitals 

when suddenly my mother tried to get into the room. 

...I should mention that I had locked the door from the inside when we decided 

to get undressed and that my mother got suspicious when she couldn't get 

inside. 

She called out to us but we, stupid as only children can be, kept silent and 

ignoring her. 

We thought she would go away and forget about the room. 

Of course my mother went outside and looked through the window, seeing us 

embraced and naked on the floor. 

She screamed and broke with the help of my aunt through the door into the 

room. 

We were called all kinds of names and told to get dressed and to get out of the 

room. 


Page 9 of 19 

11/5/2011


The way they reacted was very frightening to us as they both. Pale and shaking 

with rage, my mother and aunt called us all kinds of names and then told Helga 

to leave and never come back. 

I was shaking with embarrassment and humiliation, not really understanding the 

scary reaction of the adults. 

Of course I knew that we were not supposed to do what we did instinctively, but 

I had never expected such high drama over something which seemed so natural 

to me. 

Anyways, Helga, the love of my life, my soul-mate and friend had to leave, 

never to be allowed to return. 

This is the last time I saw Helga and I miss and look for her to this day! 

My mother, being my mother, blamed Helga for the whole thing, which, of 

course, is not true at all but was mutual and unplanned. We truly loved each 

other at the tender age of eight even if the world thinks that this is not possible. 

I have been 'lost' ever since, desperately searching for my Helga, never to find 

her again. 

The implications of this false morality displayed by ignorant adults, my mother 

and aunt, are a deep and hurtful memory of bliss destroyed by others who were 

too stupid to realize what they were doing. 

As it is, this experience, more than any other, during my formative years, is 

what led me on the path of rebelliousness and disdain for the 'establishment' 

wherever it might manifest in arbitrary rules and 'laws.' 

Perhaps it was all part of a cosmic plan and my mother and aunt were just 

'pawns in the game,' but what they did certainly had an effect which they could 

not possibly have realized at the time. 

My life changed forever right then and there. 

My 'innocence' was destroyed, not by this 'sexual activity' at such a young age, 

but by what the adults did and how they reacted. 

From now on I knew deep down, instinctively and irrevocably, that it was me 

against the world. 

I was alone now and I would never listen to anybody in 'authority' again. 

I would have to form my own world and my own knowledge from those whom I 

chose and not from those who were put in a position of 'authority' over me 

because they were family, teachers or whatever. 

Only through books and people I chose would I learn and grow mentally, 

rejecting any other influences as not worthy of consideration. 

This soul-wrenching experience of humiliation and separation from the one I 

loved by ignorant people would be a blessing in disguise, as many experiences 

in my life have been, and awaken within me the Gnostic that I was meant to be. 


Page 10 of 19 

11/5/2011


Gnostic Awakening 

Another humiliation awaited me when we returned to Berlin and I had to go 

back to school. 

One day my mother came to the school during break and she was with me in 

the school yard looking for Fraulein Ziegle. 

We found her and she kind of took Fraulein Ziegle aside talking to her. 

I was listening standing close-by and over-heard her talking about what I had 

'done' with Helga in Erkner. 

My heart stopped for a minute and I felt as if I would pass out any second from 

even more humiliation and embarrassment. Now I was doomed and everybody 

would know and talk about what I did! 

I heard Fraulein Ziegle say something like: "Oh yes, these kids today are 

completely depraved, I catch boys and girls sometimes in the school-bathrooms 

doing things!" 

I couldn't believe that my mother would make me the object of all this negative 

attention. 

How could she tell others and make me feel so dirty? 

God, how I hated her, the school, Fraulein Ziegle and all adults around me! 

How I despised all those stupid, ignorant and childish kids who surrounded me 

in school. 

-How I hated their subservience to teachers and authority! 

-How I hated their childish games and actions! 

Suddenly, it seemed, I had grown up and shed my childish innocence. 

Suddenly I saw that this was an ugly world I lived in, where people tried to 

humiliate and deprive others of everything that would make them happy. 

What angered me even more was, that my class-mates and friends were so 

sublimely willing to let it happen to them without even a rebellious word of 

defiance. 

Yes, it was the subservient behavior of my friends and their acceptance of things 

the way they were without ever even questioning anything at all which shook 

me to the core of my being. 

This sudden realization of being a slave in a world which I didn't like nor wanted 

any part of, and of being all alone in my understanding of it, is what would form 

my character and complete independence to this day. 

Although feeling all alone, is not pleasant ever and even more so frightening to 

a child, there is also a certain joy in its promise of total freedom. 

I was free, even though I had to comply to a certain degree with 'authority,' to 

question and reject whatever I wanted in my mind. 

I could take the world down and rebuild it in my own mind to my own 

specifications. 


Page 11 of 19 

11/5/2011


I had attained a mental and spiritual maturity so suddenly and unrepentantly 

which even most adults would never be able to attain. 

From this moment on I would be "the stone which the builders had rejected," - 

the odd man out, the 'outcast' who didn't fit because he decided not to fit. 

Just imagine, an eight year old awakened Gnostic! 

Yet it is true, I was suddenly propelled into a state of mental and spiritual 

awareness which would eventually lead me on a path far beyond my age and 

the average lives people lead. 

May God bless my Helga who, in a remote way, had truly been my 'Helen of 

Troy,' my Gnostic consort who had led me into realms of life and spirituality 

unimaginable to most people and unattainable even to many 'seekers' in a 

lifetime. 

"God works in mysterious ways" indeed! 

Here I was, a depraved sexual 'pervert' at age eight, being awakened and 

'cosmically groomed,' by this very act of 'depravity'! 

Through all this, feeling all alone in the world, I still had Jesus, my beloved 

Jesus with me, in my heart and soul. 

Knowing next to nothing about 'Christian' doctrine and 'morality,' I never felt, 

even for a moment, that Jesus would not be with me because he disapproved of 

what had done with Helga. 

Jesus was thus the only one, the only true friend, who would understand me, 

listen to my pain and approve of me just the way I was and what I had done. 

Eventually I got over the embarrassment and loss of my Helga, at least on a 

conscious level, and my life and boyhood went on... 

Thankfully, we got a new teacher in the fifth grade, Herr Schwartz, who didn't 

know about my 'depravity' and what I had done with Helga. 

He was a nice, middle aged, man who was also an excellent teacher. I liked him 

but didn't trust him as I would distrust all adults since my 'experience.' 

Being in the fifth grade now, I developed a definite desire to read stories and 

dream of adventures. 


Page 12 of 19 

11/5/2011


The Air-Lift Of 1948 - 1949 

We experienced a very difficult time in Berlin at the time all this was happening. 

The Russians had sealed off Berlin which meant that supplies such as food and 

coal could not get to us from West-Germany by trains or trucks. Thus we would 

have less and less to eat until either the border would be opened up again or we 

would gradually die of starvation and the winter cold. 

Somehow it had to do with the attempt of the Western Allies to establish a 

separate government in Germany of which the Russians didn't approve since it 

would preclude their dreams for a united German government under 

Communism. 

Thus the allies, mainly the United States, decided to supply Berlin from the air. 

All supplies had to be flown in by airplanes. A monumental task involving flights 

coming into Tempelhof Airport and Tegel Airport within minutes from each other 

in almost any weather. 

It was called the "Luftbruecke," which means "Air-bridge," and started June 26, 

1948, lasting until September 30, 1949. 


Page 13 of 19 

11/5/2011


What I remember of those days is that planes were coming over the city steadily 

and flying real low as Tempelhof Airport is located right in the center of Berlin. 

We kids used to walk to a cemetery adjacent to the airport, close to 

"Columbiadamm," a wide street with many American armed forces facilities like 

a movie theater, baseball field and gymnasium. 

Also there were many US soldiers quartered in the huge airport building 

complex. 

This made the whole area fascinating to us children and we would love to hang 

around and get a taste of the wonderful American life as we could see it with our 

own eyes and almost feel like we too were living in America. 

We used to watch soldiers play baseball and come and go to the movies with 

dreams of being there ourselves. 

America, to us, was truly heaven and paradise and American GI's were gods 

incarnate. 

If we ran into them, strolling along on the sidewalk, we would approach them 

and beg for chewing gum and candy unashamedly. Since most of them were 

likeable and friendly guys they would reach into their pockets and give us what 

we asked for. 

Black and White GI's alike were mostly quite compassionate and kind. 

Of course there were exceptions, who became angry and annoyed by our 

begging and would curse us as they chased us away. 

Watching the constantly approaching airplanes coming in from the cemetery we 

could even see the pilot and he would often give us a wave with his hand. 

Some pilots had the side-windows of their DC 3's and DC 4's cockpits open and 

threw out candy which sent us scrambling to find it in the deep grass and wild 


Page 14 of 19 

11/5/2011


brush. 

After a while, these pilots even attached candy to little parachutes they had 

made which made it easier to find those treasures as we could see the 

parachutes on the ground. 

What generous and kind people the "average" American GI's were! 

I shall never forget this kindness of people towards people, without the 

distortions of propaganda. 

For by this time the American soldiers had discovered that we Germans were 

just like them and not the 'nazi-monsters' government propaganda had made us 

out to be. 

America and it's American people were warm and generous to a fault in those 

days and this only changed with, what I perceive, the coming to power of a neoliberal, 

left wing clique in the highest ranks of the US government who had as 

an agenda the deliberate destruction of everything which would obstruct the 

establishment of a One World government. 

The un-bureaucratic and freedom loving nature of American life and character 

was the target of their secret manipulations, since they knew that this attitude 

to life would never permit the establishment of their One World Dictatorship. 

Thus, in the sixties, after President Kennedy was murdered by them, things 

began to change gradually year by year. 


Page 15 of 19 

11/5/2011


With the beginning wave of unchecked mass immigration from 'third world' 

nations in the early seventies, gradually and ever so slyly, "multiculturalism" 

and the need for Americans to accept other cultures within their own culture 

began to be openly promoted by the government. 

More and more people from third world countries who had no ideals of 

government and democracy as practiced in the US and who only wanted the 

same things we wanted as kids when we watched the American GI's, namely to 

live in abundance, began to crowd into the American environment. Since these 

third world people came from cultures and governmental rule so far removed 

from American character and culture, they could never be integrated into 

American society. 

Often these people would feel out of sync with the American people and resort 

to crime or political pressure to attain their dreams. 

Americans, feeling repulsion and anger towards these people and feeling 

forsaken by their own government, began to become more and more reclusive 

and security oriented. 

What was once an open society with people who would think nothing of inviting 

you in their homes and giving you a lift with their cars if you were walking on a 

sidewalk on main street (As has happened to me many times in the early 

1960's), America became a society distrustful of everybody including its own 

government. 

Be that as it may, I often think back on those days of the air-lift and American 

generosity. 

Through this action of American ingenuity, generosity and know-how, Berlin was 

saved from Russian take-over and I would remain free to have access to books 

and ideas which would continue me on my Gnostic path. 


Page 16 of 19 

11/5/2011


Jesus said, "Show me the stone which the builders have rejected. 

That one is the cornerstone." 

Jesus said, "That which you have will save you if you bring it forth 

from yourselves. That which you do not have within 

will kill you if you do not have it within you." 

From the Gospel of Thomas 


Page 17 of 19 

11/5/2011



Part VII 


Uncle Ali 

Palestinian, Gnostic, National Socialist, Mentor and 

Friend 

...Thankfully we got a new teacher in the fifth grade, Herr Schwartz, 

who didn't know about my 'depravity' and what I did with Helga. He 

was a nice, middle aged, man who was also an excellent teacher. I 

liked him but didn't trust him as I would distrust all adults since my 

'experience.' Being in the fifth grade now, I developed a definite desire 

to read stories and dream of adventures. The year was 1950 and I was 

nine years old... 


Page 1 of 21 

11/5/2011


This class-picture was probably taken in 1952. I am way back second 

from left standing against the wall. Our Teacher Herr Schwartz is also 

standing in back. These are almost all the same boys as were shown in 

an earlier picture with Fraulein Ziegle. My friend Joachim Bandmann is 

sitting in the last row, second from left. Another friend Karl-Heintz 

Fiedler is in third row, third from left and Juergen Lehmann, another 

friend is seated last row fourth from left. I have my left hand on his 

shoulder. Gerhart...(I forgot his last name) my "gay" friend is standing 

next to me on my right. Siegfried (Sigi) whose last name I also forgot, 

who was much older then the rest of us, was also a friend and is 

seated next to Juergen Lehmann in front to the right of Herrn 

Schwartz. Eberhard Galinsky, my Jewish friend, is in the front row 

second from left. 

Uncle Ali Becomes My Mentor 

"when the pupil is ready the teacher will appear..." 

Next to my grandfather's bicycle store used to be the ruins of a 

bombed-out apartment house. When the rubble was eventually cleaned 

up and removed, there was a large open space where this building 

once stood. 

As if overnight, there were suddenly about six merchant's kiosks facing 


Page 2 of 21 

11/5/2011


the sidewalk. These were canvas and cheap wood constructions which 

could be assembled and disassembled within hours. I remember one 

that sold candy, another that sold soaps and cheap perfumes and 

another that sold used books. This was actually in 1949, I believe. 

Naturally we kids were excited by this new presence in our 

neighborhood. We could get candy for a penny, or, if we were rich, for 

a ten penny coin called a 'Groschen.' 

For me, the book-stand seemed very fascinating. 

I remember standing in front of the outside book-bins looking through 

those worn and often dirty looking books which had miraculously 

survived the war. Too shy to go inside the little wood-frame-canvas 

structure, I just peeked inside through the open door if I thought the 

strange little man who ran it wasn't looking. 

It had four walls of book shelves filled with books right up to the ceiling 

and seemed to me like a temple of knowledge only available to 

initiates. It was indeed a world of forbidden treasures and secrets. 

Since it was winter and these structures had no heat, the salespeople 

tried to keep warm by rubbing their hands constantly over large 

kerosene lamps which lit their little shops. Some even wore ear-muffs 

and gloves with the fingertip parts removed. 

When no prospective customers were there, they often paced up and 

down behind their wares in an attempt to generate body heat. 

Watching their futile attempts at keeping warm, I felt sorry for them. 

One day, as I was looking through the outside book-bins once again, 

the strange looking little man came out through the door, asking me if 

I could get him a couple of "Schnecken" from the nearby bakery. Of 

course I was more than happy to do this for him since it would perhaps 

open the inner sanctum to his temple of secret knowledge to me. When 

I returned with the two pieces of cheap baked goods, he invited me 

inside the little store where he had three or four folding chairs. We sat 

down and he offered me one of the two Schnecken. 

We ate silently and then he asked me about my name and where I 

lived. After this introduction, we began to talk about books and life in 

general. 

I remember that he told me his name was 'Ali' which seemed very 

exotic to me because it reminded me about the story of Ali Baba and 

the 40 robbers. Telling me a little about himself he must have realized 

my interest. 

Born in Palestine and having lived in Egypt, he told me that he, even as 

a child, was always interested in Religion and the Occult as well as in 


Page 3 of 21 

11/5/2011


Germany and the German people and that this was the reason he was 

in Berlin. 

We talked a little more about what books I liked and what I was 

interested in and I told him about Jesus and the book where I had read 

his story and teachings. 

Uncle Ali was a good listener and very kind in his words and 

mannerisms. Not at all like most Germans who didn't like to listen to 

children nor to give them much room for self-expression. 

Being of small built and bald-headed he just radiated tolerance, 

awareness and a deep inner peace to me. 

Thus he eventually became a dear friend and much missed fatherfigure 

to me. 

Naturally, my mother and grandparent's were not too happy with my 

new friend and in retrospect I assume it was because they thought he 

might be a child-molester or worse. 

But, as it turned out, he never touched me 'inappropriately', nor did he 

ever make lewd or suggestive comments. 

He liked me for my mind and my already loosely developed Gnostic 

perspective on life. 

This might seem odd to most 'average' people who live in this world 

without asking many questions and who have thus no need for answers 

to the mysteries of life. 

But since it is so rare to find a child with a promising Gnostic state of 

awareness, an adult spiritual initiate would truly rejoice in his discovery 

and try to befriend this child without any other motive than to help and 

guide it as a mentor. 

Uncle Ali, throughout the following years, gradually opened up to me 

completely and thus became the most influential person in my young 

life. 

He was as remarkable as he was mysterious. 

Everything about him seemed shrouded in secrecy and to this day I ask 

myself what would have become of me without his influence? 

Sometimes I even think that he was an angel or messenger of God 

who had come to me in order to give me what I so desperately craved 

and couldn't get from anybody around me. 

Being in a precarious state of mind after the humiliation with Helga, I 

probably would have broken down emotionally if it had not been for 

this mysterious man from Palestine. 

Already deeply influenced by the teachings of Jesus and somewhat 

aware of the world as a place of evil and ugliness, I had opened at such 

an early age to spiritual perceptions and influences which I couldn't 


Page 4 of 21 

11/5/2011


have handled alone without being able to talk to somebody I could 

trust. 

He was my teacher and 'father confessor' who would listen to me with 

rapt attention and reassure me as only an awakened, aware and 

enlightened soul could. Never to humiliate me for my often very 

confusing psychic experiences nor for my thoughts about things 

pertaining to childish perceptions. 

Instead he would, ever so carefully, weave into my consciousness his 

own experiences as reassurance for my doubts and fears. 

Perhaps he really was an angel appearing just at the right time in my 

life to take me under his 'wings.' 

Uncle Ali's Story 

So then, what was his story? 

He, as I already mentioned, was born in Palestine where he also grew 

up. 

As a young man he had gone to Cairo, Egypt where he went to 

University to study German literature, language and physics. Being a 

Moslem from birth, he developed a very strong interest in Sufism which 

led him to Gnosticism and the 'Occult,' such as Kabala and other 

disciplines which I forgot. 

Being initiated into a group which he called 'The Gnostic Brotherhood,' 

he attained first hand knowledge of Gnosticism in Cairo. 

Of course, when he spoke to me about this, I had not even heard the 

words 'Gnostic' and 'Gnosticism.' 

Thus, it is difficult to recollect in my mind the exact words he used or 

even the concepts of Gnosticism he explained to me so patiently. 

What I did understand though is more of a broad base of my own 

perceptions of it and an opening of my understanding about how the 

world 'functions.' 

He spoke not only of the Spiritual level, but also how it intertwines with 

political ideas and our human existence here on earth. 

In the course of his 'teachings' which he transmitted to me through 

lengthy conversations over a three year period, often interrupted by 

customers browsing through his books, his own life story was perhaps 

the most fascinating aspect I could grasp and remember. 


Page 5 of 21 

11/5/2011


Gnostic Initiate and Arab Language Nazi 

Propagandist 

Being a Gnostic 'Germanophile' with the ability to speak and read the 

German language fluently, he was referred to the German "Abwehr," 

the Secret Service, operating in Cairo by one of his professors. 

Having made the mental connection of certain aspects of German 

National Socialism with Gnosticism and other spiritual disciplines, he 

was deeply intrigued by this political movement and eager to find out 

more. 

After a short time of meetings with agents, he was recruited and send 

to Berlin for training and indoctrination. 

I must mention here, that since the Nazi era and everything connected 

to it was a 'taboo' subject, at home and school, I had very little 

knowledge about it at age nine, when he first talked to me about it. 

But having seen pictures of 'Hitler-Youth' in surviving albums and 

magazines, I was very intrigued and more than ready to learn more 

about it. 

To tell the truth, I was not only intrigued but fascinated to the point 

where I felt a pull and inner connection to this era which extends to 

this day. 

In other words, I felt drawn to it like a moth to the light. 

More than anything else, at such a young age, I loved the pageantry 

and marshal music which gave me goose-bumps of delight. 

At a later age, perhaps it was 1954, I went to a 'Troedler Laden,' a 

second hand store, owned by a big Jewish man with the name of 

"Levy" over the door, where I found a whole collection of brown colored 

'Telefunken' records with marshal music and songs of the Nazi era.... 

But that is way ahead of my story. 

Meeting Nazi Gnostics and Socialists Nazis: 

Otto Rahn, Ahnenerbe, Vogelsang and Wilfried von Owen 

In Berlin, uncle Ali was trained and taught in everything connected to 

being a good spy for the "Abwehr" and he also was gradually 

introduced to high-ranking national socialists who had connections to 

Alfred Rosenberg and the SS branch known under the name 

'Ahnenerbe.' 

It seems that he was just the man they wanted and needed in this 

scholarly branch of the SS. 

Thus he became an officer in the SS wearing civilian clothes and given 


Page 6 of 21 

11/5/2011


the opportunity to attend the Ordensburg 'Vogelsang' for further 

training. 

After he finished his training at 'Vogelsang,' he was sent to Bavaria to 

the Ordensburg 'Sonthofen,' for more training and eventually to 

another place in Bavaria, outside of Munich (I forgot the name of the 

town), for studies with the SS-branch 'Ahnenerbe.' 

In the course of his research there he met many important figures of 

the Nazi elite. 

Some of his close friends there were Wilfried von Owen and Otto Rahn. 

Wilfried von Owen was very interested in the teachings and history of 

Islam and the Islamic nations, which, of course, brought Ali with his 

Moslem background to his attention. 

He met Otto Rahn through his Gnostic research and articles which he 

wrote for the 'Ahnenerbe.' 

I had never heard of Otto Rahn, but I remember distinctly uncle Ali 

talking about him with deep affection. 

He also showed me a book he had which was written by Otto Rahn 

titled "Lucifers Hofgesind in Europa," ( translated "Lucifer's Court in 

Europe"). 

Uncle Ali talked to me about Otto Rahn and the Cathars-Albigensians. 

It struck me then how serious and reverend he became when he talked 

about these 'Johannite Gnostics' and how their teachings related to 

certain aspects of National Socialism. 

He often told me that there were various factions within the National 

Socialist movement who waged a bitter and hateful war from within for 

supremacy. His contention was that the movement had come under the 

control of a faction allied with the big corporations and thus 

international Capitalism through the blunders of Adolf Hitler and the 

German Officers Corps which consisted mainly of 'titled' aristocrats. 

The more spiritual faction around Rudolf Hess, Carl Haushofer and 

Alfred Rosenberg was not only in official disfavor, but completely 

powerless by 1938. 

Himmler's SS had risen gradually to a position of control with 

Himmler's perverse racist beliefs and 'Satanic' occultism infiltrating the 

government and power structure through denunciations and murder. 

He told me that it was Heinrich Himmler, more than anybody else, who 

had destroyed the socialist ideals of national socialism through his 

secret alliances with international corporations and his extreme and 

perverse racist ideology. 

It was Himmler, he said, who was really in control of the Nazi 

government after 1938 and who allowed the corporate interests, who 


Page 7 of 21 

11/5/2011


had once financed the movement, to control and direct all affairs of the 

State, like a secret government behind the official government. 

Hitler was completely under the thumb of these capitalist manipulators 

and feared for his life from Himmler's SS. 

In fact, the whole movement, everybody of the Third Reich's elite, 

knew what was going on but were powerless to change what was 

happening because of their fear of Himmler's SS. 

Himmler, a ruthless, spineless bureaucrat, soulless and merciless, 

controlled everything and no one dared to resist his power. 

Internal Struggles Against Himmler's SS 

and Otto Rahn's Suicide 

Needless to say, uncle Ali despised the SS and Heinrich Himmler 

although he himself was an officer in the SS. 

He, when he realized that the SS had nothing to do with the ideals of 

National Socialism and it's Gnostic roots, became completely 

disaffected. 

But knowing what his position was, especially as a Palestinian SS 

Officer, he was rightfully afraid for his life and thus remained in their 

ranks. 

He spoke to me extensively of the spiritual and socialist factions within 

the Third Reich and about their clandestine meetings to further their 

agenda in secret through a 'brotherhood' network of like-minded 

officials in the government. 

Speaking of Otto Rahn, he told me how this gentle scholar and avowed 

Cathar hated and despised the SS and Himmler, as well as the whole 

course the national socialist movement had taken. 

Being neither a racist nor a ruthless person by nature, Otto Rahn 

decided that he wanted as little as possible to do with the SS and the 

Nazi movement and resigned his commission as an SS Officer after a 

forced stint at a Concentration camp ordered by Himmler to 'toughen 

him up.' 

When this gentle Cathar scholar realized where National Socialism was 

heading through betrayal from within, he decided to commit suicide in 

the surroundings of his beloved alpine mountains in 1939. 

Alfred Rosenberg, the author of 'The myth of the twentieth century,' 

once considered the official party philosopher, was also horrified by the 

course the National Socialist movement had taken, but chose to remain 


Page 8 of 21 

11/5/2011


in his various positions hoping for a change in the power structure 

which, of course, never came about. 

Heinrich Himmler is the Enemy! 

Heinrich Himmler, whom the population called by the derogatory name 

'Reichsheini,' was in control of the dreaded SS until the end in 1945, 

when Hitler finally realized that Heinrich Himmler was his 'Judas' and 

the ultimate cause of the collapse of the Third Reich. 

Too late did Hitler finally realize that he had surrendered the ideals of 

National Socialism to his capitalist enemies with the by Himmler 

instigated and SS executed murder of his old party comrades in June 

1934, of whom Ernst Roehm and Gregor Strasser are only two well 

known names out of hundreds. 

Too late did he realize, as the flaming inferno of Berlin and the 

advancing Soviet army gave him no other choice than to commit 

suicide, that this non-entity of a man, this little bureaucrat had not 

only out-smarted him through lies, secret manipulations and flattery, 

but had also destroyed the German people as a nation and the future 

of European culture.... 

Thus opening the gates wide to the eventual establishment of a One 

World Government by his capitalist 'sponsors' behind the scenes. 

Uncle Ali told me in so many words, that the atrocities committed by 

the SS in the 'Einsatzgruppen' and the Concentration camps was all the 

work of Himmler and his influence over the entire government. 

He said that Himmler was always on the secret payroll of powerful 

German and allied financial interests who used him to bring about the 

collapse of the National Socialist movement from within. 

His outrageous racial theories and the atrocities committed by the SS 

would eventually create a perfect pretext, after the collapse of the 

National Socialist government, to serve as a 'warning' to the world to 

avow any form of nationalism and willingly work with a newly 

established 'United Nations' which would further lead into a One World 

Government: The New World Order. (Uncle Ali did not use the term 

'New World Order' but only referred to it as a One World Government). 

The Protocols of Zion 

Through his research, uncle Ali told me, he had come to the definite 

conclusion that the 'Protocols of Zion,' were exactly what they claimed 


Page 9 of 21 

11/5/2011


to be and that it was the outline of what has happened and what was 

going to happen. 

Naturally, I was much too young to understand everything he spoke to 

me about, especially as I had never heard about the 'Protocols,' but his 

words are with me today almost as clear as then in 1951. 

And I remember him telling me to do everything possible to find a copy 

of 'The Protocols' and read them very carefully, because they would 

show me exactly what was going to happen to 'my world' (as he put 

it). 

He especially admonished me to heed their implications and watch as 

everything would gradually unfold just as outlined and described in 

these 'Protocols.' 

...No matter what is said about them and who said it, he said, "if they 

deny the Protocols as forgery or nonsense, know that these people are 

either ignorant or part of the One World Cabal." 

The Zionist - Nazi Axis 

In 1940 uncle Ali was asked to come to Berlin and become part of 

Goebbels' propaganda outreach to the middle east. 

He was to broadcast Arabic language commentaries and programs to 

the Arab world. 

This was done in a 'half-hearted, lackluster manner because of Zionist- 

Nazi cooperation with the aim to settle Palestine with Jewish refugees 

from Germany and Eastern Territories. 

He told me that he knew, from his contacts in the SS, that Zionists 

and the SS were working together because they had much in common 

as to their racist ideologies and worldview, and that the concentration 

camps were to serve as collection points for forced expulsion of Jews to 

Palestine, since the Zionists were painfully aware of the fact that most 

European Jews had no interest to settle there. 

At the same time Germany was also promising the 'Mufti' of Jerusalem 

support in the Palestinian cause. 

Thus Germany's dealings with Palestine were duplicitous and halfhearted. 

The SS under Himmler preferred the Khazar Zionists to the true 

Semites in the Arab countries and Palestine because of their similar 

racist-fascist ideologies. 

He also told me that the SS left the Jewish concentration camp inmates 

under Zionist rule and control by their own 'Capos' and that they were 

the ones who so harshly abused their fellow Jews. 


Page 10 of 21 

11/5/2011


Of course, he said, that things gradually changed as the war 

progressed and resources and supplies dwindled because of Allied 

bombings and food-supplies as well as medical-supplies became 

scarce. 

Diseases ravaged the camps and people began to die by the 

thousands. 

Also, Zionist groups in America and England were agitating against 

Germany which the German government perceived as duplicity. 

The fact is that, just as in National Socialism, the Zionist movement 

was splintered and split in opinion of how to bring about the planned 

nation of Israel on Palestinian territory. 

Eastern European Zionists were in favor of cooperation with German 

National Socialism, even to the point of willingness to fight with 

Germany during the second World War to insure German victory since 

Germany had promised, if not guaranteed, that Israel would be 

established for the Jews after the war was over. 

The Zionists in America and England had also reached agreements with 

the governments of the United States and England to establish Israel 

after the war and proposed to use concentration camp horrors as 

propagandized by the Allied powers to manipulate world wide 

sympathy for the establishment of a Jewish state on Palestinian soil. 

In the struggle between the various factions of the Zionist movement, 

it was the pro-Allied one which won, to the detriment of the German 

people who, to this day, have to pay emotionally and financially for it. 

The 'One World Cabal' 

Winfried von Owen was working with uncle Ali as were other 

Palestinians whom he had already met before in various branches of 

the Abwehr and SS. 

At the same time, in Berlin, he also renewed his contacts with certain 

underground factions of the national socialist movement who had fallen 

in official disfavor. 

The 'Gnostic' and Socialist factions had found common ground and 

were co-operating with one-another in the desperate hope to change 

the course of National Socialism and of the war already in progress. 

Some of them were caught by the Secret Service in the attempt to 

contact Gnostic and related connections in England and Russia which 

brought them into Concentration camps or, in at least two cases, 

execution by beheading. 

Others did succeed and realized that their connections weren't powerful 

enough to bring about a change in allied policies. The influence, in 


Page 11 of 21 

11/5/2011


Germany, of Himmler's SS, and in England and Russia, of the One 

World Cabal was too strong and too feared. 

Churchill and his cabinet were completely sold-out to them and 

Roosevelt's cabinet was also completely under control of either 

Communist-Soviet spies or the One World Cabal which worked through 

both, Communism and Capitalism and even as much through National 

Socialism in Germany. 

Rudolf Hess, Gnostic Initiate and Hero 

Adolf Hitler and Himmler can not be trusted 

Rudolf Hess, knowing the stakes and the truth about the subversion of 

National Socialism by the Cabal, decided through the advice and 

connections of Prof. Karl Haushofer in England, to awaken the people 

and patriots of England to the plans of the cabal and, hopefully, change 

the course of history by stopping the war and bring about a unification 

between England and Germany. 

He knew that he couldn't trust any mediators from whatever nation, 

be it Sweden or Switzerland, with this important mission. He needed to 

talk man to man, initiate to initiate, in order to accomplish this almost 

impossible mission. 

Thus, he decided to fly to England himself and deliver his incredible 

and daring message for peace. 

He knew that he risked everything by this action, but idealist that he 

was, he saw no other way to do what he felt as a 'call to destiny.' 

Some select men within the secret Gnostic-Socialist faction knew of his 

plans, including Prof. Karl Haushofer. But Adolf Hitler was not included 

as a confidant, since he was still under deceitful spell of Heinrich 

Himmler and therefore couldn't be trusted. 

As I remember, it seems to me that uncle Ali believed that the mission 

of Rudolf Hess was betrayed to Churchill and that he knew in advance 

of his plans and arrival in Scotland. 

I can't be sure though as to what uncle Ali said about the details of 

Hess' ordeal and betrayal in England and him eventually becoming a 

defendant at the 'kangaroo court,' as he always referred to the 

'Nuremberg Trials.' 

But I do remember his reverence and admiration of Rudolf Hess 

whenever he spoke of him, and also telling me to never forget the 

sacrifice and nobility of this great soul who was a born Gnostic before 

he ever came in contact with the National Socialist movement in 

Germany. 


Page 12 of 21 

11/5/2011


Uncle Ali told me that Rudolf Hess was born in Egypt of German 

parents and that he felt, even without their Gnostic link, a certain 

kinship with him because of his own Arabic background. 

Tibetan Monks in Berlin 

Attempting to Stem the Tide 

Uncle Ali also spoke in detail about the Gnostic-National Socialist 

faction's connections to Tibet and the Dalai Lama's as well as the 

Panchen Lama's support of their spiritual and political aims. 

Of course he was talking about the Dalai and Panchen Lamas previous 

to the present ones. 

It was the Gnostic theory of mankind's origin and racial evolution, 

which is similar to 'The Secret Doctrine' taught by the Russian-German 

Countess Helena Blavatsky, which attracted the elite of Tibet's spiritual 

hierarchy to certain aspects of German National Socialism which 

eventually led to Tibet sending, unofficially, high-initiate monks to 

Berlin in order to work with German Gnostic initiates, such as Karl 

Haushofer and Rudolf Hess to attain the power needed to steer the 

National Socialist Reich away from the influence of Himmler's primitive 

and dangerous paganism. 

Seeing this form of pagan brutality and blood-thirst as similar to Old- 

Testament worship of a false god representing materialistic tribalism, 

which would lead to the rule of the 'Anti-Man,' whom uncle Ali 

described to me as the 'Anti-Christ' who would be the ruler of this 

world as described in the 'Protocols' and the New-Testament of the 

bible. 

These Tibetan monk-initiates were also to take part in the, what they 

perceived as, final spiritual battle for power over the earth and astral 

plane which would soon engulf the whole world and where the role of 

the National Socialist Reich would be to represent and fight for the 

spiritual freedom of every living being and the evolutionary future of all 

mankind. 

There was even what could be called a regular Tibetan colony 

established in Berlin, he told me. 

Unfortunately, the Gnostic faction within the National Socialist 

movement lost more and more power and influence as Himmler and his 

pagan SS gained increasing power over all aspects and branches of the 

movement. 

Hitler being ignorant of the spiritual implications of Himmler's plans, 


Page 13 of 21 

11/5/2011


fell completely under his spell. 

Both, being bourgeois to the core and spiritual dabblers at most, were 

influenced by occult initiates of the 'left hand path,' who were Satanists 

of the old order and part of the One World Cabal. 

Karl Winnegut who eventually became Himmler's mentor and his 

occult consultant for the SS pagan Temple, the Wewelsburg in 

Wesphalia, and assorted sinister occult practitioners from the former 

Thule Society, rose to prominence again after being neglected for a 

long time. 

Himmler's rise in the National Socialist hierarchy was unstoppable 

from then on as not only financial support from the International 

Industrialists of the One World Cabal, but also their occult-satanic 

practitioners were actively influencing their gullible victims Heinrich 

Himmler and Adolf Hitler. 

Naturally, with the rise of these occult pagan forces, the Tibetans in 

Berlin and their Gnostic National Socialist sponsors, especially Karl 

Haushofer and his circle, lost influence and respect. 

Still financially supported by the German Government, these Tibetan 

initiates, nevertheless, were kept under constant watch, viciously 

maligned and openly distrusted. Uncle Ali told me that these noble 

souls, so far away from their homeland, fought bravely in the ranks of 

the SS in the battle for Berlin and committed ritualistic suicide by "Hara 

Kiri," as Berlin fell to the victorious hordes of the One World Cabal in 

the form of Mongolian "Soviet" soldiers. 

Final Days In Berlin 

Surviving The Red Hordes 

During his last years as an Arabic language commentator and 

propagandist for National Socialism to the Arabic nations and people, 

he felt that he didn't want to represent this distorted form of 

Himmlerian (as he called it) National Socialism to his own people, but 

had no choice, short of death, but to continue his commentaries which 

were censored by other Arabic speaking members of the Propaganda 

Ministry. 

Still, he said, that he managed to word his programs in such a way 

that other initiates in the Arab world would get a vague idea of what 

was really going on in Germany. 


Page 14 of 21 

11/5/2011


In early 1945 he was given the option to return to an Arab country of 

his choice or to stay in Berlin and fight with the other foreign SS 

brigades to stop the expected advance of the Red Army into Berlin. 

He knew that it was a hopeless fight and that there was no possible 

way that the Russians could be stopped short of a miracle. 

Through his contacts he had heard about secret weapons being 

developed or already in limited production which still could turn the 

inevitable seeming Allied victory around. 

But, he said, that at this point he really didn't care anymore who won 

the war, since he knew that even if Germany could manage to stem 

the tide and achieve an agreement for peace through these 

'Wunderwaffen,' the One World Cabal would still be the ultimate victor. 

It was only his love for the German people and his fear for their 

ultimate destiny which led him to decide to fight till death if he had to. 

Thus, wearing a Waffen SS uniform, he was thrown into the final 

battle for Berlin. 

Fighting first in the outskirts of Berlin, in the general area of 

Zehlendorf and beyond, he and his brave comrades were forced to 

retreat further and further into Berlin proper. 

As the Russians advanced ever more, he fought in street battles and at 

railroad depots and he saw the brutal fanaticism of the SS who not 

only sacrificed themselves in a futile battle, but executed those who 

tried to escape into civilian clothes and merge into the civilian 

population, mercilessly. 

He saw thus, first hand, how Himmler had not only drawn the best of 

the German youth, but also the worst. 

Sadists and psychopathic characters had attained high ranking 

positions which made it easy for them to do whatever they wanted, 

especially during those chaotic last days of the war. 

He saw them commit unspeakable atrocities, summary executions, 

torture and beatings of the young boys of the Hitler Youth who were 

scared to death and wanted to return to their families. 

And he saw the indescribable suffering of wounded soldiers screaming 

in pain without possible medical attention, dying a slow and agonizing 

death and he heard the screams for help from people caught in cellars 

of bombed out buildings who couldn't be freed. 

He saw people writhing in agony as they lay burned and maimed 

within the rubble of collapsed apartment houses and children running 

through the streets searching for their parents. 

Berlin was a flaming inferno which can only be understood by those 

who lived through these days of cosmic evil. 


Page 15 of 21 

11/5/2011


Ilya Ehrenburg And The Merciless Rape 

Of German Women and Children 

Uncle Ali told me that only his faith and Gnostic understanding gave 

him the strength to continue instead of taking his own life which almost 

seemed as the only way out. 

Little did he know then how much more suffering the German people 

had to endure when the Red Army took over Berlin, raping, murdering 

and carting people off in open railroad cars to Soviet gulags in Siberia. 

The raping of German women and children that went on was beyond 

anything ever perpetrated by any victor in modern history. 

Very few women and young girls made it through those terrible days 

without being raped and beaten by Russian soldiers. Many were raped 

to death by hordes of participants. 

The 'high command' of the Soviet Army not only tolerated this beastly 

behavior, but ordered it's 'brave Red Army soldiers' to rape every 

German woman they could find in order to impregnate them and thus 

destroying their 'Aryan pride,' by having to give birth to as many 

Russian babies as possible. 

I remember how this word 'rape' puzzled me to no end as I could not 

really imagine what it meant aside from some childish idea. 

Uncle Ali carefully and with utmost sensitivity, explained to me what it 

was all about and I still couldn't grasp how anybody could do such a 

thing. 

Uncle Ali told me that, more than anything else, the words of a Soviet 

Jew named 'Ilya Ehrenburg,' who was a Soviet movie maker and 

propagandist, had caused this inhuman behavior, as he wrote in his 

flyers and posters to the Red Army troops that their Government 

'commanded' them to rape and dishonor every German woman as a 

NATIONAL DUTY! 

Going Underground As A Civilian 

Displaced Person 

Then, one day, he told me, that he had suddenly experienced a vision 

as he was laying hungry and injured at the Anhalter Bahnhof railroad 

tracks, which showed him the face of a friend and comrade he had 

known some time ago, and he heard a voice telling him "go 


Page 16 of 21 

11/5/2011


there" (Geh zu Ihm). 

He managed to recollect where this friend was living last and preceded 

immediately to try to orientate himself and make his way stumbling 

through ruins and debris to the Schloss-Strasse in Berlin-Steglitz. 

After almost a whole day's ordeal, coming under fire from advancing 

Russian army units, sometimes forced to crawl through sewer-pipes, 

court-yards, ruins and bomb-craters, he finally made it to Steglitz and 

the debris-covered "Schloss-Strasse." 

He had to proceed cautiously up this street until he had almost 

reached the area of the 'Botanical gardens.' 

This is where he remembered visiting his friend and where he had to 

search for the right building as these apartments were part of a huge 

'Neubau' area which housed many minor government officials and also 

many SS officers and their families. 

All buildings seemed to look the same to his tired eyes. 

As darkness settled in and he became more and more exhausted and 

confused, he just mentally 

gave up and decided to seek 

shelter for the night in the next 

building. 

As he tried to open the door he 

found out to his dismay, that it 

was locked. 

To the right of him was a small 

board with names of occupants 

listed and a bell-button next to 

each name. 

Not knowing what to do he 

lifted his hand to ring any bell 

and ask for help, when he saw his friend's name on the board. 

Stunned and instantly uplifted, thanking God, he rang his friend's bell. 

Praying all the while for his friend to answer. And that he did. 

He didn't answer the bell and release the door-lock, though, but came 

down in person to see who was there. 

Both of them embraced in utter joy and his friend led him up the stairs 

into his apartment. 

Ali's friend, also an SS officer and member of the 'Abwehr,' the 

German Secret Service, was also a secret member of the Gnostic- 

Socialist underground and a reliable, honorable idealist. 

He gave Ali some civilian clothes which were too large for him, but 

were better and safer than his Waffen-SS uniform and they decided the 

next day, after a night of distant Russian gunfire, to attempt to make 


Page 17 of 21 

11/5/2011


their way to his friend's mother's home not too far away from the 

government apartment complex they were in now. 

It seemed to both of them that the Russians would come and arrest 

everybody living there as it was an easy target to find "Nazis." 

Miraculously they made it and found refuge and relative safety at her 

home. 

And this is where he survived the advance and eventual occupation of 

Berlin by the Red Army. 

How he managed to shed his SS identity and avoid arrest and most 

likely execution or deportation to a Russian gulag, he never mentioned 

in any detail. Except that he told me that this was only possible 

through his 'spiritual friends.' 

I don't know if he meant spiritual beings or guides, or if he meant that 

Gnostic friends and their connections helped him. Unfortunately, I was 

too young to ask such pertinent questions of him. 

At this point I can imagine that many people reading this account are 

doubtful of its truthfulness. 

I can only say that it is absolutely true, uncle Ali is NOT a fictitious 

character and I believe that what he told me has proven itself over the 

last fifty years as absolutely TRUE. 

Since his story and insight was told to me over a period of three years, 

I have, naturally, condensed and edited his story. Some of what he has 

told me I have left out for many reasons. 

One of them being that quite a bit of his elaborations and details have 

slipped my mind over the years and that I do not want to add my own 

knowledge to his account, even if it is true and I believe that he said it. 

Another reason that I won't tell it ALL is, that I promised him secrecy 

until the time was right. 

This is especially concerning his 'Apocalyptic' prognostications and 

elaborations on Gnostic teachings in view of politics and the coming of 

the 'New One-World Government', which actually is not new at all but 

as old as time and the 'Fall of Man.' 

Need I say more? 

Uncle Ali disappeared out of my life as mysteriously as he had entered 

it. 

In the summer of 1952 I said "good bye" to him because we were 

going to visit aunt Beumelburg in Erkner again. 

She had lost her marina to the Communist government and was living 

in a two family house not far from where her marina had been. 


Page 18 of 21 

11/5/2011


Her new apartment was also located right next to the "Daemmeritz 

see" where I made friends with a boy living in the other apartment 

below my aunt's. His name was "Holli," and we had many things in 

common. 

He had a "Paddelboot," with which we took extended trips along the 

lake and adjacent rivers. 

We had a great time together exploring everything around us like 

'Tom Sawyer' and 'Huckelberry Finn.' 

I missed Helga and secretly tried to find her in Erkner when we went 

on our 'expeditions' around town, but never met her again. 

Next to the house where my aunt lived which was, incidentally, also 

on Beethoven Strasse, was a 'Young Pioneer' summer camp and we 

used to watch the kids there stand in a circle and sing at meetings. 

Later we even went over there and met some kids from Bulgaria and 

Romania. 

In short it was really a great vacation for me, as I was getting older 

and had attained so much knowledge and awareness through my 

mentor, uncle Ali. 

Little did I know that this would be the last time we could visit Erkner, 

since the Russians closed the 'Zone' area completely and visiting there 

by West-Berliners became impossible. 

Mein 'Reisekamerad' 

When it came time to return to Neukoelln, I couldn't wait to see uncle 

Ali and tell him all about my adventures. 

As we walked down the 'Sonnenallee' approaching the open lot where 

uncle Ali's book-kiosk was, I noticed with dismay that his kiosk was 

gone. 

The other's were still there, but my beloved uncle Ali and his 'temple of 

knowledge,' had disappeared. 

Frantically I asked my grandparents about the kiosk and uncle Ali and 

my grandfather told me that uncle Ali had stopped by at the store and 

told him to say "Auf Wiedersehen" for him to me because he had to 

move on. 

He had also given my grandfather a note to pass on to me which only 

said: "Sei nicht traurig, ich werde immer mit Dir sein." He had signed it 

with "Dein Reisekamerad." 

Translated into English his note meant something like: " Don't be sad 

because I shall always be with you," signed: "Your comrade on the 

journey." 

In German it has also a more mystical meaning as these words are 


Page 19 of 21 

11/5/2011


based on a fairy tale written by Hans Christian Anderson in which the 

'Reisekamerad' is an angel or spirit-guide. 

Despite his note, I was very sad for a long time, missing him as one 

would miss a father or best friend. 

Yet his words were true, as I have never forgotten him nor his 

'lectures.' ...And even as I write for the first time about him and his life 

story, I get a 'choked up' feeling in my throat as if I would break out in 

tears any minute. 

He was the second 'father' figure taken away from me. 

My consolation is that I have seen him many times in visions and 

dreams over the many years of my life. 

So I know that his words were true and that he would be with me 

despite his physical absence. 

"May the true God of light and love bless you in all eternity, uncle 

Ali!" 

Go To Page VIII To Continue the Journey 



Page 20 of 21 

11/5/2011



Part VIII 


The 'World Youth Festival' in East- 

Berlin 1951 

Coming to think of it, it was actually in 1951 that we went back to 

visit my aunt Baemelburg in Erkner for the last time. 

It was then that the "iron curtain" closed completely around the 

suburbs of East-Berlin. 

This was also the year of the massive and well orchestrated 

Communist "World-Youth Festival" in East-Berlin and I remember, as 

a nine year old boy, watching one of their camp-grounds in Berlin- 

Treptow, near the Spree-River and S-Bahnhof (train-station) 

Treptow. 

There was also a permanent large carnival, a 'Rummel,' located in 

that area where I could walk from Neukoelln in about 30 minutes. 

Treptower Park was such a fascinating area with the carnival and 

the half burned-out and partially sunken riverboats in the Spree- 


Page 1 of 22 

11/5/2011


River, as well as the pageantry of the "World Youth Festival" going 

on. 

True adventure was beckoning me! 

There was a huge 'tent-city' erected in the Treptower-Park area 

where a large group of participants of the youth festival lived. It was 

August, 1951, and the summer heat beat down upon the young 

people mercilessly almost every day. 

All one could see were young people in blue "Freie Deutsche 

Jugend" (the name 

of the Communist 

East-German youth 

movement) shirts 

and dark shorts (I'm 

not quite sure about 

that anymore). 

There were colorful 

assemblies and 

marching formations 

to watch with 

stirring marshal 

music, Schalmeien 

and fanfares, drums 

and fifes, and seas 

of flags from all over the world! 

I was enthralled and moved to emotions I had never known before. 

My heart beat and I was ready to join the ranks, if only they had 

invited me to. 

After all these years, I can still feel my heart beating as I write 

these words. Still, today, I can re-experience those hot August days 

in East-Berlin almost 51 years ago. 

I can still remember the particular smell surrounding this 

experience,-the smell of heat, sweat and sand, all mixed into an 

emotional experience of indescribable magnitude. 

Good God, I loved this and wanted nothing more than to be able to 

participate and become part of this movement! 

But, despite of my emotional enthusiasm, there was always the fear 

of Communism, which was more a fear of the Soviet-Russians, in the 

back of my mind. 

I had overheard too many horror stories about 'the Russians' to feel 

completely comfortable with Communism, even though being 

emotionally stirred up by their idealistically-appealing pageantry and 

speeches. 


Page 2 of 22 

11/5/2011


It was a dilemma in my young mind which I wasn't able to solve 

and overcome. 

I met kids from all over the world, but mostly from Rumania, 

Czechoslovakia, Bulgaria and Hungary. 

These were mostly 'Young Pioneers' (Junge Pioniere) around my own 

age and probably the 'cream of the crop' of their particular countries. 

They were bright, friendly and intelligent kids, young idealists like 

myself, who would welcome my approaches and communicate to me 

through mostly gestures how much they loved Communism and this 

youth festival and even me. 

We were all swept-up in the gigantic display of propaganda and 

idealistic hope for a better future through Communism. 

Of course, being nine years old I didn't really know much about 

Communism. 

In fact, I knew through 'uncle' Ali much more than most people, 

even older people, about National Socialism than about Communism, 

but it seemed to me as if the 'Hitler-Youth' of the Third Reich and 

the 'Freie Deutsche Jugend' of East-German Communism were about 

the same. 

I had seen, through uncle Ali, many books and albums with pictures 

from the Nazi era and I remember how touched I was by the 'Hitler 

Jugend' with their obvious comradeship and pageantry. 

...Well, this display of the 'World Youth Festival' didn't seem much 

different. 

Perhaps different uniform colors and flags, and even slogans, but, in 

general, I was transported back to the time and experience which 

uncle Ali had shown me in his books. 

What is so amazing to me, in 

retrospect, is that these 

children all had gone through 

the horrors of the second World 

War and were still able to be 

enthusiastic and full of 

idealism, no matter whether it 

was for Communism or for the 

'Brotherhood of Man.' 

How sad and discouraging is 

the thought about the youth of 

today, spoiled and narcissistic, growing-up in a trivialized and 


Page 3 of 22 

11/5/2011


commercialized environment without ideals or hope for a cause 

greater than themselves. 

...Without something to strive for beyond consumerism, movie-idols 

and nihilism. 

The New World Order cabal has done a thorough job indeed, 

brainwashing generations of young people into mindless and idealless 

zombies. 

Is not this exactly what it says in the despised 'Protocols'? 

Does it even matter who wrote them or if they are a 'forgery'? 

One should read them and see that this is exactly what is coming 

about with the governments, historians, teachers of all nations 

conspiring to bring about the 'New World Order,' where the people of 

this world will be nothing more than cattle. 

It is all so clear and visible to even the most 'uninitiated,' that I can 

not understand why people remain so passive and gullible in the face 

of all that is going on in the world. 

So, whoever wrote the Protocols, be it the 'Illuminati,' Zionists, or 

somebody trying to tell mankind something, even if the source is 

different than claimed, he, she or they were absolutely correct. 

And that is all that should matter at this point in time. 

That there is a conspiracy going on for the establishment of a One 

World Government and many of our most renown people in 

government, politics, media, as well as scholars and writers, actors 

and teachers are either willing or uncaring participants in this 

conspiracy seems to me quite obvious. 

But why so many people choose to either ignore all the sign and 

occurrences, or even vociferously deny them, I will never know. 

Anyhow, here were these beautiful, bright and idealistic 'Young 

Pioneers' from all over the world assembled in East-Berlin, reaching 

out to me in acceptance and friendship and I was overcome by the 

desire to be part of it all. 

There were bonfires in the evenings to which my mother, after 

endless tantrums and begging, 

took me and torchlight parades. 

Campfire meetings and always the 

stirring marshal music. I felt 

myself uplifted into a state of 

almost divine rapture, and can still 

hear some of the words of the 

songs sung: " Im August...im 

August in Berlin," ..."Wier sind die 


Page 4 of 22 

11/5/2011


Moor-Soldaten und ziehen mit dem Spaten ins Moor..." "Brueder zur 

Sonne zur Freiheit...Brueder zum Lichte empor...geht unser 

Sehnsuch verlangen zu Frieden und Freiheit hervor.." 

When the festival ended, I had made many friends whom I, of 

course, have never met again. 

Perhaps they were even killed in one of the Stalinist purges, or 

betrayed for their ideals and incarcerated. 

Perhaps they eventually took part in uprisings against Communism 

in Hungary or East-Germany in 1953 and were condemned to death 

for their part in it. 

Who knows where life leads us in it's course of uncertainty? 

Perhaps some of them even attained high positions in their 

respective Communist governments. 

Nevertheless, I still believe it is better to fight and die for an ideal 

than to live in the abject nihilism and consumerism of today. 

The mediocrity of our existence today is much worse and more 

destructive then Communism in its ideal and idealistic possibilities. 

What young children are exposed to in our 'free' societies is not only 

destructive to their psychological development but also destructive 

to society. 

To hear young girls and boys sing the lewd songs of their rock-idols 

and 'teen-heart-throbs,' is an indicator of what state of mind these 

children are in and in which state of mind they experience the world. 

This is neither a natural state nor a 'progressive' state, but one they 

were manipulated into through propaganda. 

Television and the movies as well as the 'music industry,' are the 

tools with which this mindlessness is propagated by the New World 

Order cabal. -After all, who needs idealistic, bright and strongminded 

children who would grow up into idealistic, strong-minded 

and aware adults? 

Certainly not the NWO cabal, who, in order to achieve their goal of 

total domination, needs ignorant and mediocre people, human cattle, 

just as written in the 'Protocols'. 

We also had youth movements in West-Berlin, like the Boy Scouts, 

the 'Pfadfinder,' which were organized into religious and secular 

groups. 

The Catholic Church had them as well as the Protestant Church. 

There were also groups like 'the Falcons,' 'Die Falken' of the Social 

Democratic Party, as well as groups of other political parties. 

Even groups like the 'Bund Deutscher Frontsoldaten, 'Der 


Page 5 of 22 

11/5/2011


Stahlhelm,' which is a right-leaning veterans organization, had youth 

groups. 

I later on became involved with some of them. 

Communist FDJ Mass Assembly at Night 

The Arrival of the Ball-point pen 

(Kugelschreiber) 

Next to where uncle Ali used to have his used book-stand opened a 

stand which sold ball-point pens. 

This was something new and 'revolutionary' in those days. I think 

they were quite expensive when they first came out. 

Up till then we had to write with 'fountain-pens' or plain ink-pens 

which we had to dip constantly into ink-jars. 

This was a very messy affair, especially in school as we usually got 

ink all over our books and clothes. 

When the ballpoint pens came out and became popular, we wanted 

to use them in school, but our teachers were dead-set against it. 


Page 6 of 22 

11/5/2011


One claim was that it would spoil our handwriting because a ballpoint 

pen had to be held more straight than natural in order to work well. 

Thus, for the next few years, we still had to work with our ink-pens 

in school and for our home-work. 

Herr Schwartz was a good teacher who knew how to motivate us 

into studying our books and and do our home-work. 

My friend Joachim Bandmann and I even rode our bicycles to visit 

him and his family in Bohnsdorf near Gruenau, which was in an East- 

Berlin suburb close to the "zone" area which was closed to West- 

Berliners. 

It took us about two hours by bike to get there and Herr Schwartz 

welcomed us warmly, introduced us to his wife and children, and 

offered us something to eat and drink. 

In those days children really respected and even feared their 

teachers and I remember feeling awkward and ill at ease in his 

home. 

The Schwartz family had a little back-yard with a tree-swing and we 

wanted to try it out. 

We all took turns on the swing and Herr Schwartz teased us that we 

were much too cautious. 

When his turn came again, he told us that he was going to 

demonstrate how it should be done. 

As he was swinging higher and higher, the rope suddenly broke and 

he went flying through the air for quite some distance and landed on 

his butt. 

....It must have really hurt and embarrassed him, but he joined us in 

laughter after a few moments of painful silence. Unfortunately we 

had to leave soon due to the time it took to ride our bikes back 

home. 

Edison and the "Nipkow-Scheibe" 

Despite Herrn Schwartz' efforts and 

capabilities, I still didn't like school. 

And as contradictory as everything else in my 

life, it wasn't because I didn't care to learn, but 

exactly the opposite. 

I read a lot for my age and enjoyed reading 

more than anything else, but I wasn't much 

interested in reading school books and doing 


Page 7 of 22 

11/5/2011


home-work, because I had so many other, more interesting, books 

to read from the library. 

It was then, as it is now: the obstacle was my instinctual habit to 

follow up on things I had heard or read about through books on the 

subject. 

This could be as diverse as Christian material or the development of 

television. 

Not that we had televisions then, but here and there, radio stores 

began to display television sets in their display windows. 

I read material about Edison and Paul Nipkow and decided that I 

wanted to become an inventor like Thomas Edison. 

Not that I really understood all the principles of physics and 

electronics written about in the books, far from it, but I did get a 

very general idea which eventually led me into my own 

experimentations a few years later. 

Thus, if I read something about Nicola Tesla in these books, I would 

immediately go to the library and try to find something about 

Tesla ...and so on. 

This was the way my mind worked and how I needed to study on 

my own. 

Of course schools don't allow for this independent research by ten 

year olds and I was soon in trouble with my teachers and grades. 

Although this bothered me because it made 

me look and feel stupid and inferior, I just 

became more and more alienated from my 

school work and teachers. 

Having nobody to understand me and guide 

me, aside from my frantic mother, I began to 

ignore school and home-work to the point 

where I didn't bother to participate at all in 

class and just didn't do my home work at all. 

My feelings were anger and frustration at 'the 

system,' as one would say today. 

Becoming thus more and more an 'outsider,' I decided that I would 

have to follow my star alone by 'swimming against the stream.' 

The teachings of Jesus, as I understood them, and the lectures of 

uncle Ali on the Gnostic path, had prepared me well. 

Yes, I was a 'rebel' and ready to take on the world! 

....To hell with school and ignorant kids, to hell with my mother and 

grandparents! 

I was going wherever my destiny would lead me and didn't care 

what anybody else said or thought. 

I was a Gnostic and I despised everything which made claims on me 


Page 8 of 22 

11/5/2011


or my mind. 

And even though I knew that I wasn't free to do whatever I wanted 

at my young age, I would certainly 'fight the system' tooth and nail. 

....I would fight for my independence and freedom by just not cooperating 

with anybody or anything which tried to enslave me, such 

as school and family. 

This was first an instinctive reaction to outside pressures which 

eventually developed into a conscious decision which, nevertheless, 

reflected my deepest personality. 

It is Lonely at the Top 

Perhaps you think that I am mistaken about the age when all this 

came about and became clear in my actions, but I can reassure you, 

that I was definitely ten years old, in 1951 when I "dropped-out," 

and became the Gnostic that I still am today. My feelings were that 

the majority of people, whom I didn't invite into my life, and who 

still claimed authority over me, were ignorant and stupid. 

They were, to me, even then, like sleep-walkers, uninspired and 

dead to the true marvels and ideals in this world, and had thus no 

right to claim authority or any power over me. 

And I am not really ashamed to say that I felt that they were inferior 

to me even as a ten-year old boy, and that I would simply ignore 

them since I certainly didn't have the means to get away from their 

reach. 

Having said this, I should also admit that I craved the company and 

friendship of enlightened people more than anything else. 

As they say: "It is lonely on the top," which is truer than I could ever 

express here, and which has led me sometimes into the company of 

people whom I thought were 'enlightened,' but were anything but 

that. 

This is something most idealists and dreamers must have 

experienced through the course of their lives, as they indeed are 

desperate for companionship with people who understand and 

respect them. 

We are like 'aliens' wherever we are, desperately searching for other 

alienated souls amongst the masses. 

Is it then that we are arrogant and full of pride, and that people 

sense this and ridicule and avoid us? 


Page 9 of 22 

11/5/2011


I don't think so at all, because we are seen more like 'fools' to the 

ways of the world and could thus never comfortably feel that we are 

better than others. 

We are absolutely 'different' and want nothing more than to be 

accepted and respected the way we are without attempts to change 

us or make us into something we simply can not be. 

Gnostics are born the way they are and can neither help it nor 

change it. 

I could also call Gnostics 'Idealists' as it should come to mean the 

same, as long as it defines the open-minded and spiritually inspired 

quest for a better world expressed by an individual's personality. 

Of course, as a ten-year old boy filled with disappointment and 

anger at all superficial authority, I had to think of myself 'better' 

than those who oppressed me, since I wasn't mature enough to 

grasp the complexity of the world and it's people and needed to 

protect myself mentally from their taunting and reproaches. 

Psychic Visions by the River-Spree 

The Spree-River in Berlin-Treptow was filthy and filled with partly 

submerged sunken ships of one kind or another and I thought this 

was just great. 

I could look at the rusty wrecks and experience instant psychic 

visions of what had happened. 

My psychic senses were becoming more and more pronounced and I 

began to even enjoy this capability, even though the visions were 

often gruesome and disturbing. 

Sitting in the grass by the river I would often experience a total 

withdrawal from reality and be instantly transported into the war 

years. 

Not only would I visually see what had occurred, but I would also 

feel the fear and despair of the people I saw and even hear their 

words and screams. 

Sometimes I would spend hours sitting by the river's edge reliving 

the events which had taken place there six or seven years ago and 

which had now become part of my life too. 

Never would I mention these experiences to anybody else as I was 

already wise enough to distrust other people's reactions and possible 

ridicule. 


Page 10 of 22 

11/5/2011


Often, on going to sleep at night, these vision would come back to 

me and I would re-live what I had experienced until, finally, I would 

fall asleep and dream about them. 

My life became thus part of many dimensions and experiences 

which often intermingled into my three-dimensional reality in school 

or at home. 

Perhaps one could call it just 'day-dreaming' and dismiss it thus. 

But it was more than that, as I remember it now, because it forced 

me to deal with these psychic experiences as a definite part of my 

understanding of life, people and history. 

Perhaps I should say that I not only lived my own life but the lives 

and sufferings of a multitude of other people at the same time. 

It seems to me that these experiences were related to emotionally 

charged and often death causing occurrences which made me their 

more or less unwitting witness. 

Death and life after death became thus, very early in my life, a 

fascinating reality. 

This is just about exactly the spot where I taught myself to swim. 

Of course it didn't look like this then, but was completely "wild" 

looking 

without the huge building in the background and the anchored ships. 

There was 

no promenade and no water-wall, instead it was overgrown with 

trees and bushes 

and one could walk right into the water from from beach-like sandy 

areas. 

This inner conviction of life after death, also helped me immensely 

to kind of 'blow off' the claims of this world on me. 


Page 11 of 22 

11/5/2011


What I mean by that is, that I early-on lost my inherent fear of 

death and thus didn't take life as seriously as other people. Which 

might be good in a general sense, but also makes one avoid worldly 

duties. 

As a ten year old with the mentality of a fifty year old (at least in 

some ways), I often used my conviction of the 'meaninglessness' of 

life as just another excuse not to do my home-work or participate in 

school. 

Which would have been o.k. if it wasn't so important to get good 

grades and good schooling to eventually get a decent job and, with 

that, a 'decent' life. 

In other words, sometimes it is best to 'play the game,' and give to 

Caesar what is Caesar's. 

But such reasoning can not be expected from a ten year old with 

psychic visions and a Gnostic mentality. 

Thus, needless to say, I paid a high price for my early neglect and 

rebelliousness all through life. 

Be that as it may, I do not regret anything and wouldn't want to 

have done anything different. 

On the mental and spiritual plane I have been rich beyond 

imagination and thus adequately rewarded for sacrifices on the 

physical, material plane. 

Swimming-lessons in the "Spree" 

Coming back to the Spree-River, the places where I had my visions 

were usually grassy with sandy access to the river. 

People, especially kids, would go in the water there and swim in the 

river. 

I also went into the 

water and regretted 

that I didn't know 

how to swim yet. 

Watching the 

others do their 

breast-strokes, I 

went in deep 

enough to attempt 

to imitate their 

movements and 


Page 12 of 22 

11/5/2011


learn to swim on my own. 

Being very self-conscious about the whole thing, I made first sure 

that there was nobody sitting by the water and possibly watching 

me. 

As I attempted my moves in the water, I held my breath and found 

myself swimming under water. 

This puzzled me because I knew that swimming under water was 

good, but that I really wanted to swim like everybody else more or 

less on top of the water. 

Experimenting with my moves, the breast strokes, I didn't seem to 

get anywhere but more under-water swimming. 

Determined to swim 'here and now,' I eventually found myself 

breathing in harmony with my movements, and thus starting to 

swim the way I wanted to. 

Of course it took a lot more practice and quite a bit of dirty 

swallowed water until I finally got it right. 

And boy, was I proud of myself! 

I walked home to Neukoelln like a decorated hero and told my 

mother and anybody else who would listen about my 

accomplishment. 

My mother, instead of being happy and proud, was horrified that I 

had gone into the river alone and probably didn't really believe that I 

had taught myself how to swim. 

This negative response from her naturally deflated my ego instantly 

and I regretted having told her about it at all. 

There was also a huge Soviet 'Ehrenmahl,' -a Soviet park with a 


Page 13 of 22 

11/5/2011


huge monument and lots of smaller monuments in honor of our 

Soviet 'liberators.' 

I loved to walk through there because of the many beautiful 

mosaics depicting heroic Soviet actions during the war. 

But I was also filled with fear of being 'abducted' by the Russians. 

Another place I visited often in the same general area was the 

'Sternwarthe,' the astronomical observatory, not far away from the 

memorial, where also a movie theater was located. 

Sometimes a group of us would walk there to watch an East- 

German or Russian movie. 

The observatory was fascinating to us with its display of stars in it's 

ceiling. 

Needless to say, I spent a lot of Saturdays and Sundays in the 

'Treptower Park.' 

Stadtbad and Foreskin 

In 1952 we started going to an indoor swimming-pool as a schoolclass 

with our teacher Herrn Schwartz. 

This pool, the 'Stadtbad,' was located in the 'Ganghofer Strasse' in 

walking distance from our school. 

Picture of the main pool inside of the 'Stadtbad Neukoelln,' 

Ganghofer Strasse. 

We used to go there once a week for two hours. 

Before we could go into the water, we had to take a shower and 

wash ourselves with soap. 

This meant that we had to take this shower completely naked. 


Page 14 of 22 

11/5/2011


Even Herr Schwartz was naked. 

He instructed us to make sure to wash carefully even under our 

'foreskins' (almost all of us were uncircumcised). 

...And I remember very clearly how Herr Schwartz had talked to us 

in class before going to the pool about foreskins and that some 

people didn't have foreskins because as part of their religion this 

foreskin had been removed. 

Of course he did this in order to avoid harassment for our Jewish 

class-mate Eberhard Galinsky. 

Poor Eberhard, he wasn't harassed, but about thirty pairs of eyes 

were checking him out 'down there' in order to see what somebody 

without foreskin looked like. 

But Eberhard took it in stride and the next time we were in the 

shower nobody paid him any more attention. 

The entrance-hall of the Stadtbad Neukoelln. 

I can still smell the strong odor of chlorine! 

Libraries 

Trying to feed my voracious reading habit I relied on the public 

library to supply me with books. 

Often they would not allow me to check-out my choice of books 

because they claimed that I was too young to understand them. 


Page 15 of 22 

11/5/2011


This would make me sometimes so angry that I would brake out into 

tears of frustration. 

But the functionaries at the library wouldn't give in and had no idea 

what my tears were about. 

These experiences led me to beg my mother to sign me up at a 

private library where one could rent books for money like people 

rent videos today. 

Actually their prices were quite reasonable, somewhere between 

twenty cents (Pfennig) and one Mark. 

But for us, poor as we were, this was still expensive. 

Often I would forego the matinee children's movies on Sundays in 

order to use the fifty pennies to rent a much 'needed' book on 

Monday. 

The people who owned the private library were much more lenient 

in allowing me to rent the books of my choice, than the functionaries 

at the public library and I was able to read many good and 

stimulating books through them. 

They also had an excellent children's book section where I found 

some very good books. 

My favorites were the series by the English author "Enid Blyton" 

about two boys and two girls (I think) and their adventures in 

England. 

These were wonderful books which not only stimulated my 

imagination, but also taught me about a code of honor, responsibility 

and the interaction between the sexes, as well as about the English 

people and their customs. 

Enid Blyton definitely had a great impact on me and I remember her 

books to this day with great fondness. 

America 

1951 was also the year when 'Mickey Mouse' magazine came out in 

Germany. 

I bought a copy and fell instantly in love with Mickey Mouse, Donald 

Duck, Pluto and all the other characters. 

From then on I got every copy and collected them avidly. 


Page 16 of 22 

11/5/2011


Even today I still have some copies in my possession. 

These characters and their adventures, as depicted in the drawings, 

gave me an instant sense of being in America and of what America 

was all about. 

Strange how I craved everything 'American,' and wanted so much, 

even then, to live there. 

Mickey Mouse magazine, I could argue, is mainly 

responsible for my being in America today. 

Perhaps it is all connected to our starvation and 

deprivations in post-war Germany and our 

observation of American abundance as symbolized in 

chewing-gum, candy-bars and cigarettes, so freely 

enjoyed by American G.I's and sometimes shared 

with us, which made us look at America and 

everything American as 'holy' and revered, almost to 

the point of worship. 


Page 17 of 22 

11/5/2011


But I should mention that there was more to it than just the desire 

for material things. 

I am hard-pressed to find the correct explanation of this 

phenomenon, at least as to what my feelings were and still are. 

All I can think of are the stories of William Saroyan, specifically his 

'Human Comedy' (Eine Menschliche Komoedie), which also 

stimulated my desire to live in America immensely because I felt 

drawn to his compassionate analysis of life in the USA and fell in love 

with it's fascinating people from so many different backgrounds and 

nationalities. 

Of course I should also mention that Mark Twain's 'The Adventures 

of Tom Sawyer' and 'Huckleberry Finn' were very influential to my 

young imagination and fascination with everything 'American.' 

"The writer is a spiritual anarchist, as in the depth of his soul every man 

is. He is discontented with everything and everybody. The writer is 

everybody's best friend and only true enemy - the good and great enemy. 

He neither walks with the multitude nor cheers with them. The writer who 

is a writer is a rebel who never stops." 

(from The William Saroyan Reader, 1958) 

I am interested in madness. I believe it is the biggest thing in the human 

race, and the most constant. How do you take away from a man his 

madness without also taking away his identity? Are we sure it is desirable 

for a man's spirit not to be at war with itself, or that it is better to be 

serene and ready to go to dinner than to be excited and unwilling to stop 

for a cup of coffee, even 

--Sweet Drive, Sweet Chariot 

One small occurrence in William Saroyan's "Human Comedy" had 

touched me to tears of joy and remained with me through all my life 

as a cherished possession. 

...It is the scene when a little boy stands 

by the railroad tracks of his home town 

and a freight train passes by. There is a 

black man, I think he is a hobo, on it and 

the little boy waves to him as the black 

'hobo' waves back. 

I don't remember the details actually, as 

they are not really that important...It was 


Page 18 of 22 

11/5/2011


the way Saroyan told the story, the sweetness of a fleeting moment, 

leaving not only a life-long impression with the little boy in the story, 

but also with me. 

It expressed something to me, which I can not describe in words, 

about the greatness of America and it's human experiment and it's 

possibilities for a better world. 

William Saroyan had touched something within me, an instant 

recognition if you will, of kindred spirits telling each other what they 

already know and dream of. 

....Whoever the kid had been, whoever had had the grand attitude, 

has finally heeded the admonishment of parents, teachers, 

governments, religions, and the law: "You just change your attitude 

now please, young man." 

This transformation in kids--from flashing dragonflies, so to say, to 

sticky water-surface worms slowly slipping downstream--is noticed 

with pride by society and with mortification by God, which is a 

fantastic way of saying I don't like to see kids throw away their truth 

just because it isn't worth a dime in the open market. 

--The Flashing Dragonfly 


Page 19 of 22 

11/5/2011



Page 20 of 22 

11/5/2011


Picture I drew of Donald Duck 

Go to page 9 to continue the journey 


Enid Blyton Page On This Website 

The excerpts of William Saroyan's works is reproduced gratefully from: 

The William Saroyan Page 

http://www.electroasylum.com/saroyan/ 


Page 21 of 22 

11/5/2011



Part IX 


'Uncle' Herbert Haase 

Around this general time period my mother met a man whom she 

didn't really like nor love, but feeling oppressed living with my 

grandparents and in need of a 'father-figure' for me, she did what 

many single parents do, she overruled her inherent misgivings and 

moved in with him. 

He was a cop since after the war, which means that he had gotten 

into the police-force not because of his capabilities, but because he 

probably was too ignorant and apathetic to have been a Nazi, and 

just smart enough to be at the right place at the right time. 

Through the devastations of the war, men were in short supply and 

the police department needed men, so it was easy in those days to 

find a job with the police in Berlin if you were male and 'politically 

correct.' 

Unfortunately for the police-department and for us, 'uncle' Herbert 

Haase was an alcoholic simpleton who had a way of coming across 

as much more sophisticated than he really was. 

In fact, deep down, he was what we would call here in America, a 

'red-neck' brute. 

Being about six foot tall, slim and thus quite 'presentable' looking, he 

made a good appearance and first impression, except for his awfully 

pock-marked face and hooked nose. 

I can't remember where my mother met him for sure, but I think it 

was through friends. 

Uncle Herbert, as I called him, came almost daily to my 

grandparent's store to visit my mother. 

I didn't feel very comfortable with him for some reason which was 

more instinctive than based on anything he said or did. 

But, being starved for male attention and companionship, I too 

dismissed my instinctive negative feelings about him and 

encouraged my mother to move in with him. 


Page 1 of 12 

11/5/2011


Unfortunately he didn't really have an apartment either, but lived 

with his aunt, whom I called 'Tante' Frieda, in a two bedroom cold 

water flat further up the road, also located in the 'Sonnenallee' right 

across from a small movie theater which we called a 'Flohkiste which 

means a 'flea-box.' 

The theaters name was 'Luna' and I had gone there quite often for 

Sunday afternoon matinee performances. 

Here is a picture of "uncle" Herbert right behind me next to my 

mother who is holding a cigarette. I was always worried as a child 

that my head was too big and I can see why in this photo. 

Tante Frieda was a jolly heavy-set woman in her fifties who loved 

candy and knockwurst and listened constantly to a blaringly loud 

little 'Volksempfaenger' (A cheap radio set which was specifically 

made so that everybody could afford a radio set just like the 

'Volkswagen'). 

Being a simple soul, she loved pop music and sang along with the 

'Schlagerparade' (Hit-parade) songs of the time on the RIAS-Berlin 

station ( RIAS stands for Rundfunk Im Amerikanischen Sektor, which 

translated into English means 'Radio or Broadcast in the American 

Sector of Berlin.') 

It was decided that my mother and uncle Herbert would share one 

bedroom and that I would sleep with Tante Frieda in her bedroom. 

She had a huge king-size bed and I was to sleep on one side of it. 

This might sound incredible to most Americans who have usually 

more spacious homes and amenities then we had in post-war Berlin 


Page 2 of 12 

11/5/2011


with more than half of the apartment houses bombed out and 

destroyed, living space and sleeping arrangements were, by utter 

necessity, often quite strange. 

Be that as it may, it wouldn't have bothered me so much, but Tante 

Frieda blasted her radio day and night and was thus in the habit of 

falling asleep with it. 

I, being very sensitive to noise, couldn't stand it because it would 

sometimes take hours for me to fall asleep. 

Like most 'simple souls,' Tante Frieda was completely oblivious to 

my problem and I was too polite to mention it to her because, after 

all, I was well aware of our 'guest' status in her home. 

Despite this, I can honestly say that I liked her and I think that she 

liked me also. 

We often played board-games, such as "Halma" and "Monopoly" (I 

think we had Monopoly, but might be mistaken) and card games 

during the long evenings, especially during the winter months. 

She also used to share her immense stash of chocolates and 

'Bonbons' with me as well as her endless supply of 'Knockwurst.' 

Happy summer days at the 'Kolonie Roter Stern (Red Star)' 

From left to right: My mother, "uncle" Herbert, my mother's sister 

aunt Gerda, 

my missing uncle Harry's wife Tante Thea, her boyfriend Herr 

Mueller, my Opa and Oma. 

Uncle Herbert would come home from his police duty and usually 

bring back a bottle of cheap Johannisbeer-wine. Often he had been 

drinking already in a 'Kneipe,' which is a corner pub, before arrival 


Page 3 of 12 

11/5/2011


and was thus in a jolly state of mind which, nevertheless, could turn 

to anger and threats of physical violence any time. 

I can still smell the fruity-sour odor of his breath which seemed to 

permeate the whole apartment. 

....And to this day I abhor the smell of alcohol, especially wine of any 

kind. 

Uncle Herbert's drinking bouts became more and more frequent and 

his initial 'jolliness' disappeared completely. 

Now there was only anger when he came home which increased with 

every glass of wine he drank. 

In retrospect I believe that he was completely overwrought in his 

new role as 'husband' and 'father-figure,' roles which he hadn't 

bargained for or even thought about when he courted my mother. 

Thus, I think, I was very much the cause of his anger and 

disillusionment. 

Being that I was already mentally way over his head, I was definitely 

not an easy diminutive child to deal with and he simply couldn't cope 

with my incessant questions and 'intellectual' demands on him. 

Needless to say, the threats of violence eventually became reality 

and he used to beat me with his heavy leather police belt which is 

called a 'Koppel.' 

When my mother complained in disgust, he threatened to hit her 

too. 

From then on his returns from work were frightening moments for all 

of us, even for Tante Frieda, who had tried to intervene in my behalf 

to her own detriment. 

We were, from then on, listening to his steps coming up the 

apartment-house stairs and if he was stumbling and cursing in the 

hallway, Tante Frieda would hide us in her room, under the bed, and 

lock us in with her. 

Banging on the door and begging us to open up he would alternate 

between threats of violence when he would catch us and promises 

that he would never beat us again. 

Sometimes this would go on for hours until he would fall into a 

drunken stupor and pass out. 

My mother, of course, realized that this was no way to live and that 

it was high time to get out of the relationship and apartment. 

Thus, after a long time of preparations and inquiries, she was able to 

find a room which she could sub-let from a couple, the Huebners, 

with kitchen privileges. 


Page 4 of 12 

11/5/2011


Gradually, when 'uncle' Herbert was doing his police duties, she 

moved our belongings with a hand-cart to the new room in the 

Huebner's apartment. 

This went on over a period of time until we were ready to make the 

final move and leave him behind. 

Tante Frieda helped us and was sad but also relieved that we were 

moving. 

Things had become too crazy even for her. 

I think when uncle Herbert found out we were gone, he too was 

relieved even though he probably wouldn't have admitted it at the 

moment. 

Our new home was not too far from my grandparent's store and 

very close to the S-Bahn Station, Bahnhof Sonnenallee, at the 

Schwartza Strasse No. 7. 

Little did I know that I would find some wonderful friends there. 

Schwarzastrasse 7 

The Huebner's were a kind older couple and 'Herr' Huebner used to 

talk to me and show me his extensive stamp-collection. 

What impressed me the most were his stamps from the Third Reich 

era with their display of propaganda pictures. 

I too wanted to start collecting stamps and Herr Huebner gave me 

some stamps to get me started. 

Not only did he give me some stamps, but also an album to put 

them in and I would from then on hunt for stamps anywhere I could, 

especially stamps from the Nazi era. 

They had such heroic pictures and slogans on them which impressed 

me deeply. 

Not at all like the boringly banal pictures I was used to from our 

present postal service. 

Looking at these stamps I felt an inner connection which I couldn't 

possibly explain, but which almost put me into a trance where these 

events came to life within me. 

And they also re-connected me to uncle Ali and his many lectures 

which had faded somewhat in my memory and imagination. 

Being a little older now, and more aware, I began to recollect his 

words and presence in my mind. 

If he had only been around now so that I could have asked him more 

questions and received more knowledge from him! 

God, I missed him so much! 


Page 5 of 12 

11/5/2011


Herr Loewy and the Movie Projector 

Way down the 'Sonnenallee' towards Kreutzberg, was a 

'Troedlerladen' (A second-hand junk store) owned by a big, fat and 

sloppy looking Mr. Loewy. 

The reason I remember his name is, that it was displayed over the 

entrance door and I had asked my mother about the 'strange' name. 

She told me that it was a Jewish name. 

...So this was another Jew I had met besides Eberhard Galinsky and 

his mother. 

This man fascinated me, because even in the turmoil and destitution 

of the post war time, I had never seen anybody so fat and sloppy 

looking. 

To me he was the keeper to paradise, sloppy and ugly, but 

nevertheless the man who 'had it all.' 

One could find anything imaginable in his store, which was a group 

of barracks like wooden constructions erected on a bombed-out 

former apartment house site. 

His personality was short, dismissive and crude, with the 'take it or 

leave it' attitude of most second-hand store owners. I kind of liked 

him since he would not ever bother me because I was so young and 

throw me out of his store. In other words, he got to know me over a 

period of time and allowed me to roam 

freely through his treasures. 

At that particular time I had my eyes on 

an ancient looking movie-projector 

displayed in one of his many store 

windows. 

I think the price was 16 Mark, which in 

those days, at least to us, was a fortune. 

Still, I dreamed of owning it and getting 

movies which I could play at home or at 

friend's homes. 

Having no televisions, movies were 

extremely popular and also I was so 

intrigued by the mechanism of the 

projector and what could be done with it, that I worked up a 

complete obsession with this ancient looking contraption to the point 


Page 6 of 12 

11/5/2011


of sleeplessness. 

Throwing hints about it to my mother, who was already struggling 

to make ends meet on her widows-pension through my father's 

death, I relentlessly and mercilessly kept bringing the subject up to 

her and begging her to get me this projector, or I would die from 

unfulfilled desire. 

She at first dismissed the whole thing and refused outright because 

of the money involved. But I kept it up and up until she finally 

surrendered and gave me the money to get it and leave her alone. 

Mr. Loewy was more than glad to sell me the thing and I carried it 

home ever so carefully like a hunter bringing home a precious 

trophy. 

To say that this projector was old would be flattery as it was 

downright ancient. 

It had been converted from an oil-lamp or gas-lamp as light-source 

to electric light, and the whole thing was quite shaky to say the 

least. 

The light-socked was loose and I had to try to re-connect the wires 

to the best of my amateur abilities. 

The movement of the film past the light and lens-focus was done 

with the help of a hand-crank mechanism. 

Mr. Loewy, in his bemused generosity, had given me a roll of film 

with the projector. 

It was an old school-film for biology classes called something like 

'The growth-process of peas,' a title which normally would have left 

me cold, but now seemed to awaken in me a passion and became a 

most fascinating story to be watched and enjoyed. 

...But before this glorious event could actually happen, I had to get 

the projector working properly. 

Shaking with excitement, and thank God my mother wasn't home, I 

'fixed' the wiring problem, got a light-bulb screwed into the 

dubiously loose socket and fastened the film-spool to the protruding 

upper arm of the projector. Then lining the film up with the 

protruding little guide-wheel teeth, I fastened the loose part of the 

film to the bottom spool and was ready to watch the peas grow. 

...With my right hand ready and sweating on the hand-crank, I 

flicked the loose light switch and heard a loud popping sound as all 

the lights went out in our room. 

Then I heard Mr. Huebner coming out of his living room and walking 

through the hall-way. 

He called my name and I went to see him. 

The whole apartment was dark. 

...Apparently my first attempt to watch the peas grow had ended in 


Page 7 of 12 

11/5/2011


disaster. 

Feeling responsible and guilty I was ready to confess to Herrn 

Huebner what I had done, but something within told me not to 

mention it. 

Thus I played 'innocent' and just as surprised at the black-out as he 

was. 

He put a new fuse in and the lights went back on. 

Thank God I had had the presence of mind to shut the projector light 

switch off at the same moment the fuse blew, or the new fuse would 

have blown out right away and Herr Huebner would have suspected 

that I was the culprit. 

Watching the Peas Grow 

Back in our room, I at first thought to work on the projector the 

next day in day-light and with new ideas as to what could be wrong. 

But overcome by the desire to 'watch the peas grow' on my own 

wall, with my own projector, I continued to examine the contraption 

to find out what was wrong. 

This is when I saw the loose wire going to the loose socket. 

Using a butter knife as a screw-driver, I was able to re-connect the 

wire, tighten it properly and was thus ready again to turn the 

projector on. 

Hand on the crank again, using my left hand to turn the light on, my 

heart pounding and hands sweaty from a delicious mixture of fear 

and excitement, I saw a shadow on the wall, which probably was the 

most exciting picture I had ever seen. 

It was dim alright, hardly discernible, but it was there for me 

through my efforts! 

Turning the handle with its clacking sound frantically, the picture 

began to move, but it was all blurred. 

Stopping to turn the crank, I realized that I had to adjust the focus 

of the lens for clarity. 

Doing that, I suddenly saw the most beautiful set of peas I had ever 

seen, all in black and white photography, there was this shell 

(Schote) with about five little peas in it. 

Overcome by the marvel of it all, I started to turn the crank again 

and 'lo and behold' I saw the whole growth process in slow motion 

until farmers came to pick the shells and remove the peas. 

Good God, what a miracle! 

I still couldn't believe that I now had the means to watch my own 

movies! 


Page 8 of 12 

11/5/2011


Except that I didn't have any movies to watch besides the peamovie. 

Yukatan 

Now the hunt for a cheap movie was on. 

Finding out that Herr Loewy didn't have any more movies in his store 

forced me to search in other stores of similar nature for a 'suitable' 

film. 

I must mention here that the projector was made for 'regular' size 

movies of the 32mm mode. 

-Not 16mm or even 8mm but the regular movie theater films. 

Roaming all over Neukoelln, going even as far as the 

'Hermannstrasse,' I finally found a small store which had a movie in 

32 mm format called 'Yukatan.' 

Yes, it was a documentary movie about Yukatan in Mexico and I was 

nearly out of my mind, driven with desire, to own this movie. 

Not only was it a movie, but about something I was really interested 

in. The price was 10 Mark, which was quite reasonable considering 

that it was a real documentary of an adventurous journey to this far 

away place. 

It was one huge roll of film, the same size as they come in a box 

delivered to movie theaters. 

Unfortunately my projector wasn't made for such a huge roll and I 

would have to cut up the movie into six to eight smaller rolls, which I 

was sure I could do without much problem. 

The only thing was, that I needed some more empty film-spools 

which weren't readily available. 

That the film was also a sound-film with a photo-sound-track on one 

side, left me in complete amazement and full of speculations about 

how I could get the sound to work. 

Naturally my ancient projector wasn't made for sound-movies, but, 


Page 9 of 12 

11/5/2011


the idealist that I am, I saw endless possibilities to find a way 

through which I could make the sound work. 

Again, I squeezed the ten Mark out of my mother, and got the film 

and a stronger light bulb for the projector. 

Cutting up the film was a task I would rather never do again. 

There was so much of it that literally the whole room was filled with 

film in the process. 

I spooled it onto my one spool and then, by removing one side of the 

spool, took the rolled-up film off and put it into the film-box. 

This I had to do about seven times, which sounds simple enough, 

but was definitely not as simple as it sounds. 

As I mentioned already, the room was filled with looped film and I 

had to find the right end to attach to the spool and then roll it up in 

reverse, which is a daunting undertaking even for an adult, not to 

mention for a hurried eleven year old boy who can't wait to watch 

his treasured possession. 

Perhaps, because of my impatience, I didn't properly think first 

before attempting the task, but believe me, it was a horrendous 

mess! 

Finally, after much frustration, I had my seven or eight rolls of 

'Yukatan.' 

Of course neither I nor my mother had any idea that films of that 

period (in which the Yukatan film was made) were highly flammable 

and that, if the film had touched the 120 watt light-bulb inside the 

projector, it would have gone up in flames and probably have set the 

whole apartment on fire. 

This I learned later, years later, when I thanked God for his 

protection from this real possibility. 

First 'Screening' of Yukatan 

My first 'screening' of the Yukatan movie was an experience I can 

still feel! 

Being a well made professional documentary it was truly worth 

watching. 

The Mayan temples and ruins, the road leading the photographers to 

the ancient treasures and even the journey from Germany to Mexico 

by ship were shown vividly with good photography and probably 

interesting commentary, if only the projector could have played back 

sound. 


Page 10 of 12 

11/5/2011


Through the course of my involvement with the projector and trying 

to get the sound-system figured out and working, which it never did, 

I became quite an expert on projectors, sound and all that goes with 

it. 

There were quite a few books available in the library on the subject 

and I worked my way through quite a few of them. 

I learned about photo-cells and how they convert light into electrical 

impulses which when 'verstaerkt,' -strengthened and amplified in an 

amplifier, transmit these electrical impulses to magnetic speakers or 

'Loudspeakers' through which the magnetic impulses become sound. 

Since I had neither money, tools nor the equipment necessary to 

possibly succeed, the whole thing was doomed from the start. 

But, being a young idealist, I never even thought of all these 

handicaps and thus learned things 'hands-on,' which I would have 

never been able to learn just from books. 

With this information came also the understanding how records and 

'magnetic tapes' retained and played back sounds. 

All this knowledge and curiosity encouraged my resolve to become 

an 'inventor' like Thomas Edison and Nicola Tesla. But cramped 

quarters and neither money nor tools kept me for the time being 

from more practical experiments and I had to satisfy my curiosity 

from books alone. 

Go to Part 10 to continue the journey 



Page 11 of 12 

11/5/2011

Gnostic Ch.10 


Part X 


Axel, Peter, Waltraut, Carmen and Karl-Heintz 

Moving to the "Schwartza Strasse" had been wonderful for me for 

more than one reason. 

First of all it felt good to get away from uncle Herbert and his 

drunken rage, and second, I met some really great kids there who 

were quite compatible with me and my Gnostic mindset. 

There were Peter and his sister with the awful name Waltraut, both 

of whom were highly intelligent and 

raised by a single father. 

Peter was somewhat heavy-set, 

with a keen interest in everything. 

He was very scholarly and studious 

and captivated by my free-spirited 

approach to life, including my more 

and more evolving interest in 

physics and technical experiments. 

We would often talk about our 

interests and experiences and 

exchange ideas from politics to 

bicycles and from religion to psychic 

experiences. 

He was the first kid I could ever 

relate to an an equal level and who 

would not ridicule my interests. 

In fact he was keenly interested in 

my thoughts and loved to listen to 

my stories. 

His sister, Waltraut, was more or less the same way. 

She, not as heavy as her brother, was tomboyish and curious about 

everything also. 

-And she had the most beautiful wavy long blond hair one could 

imagine. 


Page 1 of 18 

11/5/2011


Being about a year younger than her brother and myself, as well as 

the other three kids in our group, she made up for this by being the 

most daring when it came to playing pranks on adults in our 

neighborhood. 

I would spend many hours with them in their apartment which was 

located next door to our building on the fourth floor. 

Their father was a kind and gentle man, a scientist who also liked 

me very much and would sometimes, when he had the time, speak 

with me extensively about my ideas and experiences. 

Sometimes I would bring my movie-projector to their apartment 

and we would invite the other kids in our group to come up and 

watch 'Yukatan.' 

Everybody was quite excited over the projector and the movie and 

we would endlessly speculate about what could be done with it, and 

how we could get more movies. 

Needless to say, I, as the owner of the projector, was the center of 

attention, which made me feel quite good about myself and thus 

gave me a much needed ego-boost. 

Karl-Heinz Fiedler was another boy who became a good friend. He 

also was just a little 'chubby' and quite intelligent. 

And he too loved to tinker with technical things and experiments. 

Except he seemed to have no interest in religion or politics. 

Being quite a prankster he would sometimes get on my nerves with 

his constant joking and physical nudging, having the habit of making 

jokes and elbowing us into our ribcage. 

Still, we all complemented each other and got along very well. 

Axel was of small built and with delicate features. 

He was kind and gentle and almost ethereal, with curly short hair 

and a soft voice, and one could say that he seemed almost 'girlish.' 

Yet he would amaze everybody by his daring and adventurous spirit. 

Also being highly intelligent and questioning everything, he was a 

kindred spirit indeed. 

Very shy, with very little self-esteem from endless teasing in school 

about his feminine appearance, he already had a well formed 

character and strong principles. 

I liked him very much and felt very comfortable talking about 

everything in my life with him. 

Axel had an older sister named Carmen who was perhaps three or 

four years older than us and already went to the Gymnasium 'High 


Page 2 of 18 

11/5/2011


School-Wissenschaftlicher Zweig' (this is the highest schooling 

possible before college and leads to the 'Abitur.'). 

She also was very delicate in her features with long brown hair 

which she sometimes wore in pig-tails. 

Kind and gentle also, she possessed besides a very high intelligence 

also a deep love of literature and story telling. 

I mention 'story telling,' because by that time I had developed, 

inspired by my intelligent friends, the gift of story telling. 

It was indeed quite extraordinary how I could weave a fantastic tale 

out of my observations and experiences and how rapt my new 

friends listened to them. 

Carmen would more than once exclaim: " You are so good at it, I 

bet you are going to be a famous writer one day!" 

Which, especially coming from her, flattered me immensely and 

inspired me even more. 

...Oh, I was in love with her alright, her soft and smooth demeanor 

and her keen intelligence together with her lovely face, had touched 

my heart and soul. 

But I knew that it was never to be, her and me, because she was so 

much older. 

Being very expressive in her gestures and uninhibited physically and 

emotionally, she would sometimes grab my hand when I told my 

stories and her eyes would shine with moisture of delight. 

This would send me off into a realm of spiritual ecstasy and divine 

inspiration, and I would feel electrical currents shooting from her 

hand right through my spine and into my stomach (Solar-Plexus). 

Shaking with love I would feel the blood rush to my head and ears 

and begin to stumble over my words, until she would begin to laugh 

knowingly and I eventually joined her laughter. 

Oh, what wonderful days of sweet, innocent love and intellectual 

dreams, of fantasy and true friendship! 

Never again in my life would I have such a wonderful group of 

friends! 


Page 3 of 18 

11/5/2011


Surprise! A New Movie For My Projector 

"Kameradschaft Der Jugend" 

One day Peter's and Waltraut's father came home while I was with 

them in their apartment. 

He told us that he had a surprise for me and, in fact, for all of us. 

Opening his briefcase, he took out a medium size box which upon 

opening revealed a roll of movie film. 

He said that he had found it at work, wherever that was, and 

thought of me and my movie projector. 

It turned out to be a Nazi propaganda movie, or better, documentary 

of a Hitler Youth rally in 1933. 

Unfortunately, I had to make this film into two spools before we 

could use it. 

Its title was 'Kameradschaft der Jugend' (Comradeship of Youth), 

and it was my first exposure to seeing Nazi pageantry almost like I 

was watching it alive. 

The next day I took the film and projector to their apartment again 

with the film divided into two rolls and ready to be viewed. 

Our eyes were glued to the white wall onto which the picture was 

projected and we shivered in delight as we watched young people 

like us march in precision columns with lots of flags and drums and 

trumpets, with young boys blowing bannered fanfares and adults in 

exciting uniforms giving speeches. 

...Oh, if only there would have been sound! 

If only we would have been able to hear the fanfares and marshal 

music! 

Needless to say our other friends, Axel, Carmen and Karl-Heintz 

were invited up to the apartment the next day as we watched the 

movie again. 

After the movie we all talked about what we had seen, and I related 

much of what uncle Ali had told me. 

Carmen was able to tell us some stories she had experienced during 

the Nazi era as she was the oldest and had more consciously lived 

through the war years then we. 

Being so intelligent and aware, she was able to give us some 

negative and many positive words about this time which fascinated 

us so much. 


Page 4 of 18 

11/5/2011


Perhaps we knew, even being so young, that it was like 'forbidden 

fruit,' and we, with youthful enthusiasm and idealism, craved so 

much to explore this realm of the 'unmentionable' in our country's 

recent past. 

...This especially since most adults, like parents and family, spoke of 

this time only with whispered comments amongst themselves. 

In school the subject was spoken of on the shortest and most 

evasive terms, maligning it without dealing with it in any depth. 

We heard about concentration camps and Jews, that millions of 

Jews were killed and that Hitler was an evil man. 

Most kids seemed satisfied with these simplistic explanations and 

comments, but more intelligent ones needed more then to just 

accept what they were being told. 

In short, we sensed that there was something not told or 'hidden' 

from us and that the adults, in most cases the teachers, were 

uneasy with the subject and 'lying through their teeth' so to speak. 

Children, especially intelligent children, are not easily deceived 

because being so open to all and without prejudice, they absorb the 

whole picture, of the adults speaking and what they attempt to 

hide... 

Thus all of us, in our little circle, were intensely interested and 

fascinated by National Socialism and all that went with it. 

Brown-Colored 'Telefunken' Records 

From Herrn Loewy 

One day Axel and I were walking down the Sonnenallee, when we 

decided to pay Herrn Loewy's store a visit. 

Actually, inspired by the "Kameradschaft der Jugend" movie, we 

wanted to look and see if he had any books with pictures of that era. 

Herr Loewy was busy with customers so we had more or less free 

reign over the store's treasures. 

Axel was going through some books in a book-bin when I went over 

to a large display of old records. 

Since we had no phonograph I had already toyed with the idea of 

getting some kind of record player or even trying to build one. 


Page 5 of 18 

11/5/2011


So records being already in the realm of my consciousness, were of 

interest to me. 

Those were then the 78 rpm records made out of hard shellacked 

wax. 

Being highly breakable, Herr Loewy had them standing up in special 

record racks, and I could thus easily spot that some of them were 

colored brown instead of black. 

Curious, I took one out, and lo and behold, it was a recording of a 

Nazi song called: "Die Fahne hoch (Raise the flag)," made by 

'Telefunken' (a German electronics brand) records. 

I was instantly excited and searched the other brown records which 

all were recordings of famous Nazi songs and marches. There were 

perhaps about fifteen of them just waiting for me... 

But we had no money and thus had to leave the treasures behind. 

Axel too was excited and wanted me to get those records. 

Actually they were quite cheap, like fifty cents (fifty pennies) a piece 

and we made plans of how we could raise the needed eight or nine 

Marks. 

It was Carmen who came to the rescue and gave me something like 

five Marks in Groschen (ten cent pieces like dimes) and pennies 

which she had in her possession. 

I promised to pay her back, but she said it was o.k. because she had 

just started tutoring a kid in math and thus would soon have more 

money than she needed. 

Overjoyed I went to my mother, who, mercifully, didn't know what I 

was up to, and begged her for three more mark which I needed to 

get all the records. 

I should mention here that I was desperate because of the 

assumption that somebody else would buy up my treasure still in 

Herrn Loewy's possession. 

I told my mother something about needing to buy lenses for a 

project I was working on at the time, an 'Epidiascope,' which is a 

contraption to reflect enlarged pictures, like postcards and photos, 

on a wall. -Almost like a projector but not of slides, but of regular 

photos and pictures. 

My mother at first rejected my appeal, as she always did, but then 

reluctantly and with a frown came across with two Mark with the 

words: 'NO MORE.' 

Putting the money in my pants pocket, with the other money from 

Carmen, I went to Axel's apartment to get him, and we trotted back 

the two or three miles down the Sonnenallee to Herrn Loewy's shop. 

While walking there I did all kinds of 'magical things,' like only 


Page 6 of 18 

11/5/2011


getting onto the sidewalk with my left foot first and holding my left 

hand in a tight fist the entire way, to make sure nobody would 'steal' 

my waiting treasure until we got there. 

Picture of what we looked like in the 1950's 

Lots of 'Lederhosen' 

When we arrived at the store, Herr Loewy gave me a half-nod of 

semi recognition and we went to the record section to gather our 

loot, still afraid that something unexpectedly would deprive us of the 

records in the last minute. 

I had seven Mark in my dirty pants pocket and we stacked all the 

brown records on top of each other and carried them to the counter 

where Herr Loewy was conducting some kind of business with an 

elderly man with crutches. 

When the old man stepped away from the messy looking counter, we 

put the records down on it. Herr Loewy didn't flinch, as I had half 

expected, and say something like: "are you kids crazy buying all 

these Nazi records!" 

No, he just calmly counted them and looked at the scribbled price on 

the label, and told me that it would come to seven Mark and fifty 

cents. 

I took my money out and counted it out on the store counter. 

-Carmen's 'Groschen and Pfennige,' (dimes and pennies), counting 

them over and over to make sure that I got the correct count and 

then told Herrn Loewy that I had only seven Mark. 

Herr Loewy looked up from whatever he was doing, and said just to 

leave one record back and everything would be fine. 

I couldn't bear to do that and looked at him with my best begging 


Page 7 of 18 

11/5/2011


eyes until he said something like: 'Na ja, gieb mir die sieben Mark 

und du hast sie alle' (O.K. give me the seven mark and you can have 

all of them). 

I thanked him profusely which he responded to by turning his back 

to us and walking away into the store interior. 

The records were quite heavy and Axel and I each took half of them 

and went on our way home. 

Luckily my mother wasn't home to see what 'treasure' I had brought 

in and I was able to hide the stack under some of my other things in 

a closet. 

To Play The Records I Need A Phonograph 

Now the only problem was how I could get a phonograph to play the 

records? 

In school I had talked to somebody who was willing to trade me a 

hand-winding phonograph which had also a "sound-horn" attached 

to it, like one can find on old pictures, for my three albums full with 

collected 'Sanella' (a margarine brand) pictures of Africa and 

Australia. And although I loved them and looked at them regularly, I 

didn't hesitate to agree to the deal. 

Thus, after school, I went home in a hurry, gathered my three 

'Sanella' albums and left with them like 'on wings of desire,' as fast 

as I could manage to walk to this boy's home. 

I knew where he lived from before, when I had traded something 

else with him. 

He was waiting for me and showed me into his basement apartment, 

where he led me to a rather large box resembling a small cabinet. 

Holding my breath, he opened the lid on top and the two front doors 

and I saw this marvelous looking piece of machinery in all it's 

ancient glory. 

Not able to believe my luck that I suddenly should own such a 

wonderful record-player, I felt myself shaking like a leaf in the wind. 

The boy, nonchalantly, took out a crank from the interior of the 

cabinet, pushed one end of it into a hole on the side of the machine, 

and began cranking it up. 

Then he went and got a record, put it on the turntable on top of the 

machine and moved a little handle which released the brakes of the 


Page 8 of 18 

11/5/2011


cranked up turntable and it began to spin around. 

Then he put the heavy looking tone-arm head with it's protruding 

needle on the outside groove of the spinning record and - glory of 

glories-, I heard such a sweet and melodious sound as I was sure I 

had never heard before. 

Never mind that the it sounded rather tinny and scratchy, to me it 

was the sound of 'heavenly music.' 

The deal was done immediately and I proceeded to pick this cabinet 

up with the intent to carry it home. 

But to my amazement and despair, I found that I could hardly lift it 

at all. 

Trying to talk this boy into helping me to carry it to my home, he 

flatly refuse and told me to get somebody else to help me. So I had 

to leave this object of my love and desire behind and more or less 

run home to Axel's apartment. 

Telling Axel about my dilemma as quickly as possible, he responded 

by telling me that they had a hand-cart in the basement which we 

could use... 

God bless Axel! 

Phonograph Via Hand-Cart Delivery 

We went down into the basement and got the cart. 

Dragging it behind us with it's squeaking metal wheels we made 

quite a noise on the sidewalks and streets that we had to pass 

through. 

Finally we arrived and the boy, against my expectations, was still 


Page 9 of 18 

11/5/2011


there. 

He held the door for us as we carried this monstrous contraption into 

the hallway, up a flight of stairs and out into the street. Placing it 

ever so gently onto the cart. We suddenly realized that the cart was 

to narrow to place the phonograph into it. 

Thus we had to place it on top of the cart rails, which would require 

that one of us had to pull the cart while the other had to make sure 

that the phonograph wouldn't slide off the rails and fall off. 

It was a journey through hell as the cart bumped and squeaked and 

shook the cabinet while Axel held onto the phonograph for dear life, 

walking behind the cart bent over and trying not to hit his chins 

against it. 

Only the promise of fulfilled desire, to finally be able to listen to the 

records, kept us going without much complaint. 

When we got home, my mother was there and couldn't believe that I 

had gotten this 'thing' for my cherished 'Sanella' trading cards. 

Sample from my 'Sanella-Margarine' picture collection 

which I used for a school report 

My mother was highly suspicious, supported by previous 

experiences with my 'deals,' and worried that I had acquired it in an 

'unlawful' manner. 

Thank God, Axel was there with me, whom she respected and 


Page 10 of 18 

11/5/2011


trusted more than me, and he was able to convince her that I was 

telling the truth. 

Of course, I was very disappointed that she was home, since this 

meant I had to contain my desire to hear the records, and wait until 

she would leave the apartment. 

This was not to be until the next day, after school when I came 

home she had gone to my grandparent's store to help out and I 

could finally listen to my treasured 'brown' records. 

Cranking her up like a pro, I put my first record on, trembling in 

expectation, and heard the glorious sound of marshal music and 

then the voices of a military chorus singing 'Die Fahne hoch, 

marschiert, voran der Fuehrer fuehrt....flieg Deutsche Fahne, flieg ja 

flieg"...and something about Sieg (Victory). 

I marched along with the song around the living room table 

envisioning myself as part of a singing column. 

Then I played the next record which was the 'Braunauer Marsch,' 

without chorus, and the next record... 

....on and on completely oblivious to time and space. 


Page 11 of 18 

11/5/2011


Public Performance Of 'Die Fahne Hoch' 

And The Value Of Fairy Tales and Mythology 

Thank God, the Huebner's weren't home either, or my secret stash 

of Nazi records wouldn't have remained secret, and my mother 

would have destroyed them. 

Tempted to play the records over again, I ,for once, used my better 

judgment and put them away in their hiding place. And sure as can 

be, my mother came home just minutes after I had hidden them 

again. 

The next day, we carried the phonograph to Peter's and Waltraut's 

apartment for a 'public performance' for the rest of our group. 

Everybody was impressed and inspired to march around the 

apartment, just as I had done alone the day before. 

Maybe it is in our 'genes,' that we as young German children found 

this music so great! 

Or is it that intelligent kids tend to be so much more moved by 

things, especially 'forbidden' things, than dull and unimaginative 

kids, kids who have everything and are already bored with life, as so 

many American children are nowadays? 


Page 12 of 18 

11/5/2011


Unfortunately the kids of today's Germany or even Europe are just 

as spoiled and bored as their American counterparts which is the 

result of their parent's consumer mentality and mass-media 

brainwashing. 

Children of former generations grew up with fairy tales, real fairy 

tales and not the sugar-coated versions spun out by Disney. Our 

fathers and mothers read them to us from very early on, before 

falling asleep at night. 

These were stories which touch the soul and stimulate the mind, and 

although often gruesome and frightening to children, they have 

helped to create better people than you will find today no matter 

how enlightened we claim to be. 

It seems to me that fairy tales, like Anderson's and the brothers 

Grimm's, connect children to an archetype of their racial and 

national identity that opens their psyche to the past and present and 

allows them to integrate harmoniously, with their environment. 

Not only do they understand instinctively what the world is all 

about, but they also grasp, intuitively, that the magic of imagination 

can overcome many problems of birth, poverty and 'being different.' 

It comes to no surprise then that fundamentalist 'Christians' and 

New World Order feminist groups have spoken out against fairy tales 

and even banned them from libraries as dangerous 'satanic' 

literature. 

After all, bright and imaginative children ask difficult questions and 

become 'politically incorrect,' bright and imaginative adults, who 

can't so easily be fooled by lying politicians and simplistic rhetoric. 

Often, just looking into someone's eyes, as you interact with them 

will reveal whether they are aware and imaginative or complete 

dullards. 

Bright people will look you into the eyes and reflect emotion in their 

eyes to you, while dull people will either avoid your eyes completely 

or seem to stare, without reflecting any emotion, right through you. 

Another similar phenomenon seems to me that so many dull and 

'bored' people need to have background music and radio chatter 

wherever they are instead of experiencing the moment, every 

moment, consciously and in harmony with the sounds of life and 

nature. 


Page 13 of 18 

11/5/2011


Strandbad Wannsee - Grunewald - Gruenau 

On Sundays my mother would often take us all to the 

'Grunewald' (a forest) or to the 'Strandbad Wannsee' (a beach at the 

Wannsee Lake). 

Sometimes we would even venture to 'Gruenau' in East-Berlin. 

If the weather was hot the Wannsee would be our favorite 

destination. 

There was even a popular song, a 'Schlager,' that extolled the joys 

of going to the Wannsee and was sung by a young Connie Froboes. 

I can't remember much of the words, but I can still play back the 

melody in my mind. 

The words went something like: "Pack die Badehose ein, nimm dein 

kleines Schwesterlein und dann gehn wir raus zum Wannsee...und 

dann gehn wir wie der Wind durch den Grunewald geschwind und 

dann sind wir bald am Wannsee..." Translated it would mean 

something like: " Pack your bathing-suit, grab your little sister... and 

we hurry like the wind, quickly through the Grunewald and soon we 

have reached the Wannsee." 

Steps leading to the beach 

We would take the S-Bahn (city train) to S-Bahnhof Nikolskoe and 

walk for about 20 minute through the beautiful pine forest of the 

Grunewald until we reached the entrance to Strandbad Wannsee. 

There my mother would buy our entrance tickets which were quite 

cheap in those days and we would walk down the stairs to the beach 

area. 

It was a beautiful sandy beach with contraptions made out of basket 

material in which one could sit comfortably and be even protected 


Page 14 of 18 

11/5/2011


from the extreme sun-rays. These 'baskets' could be rented for the 

day, if available, for a small fee and made the beach experience 

quite comfortable. 

Mostly, though, we just brought blankets which we spread on the 

beach's sand. 

In back of the beach was a promenade with many stores where one 

could buy beach related items such as bathing suits, beach balls, 

suntan lotion and whatever. But for us the main attraction was a 

stand which sold 'Ohio Popcorn' that was served with powdered 

sugar sprinkled on it. 

I just loved that stuff and couldn't get enough of it. 

Also one could buy ice-cream waffles as well as Coca Cola, Afri-Cola 

and 'Sinalco.' 

My mother also usually brought home made potato salad and we 

would eat happily sitting on our blankets. 

The water was usually quite cold but we enjoyed it nevertheless very 

much. 

Strandbad Wannsee Beach 

Mueggelsee and Gruenau 

Sometimes we would dare to go to the Mueggelsee in Berlin- 

Gruenau. 

This was in East-Berlin and we never felt quite comfortable there 

because of our fear to be arrested or detained by the 'Volkpolizei' 


Page 15 of 18 

11/5/2011


which was the East-Berlin Police. 

Due to the constant bombardment with stories about East-Germany 

in newspapers and from the radio, we thought that anything bad was 

possible there, which actually wasn't so far off. 

Still, we sometimes ventured there on Sundays and would bathe in 

the lake. 

There was also an outlook-tower way in the forest on a mountain 

and next to it was an outdoor restaurant. 

Food and drink was cheap for us due to the very favorable exchange 

rate from West-Mark to East-Mark. 

There wasn't much on the menu though and it was best to just order 

a 'Knackwurst' or 'Wuerstchen' (Wieners) and a bottle of cheap 

lemonade. 

We would play in the forest and bathe in the Mueggelsee when we 

got hot from playing ball or 'hide and seek,' and enjoy the outdoors 

despite our misgivings about being in the East. 

Walking to Berlin-Treptow and the 'Treptower Park' was one thing, 

since it was so close to home and the West. 

-But taking the S-Bahn for quite a long ride through East-Berlin in 

order to get to 'Gruenau' was another, much more frightening, 

undertaking... 

The "Mueggelsee" 

To continue the journey please go to "Gnostic 

Childhood" Part XI 


Page 16 of 18 

11/5/2011



Part XI 


My years at the 'Hertzberg Schule' were gradually coming to an end 

as I had almost finished the sixth grade there with Herrn Schwartz, 

our teacher for two years, and with all the kids which I knew so well 

and felt comfortable with. 

Most of these boys had been with me through all six grades which 

made it particularly difficult to envision myself in a new school and 

with new kids. 

My grades weren't very good, but not that bad either. 

We were required to choose a school branch (Zweig) to go to, which 

'suited' our academic achievements and possibilities according to 

Herrn Schwartz's judgment and our general school-records. 

Our choice was between three branches (Zweigen): 

The 'Wissenschaftliche Zweig,' for which one needed high academic 

achievements and which was preparatory for College or University 

attendance. 

-The 'Technischer Zweig,' which was designed to be an in-between, 

leading to an apprenticeship in a technical field. 

-And the 'Praktischer Zweig,' which my mother called the 'Pantoffel 

Schule,' which meant something like 'slipper-school' indicating that it 

was for slow and lazy kids who would eventually find apprenticeship 

as plumbers, bakers, butchers or whatever. 


Page 1 of 18 

11/5/2011


Our last class-picture with Herrn Schwartz taken in the winter of 

1952 

I am in the third row from front on the left 

My grades and 'achievements,' according to Herrn Schwartz and my 

school records, were indicating that I should barely attend the 

'Technical Zweig.' 

Herr Schwartz and even I myself had some misgivings about that, 

because my math grades were abysmal and I hated math more than 

any other subject and had thus little faith in myself to be able to 

handle the intense math of the 'Technical Zweig.' 

Actually I was quite comfortable with the prospect of attending the 

'Pantoffel Schule'. 

Having no desire to pursue any conventional path of employment 

and income, I really thought that I would be much better off in the 

'Practical Zweig,' where I could follow my own pursuits as a future 

inventor or writer without much interference from teachers, homework 

and whatever else the 'Technical Zweig' might demand of me. 

But my mother was dead-set against it and persuaded Herrn 

Schwartz to sign me up for the Technical Zweig. 

Thus in April 1953 I went on my way to the new school, shaking 


Page 2 of 18 

11/5/2011


internally from fear and apprehension. 

It is quite telling how I felt about that school since I can't remember 

the name of it. 

My old friend Joachim Bandmann was also assigned to this school 

and we met on the street and walked there together. 

Of course Joachim was much better suited for this school than I, 

being very good in math and every other subject except art. He was 

cool, rational and obedient to a fault and I just knew that he would 

excel there. 

We were even lucky in being assigned to the same class-room and 

teacher, who was a young woman with glasses who looked like a 

nun. 

My new seventh grade class in 1953 with my new teacher Fraulein 

Krueger. 

I am sitting with white shirt and "Lederhosen" almost in center 

This was also the first time that boys and girls weren't segregated 

but together in the same room, which made me feel self-conscious, 

awkward and even more afraid of making a fool out of myself than 

usual. 

It wasn't a good start for me at all, in the seventh grade, and I felt 

like I had just arrived in hell. 

In order to not appear stupid and lazy, I even studied and did my 

home-work as told. 

Perhaps everything would have turned out well after all, if my 


Page 3 of 18 

11/5/2011


mother had not applied to some agency, to send me to camp at the 

Baltic Sea, because she thought it might improve my self-reliance 

and mental as well as physical health. 

Thinking that this would occur during our summer vacation she was 

very upset when the news arrived in the mail, that I had been 

selected to go to the 'Kinderheim Lensterhof' near Groemitz by the 

Baltic Sea for six weeks and that we would be leaving during the last 

week of May. 

School vacation wouldn't start until the middle of July. 

Of course I was happy to hear that because it would get me out of 

school and studying, things for which I had absolutely no use 

whatsoever. 

Kinderheim (Children's Home) 

Lensterhof 

I was half 

excited and half 

apprehensive 

when, on a cool 

May morning, 

my mother took 

me and a 

suitcase full of 

prescribed 

clothes, to the 

Bahnhof-Zoo 

area where the 

bus which was 

to take us to 

Groemitz would 

be. 

When we got 

there, by city bus, we saw a large group of kids and their parents, 

mostly mothers, waiting. 

With some relief I recognized some friends from school there also 

and my apprehension disappeared to give way to an exciting feeling 

of adventurous anticipation. 


Page 4 of 18 

11/5/2011


After a short wait the bus appeared and we, after saying an 

embarrassed and hurried 'Auf Wiedersehen,' boarded the bus. 

We had a friendly, jolly driver and some other adults as 'Begleiter,' 

to make sure we wouldn't get into any trouble or rowdy behavior. 

The bus went first to the 'Autobahn,' which was close by and then 

north to the Soviet and East-German check-point 'Helmstaedt.' 

I can't remember how long it actually took to get there, driving 

through dismal looking farm areas of the East-Berlin suburbs. 

Helmstaedt was the check-point which would let us enter the 

corridor going through the East-German 'Zone' which was otherwise 

closed to 'Westerners.' 

Arriving finally in Helmstaedt, we saw what looked like an army 

camp with bob-wire fences and lots of signs of instructions and even 

more Communist propaganda posters with red as well as official East 

German flags. Volkspolizei and 'Volksarmee' soldiers (East German 

army) and Russian soldiers were everywhere carrying machine-guns 

and some of them even walking large German-Sheppard dogs. 

We were scared and panic-stricken. 

What if they arrested us and kept us from going to 'Lensterhof' or 

from ever going back home? 

What if they sent us off to Russia? 

After a short wait in the bus, and repeated admonitions from our 

adult 'Begleiter' to be quiet and stay in our seats, the door opened 

and an East-German policeman or soldier entered the bus. 

The bus driver and the Begleiters, who were up front, handed the 

soldier our papers with attached pictures, which were almost like 

passports for kids, and the man looked through them, counted them, 

counted us, and told the driver to come out with him. 


Page 5 of 18 

11/5/2011


This is a picture of the original temporary passport from May 26, 

1953 

We saw that the driver had to open the luggage compartment of the 

bus and the soldier looking into it. 

After a few minutes, the driver came back aboard, started the motor 

up and began to drive slowly through the bob-wire fenced checkpoint 

gate and towards a large wooden structure. 

There he stopped and told us that we could go to the bathroom in 

the building 

and to come 

right back to 

the bus. 

Since just 

about all of us 

had to pee 

very badly, 

we went 

gladly to the 

building 

despite our 

fears. 

After we 

were all done with that, the bus finally took off and we were on our 

way to Lensterhof by the Baltic See (Ostsee). 

The adults with us were getting downright jolly and began to sing a 


Page 6 of 18 

11/5/2011


song about Lensterhof and the good times we would have there. 

Teaching us the words and melody, we all began to sing along with 

gusto, glad that we had overcome the dreaded Helmstaedt checkpoint 

while still alive. 

I remember some of the lyrics, which went something like: " Wir 

sind die Lensterhofer...wir sind vergnuegt und froh...und wuenschen 

nur das eine...es bliebe immer so!" 

It was quite a catchy little song and even I felt stimulated by the 

spirit of the moment to join in. 

Watching the passing landscape, the fields, rivers and distant towns, 

going through pine-forest areas, long after the singing had given 

way to a tired drowsiness, I pensively took in the flatland scenery. 

I couldn't wait to actually see the Baltic-Sea, where the water would 

go as far as the horizon. 

Before leaving for the trip I had looked through many books with lots 

of pictures describing the Ostsee, giving me quite a bit of 

information ahead a time. 

In short, I was well prepared. 

By the time we got to 'Lensterhof,' it was dark and the bus stopped 

in front of an older brick building. 

As if by command, a group of 'Schwestern' (like red-cross nurses) in 

light blue dresses with white aprons and white nurse's caps, the big 

and old-fashioned ones, were lining up outside to welcome us. 

When we departed the bus, they told us to wait 

as they made an immediate roll-call with every 

name on the list called out and to which we, 

when our name was called, were expected to call 

back: "Hier!" 

After that they separated us into two groups 

according to the first letter of our last name. 

I was barely in the first group since my last 

name begins with an H. 

Then they separated boys and girls which made 

us into four groups. 

Soon we were led to our quarters which 

consisted of about three large rooms with six 

beds each for my group. 


Page 7 of 18 

11/5/2011


The beds were of the army kind, simple metal frame, and already 

made up for us. 

Then we were told to go and get our luggage and put our things 

away into an army-barracks type of closet. Having finished this job, 

we were gathered together and shown the way to the dining-hall. 

All of us were very hungry and as we entered the hall, a wonderful 

smell of soup and sandwiches wafted into our noses. 

It was 'Kartoffelsuppe' (Potatoe-soup) with 'Wuerstchen' (Wieners) 

cut-up into the soup, and dishes full of customary open-face 

sandwiches made of hearty rye bread with all kinds of (Wurst) sliced 

sausages on it. 

It was utterly delicious and everybody from cooks to 'Schwestern,' 

seemed to enjoy watching us eat with such gusto. 

After eating and joking around, we were told that we should go back 

to our rooms, wash up and be ready for bed in our pajamas. 

It felt really good to lay down after the long bus-trip and we didn't 

mind at all having to go to sleep already. 

When we were in bed, our assigned 'Sister' came into the room with 

a book under her arm, and began to read us a 'good-night story.' 

This was a practice which would continue right up to our last night 

there and was something we enjoyed immensely. 

"Freude schoener Goetterfunken Tochter aus 

Elysium..." 

The next day, after breakfast, we walked with our Sister towards 

the Ostsee,- the Baltic-Sea. 

In order to get there we had to walk about a good mile down a path 

which led right into amazing mountains of white sand. Climbing up 

the huge dunes we suddenly faced the stunning view of the Ostsee 

with its gentle waves and water reaching right into the far distant 

line of the horizon. 

It looked to me like heaven and earth had merged into one. 


Page 8 of 18 

11/5/2011


This is today's picture of the Groemitz beach. We didn't go to this 

beach to bathe 

but had a private beach area close to Lensterhof. 

Overcome by the gentle immensity of the Baltic Sea, I fell instantly 

in love with this peaceful giant. 

This was a vision which, to me, incorporated and nurtured a whole 

new understanding of the world and its mystery. 

It was a poetic vision, revealed to the poet! 

And it was a vision of ancient secrets revealed to the Gnostic child 

within me, waiting to return from the forgetful sleep of time and 

space like a dimensionless 'Ur-form'. 

The dunes with their long sharp grass-blades sticking out in patches 

from the white sand, and the gentle rolling of the waves, the smell of 

the ocean, all penetrating, seemed to whisper to me the secrets of 

the origin of life, and the blue sky with its lazily floating puffy white 

clouds seemed to sing of endless possibilities. 

I was in a state of ecstasy, touching upon something far, far beyond 

self and words. 

Enraptured by the overpowering experience I seemed to loose hold 

on reality, drifting quickly and unstoppably into a realm of intuitive 

knowing, of psychic awareness -- with pictures floating through me 

in an endless cascade of 

sequential scenes and 

voices. 

Had I found the ancient 

home of my ancestors' 

realm? 

Had I found the source of my 

soul? 


Page 9 of 18 

11/5/2011


Ancient voices, ancient faces were coming and going like from a 

slide projector. 

Some faces kind and gentle, others frighteningly ugly, distorted and 

hateful. 

Chants and the smell of bonfires wafted through my senses like I 

was possessed by ancestral forces who were attempting to convey 

something to me which I was too young to grasp. 

Or was I? 

For I didn't feel like a child any more as my childish facade, my 

state of childish consciousness and self-image, had given way to a 

sense of adult wholeness and ancient knowledge. 

Good God, I knew! 

I knew, deep within, through my heightened state of trembling 

sensual awareness, with my total beingness pitched into this 

moment, this split-second standing still, that something very 

extraordinary was going on over which I had no control. 

A revelation had taken place, a revelation which could never be put 

into words. 

A revelation so complete and total that words were insufficient to 

describe it's awesome meaning. 

It could not even be rationalized and put in an ordered sequence.. 

Yet I KNEW!!! 

In the depth of my soul, I KNEW what I was meant to know. 

...It was for me and for me only and not to be told to anyone else. 

Like a masterful symphony it was an experience which could only be 

told to others through the harmonious vibrations of classical music. 

Perhaps Beethoven's sixth and ninth symphony, or List's 'Ein 

Heldenleben,' could express what I couldn't. 

The HJ (Hitler Youth) Knife 

Groemitz, a small town, was not too far away and we would 

sometimes walk there and buy souvenirs to bring back home and 

post-cards to write to our relatives and friends. 

There was a nice boardwalk with many shops where one could 

purchase all kinds of things. 

I saw this beautiful knife in the window of one store, it was an exact 

replica of the 'Hitler Youth knife without the swastika. Knowing that 

knives were forbidden at Lensterhof, I had to be very careful and 


Page 10 of 18 

11/5/2011


hide it from the Schwestern. 

Every time we walked to Groemitz, I went to the store and longingly 

appraised the knife in the store-window. 

With trembling heart I finally went inside the store telling the saleslady 

that I wanted to purchase it. 

She told me the price, perhaps it was like eight marks, and I told her 

that I wanted it. 

I had money which my mother had given me to buy necessities and 

trinkets to bring home. 

The lady, showing no extraordinary emotions, as I thought she 

might considering my age, put it in a cardboard box and handed it to 

me after I had given her the money. 

Relieved, I stuck the box with the knife inside my shirt and rejoined 

our group at the appointed time. 

Having made sure that nobody would be strolling along with me, I 

could be sure that nobody knew about my secret possession. Back at 

Lensterhof I stashed the knife into my closet under some clothes. 

It remained there, as my secret, until the time came to return back 

to Berlin, when I carefully packed it into my suitcase and brought it 

home with me. 

Unser Liederbuch 

Our life at Lensterhof was disciplined but at the same time very 

happy. 

The sisters, big blondes and Nordic looking, were firm but completely 

dedicated to our needs. 

Our sister named Schwester Hilde, had reddish hair and the stature 

of a Viking warrior. 

Nevertheless, despite her appearance, she was a very likeable 

woman who commanded instant respect and instant love. Instant 

respect because of her size and demeanor and instant love because 

of the relief we felt when she smiled and embraced us with genuine 

caring. 

She could be as tough as a 'Field Marshal,' ordering us to obey her 

commands and she could also be like an angel gently uplifting us 

from home-sickness, carefully listening to us and hugging us 

reassuringly. 

At night we would gather in one room, sitting in a circle, and she 


Page 11 of 18 

11/5/2011


would sing with us folk-songs from a small, gray linen-bound song 

book which was titled, 'Unser Liederbuch,' (Our Songbook) and had 

an eagle with a swastika on it. 

It was the official 'Hitler Youth' song-book. 

In those days, when 'political-correctness' wasn't quite as far 

reaching as today, it was still possible to use a book, even a much 

maligned 'Nazi' book, without anyone raising an eyebrow.... "God 

bless Schwester Hilde"! 

One of the wood-cuts found in the "HJ" song-book 

Of course, we didn't sing any Nazi songs but only the old timeless 

folk-songs it also contained. 

I was even able to look through it at times, asking her for 

permission. 

It was illustrated with fascinating pictures, wood-cuts, of 

extraordinary quality and symbolic appeal. 

Every chance I would get, I would ask for permission to look through 

it, and Schwester Hilde would hand it to me with a knowing smile. 

Taking in the words, like a thirsty traveler after a long day in the 

desert, I looked for the songs which I knew already from my brown 

colored 'Telefunken' records at home. 

.....Again the whole mystique and appeal of National Socialism took 


Page 12 of 18 

11/5/2011


hold of me and shook me to the core. 

A tingling awareness of secrets and pathos went through my spine 

and solar plexus as I would envision myself amongst others in a 

stadium, blowing a fanfare, dressed in a "Hitler Youth" uniform, and 

the entire stadium trembled to the sounds of our instruments and 

resonated joyfully to the voices of thousands in song.... 

Having thus tuned into the recent past, it was only natural that 

uncle Ali's intelligent face would appear to my imagination and I 

would re-connect to his words. 

Oh, uncle Ali, if only he were around and I could talk to him about 

all that had happened to me since the last time I saw him! 

June 17th 1953 

Uprising against the Communist Regime 


Page 13 of 18 

11/5/2011


It was June 17, 1953 and we had walked after bathing in the Ostsee 

and eating Mittagessen at noon, which is when the main meal is 

served in Germany, to nearby Groemitz again. 

When we arrived at the promenade with all its stores we saw a 

display of newspapers from Luebeck and Hamburg with headlines 

telling us that there was a bloody revolution against the Communist 

regime in East-Berlin going on. 

We saw pictures of tanks and people laying dead or injured in the 

streets. 

It said that all borders 

leading into Berlin were closed 

off by the Communists and 

that there might be war. 

We were completely shook up 

and worried about not being 

able to get back to Berlin and 

thus becoming orphans. 

As much as we enjoyed our 

stay at Lensterhof, we didn't 

want to live there till we were 

old enough to be on our own. 


Page 14 of 18 

11/5/2011


I thought about my mother, grandparents, cousins and friends and 

about my movie-projector and records. 

Everything would be lost and I would never see any of them again. 

At least those were my thoughts and fears at the moment. 

Schwester Hilde tried to reassure us that everything would turn-out 

all right and that we shouldn't fear because we didn't know enough 

about the situation and whether it was even as bad as it sounded. 

She brought as an old radio and we would listen to the newsreports, 

trying to make sense of them and hoping that it was all a 

mistake. 

But it was exactly as it had said in the newspapers. East-Berlin and 

other cities in East-Germany were sealed off by Russian and East- 

German troops and tanks. 

The commentator said that the situation was 'grave' and that 

another war could become a possibility. 

Now, how do you think it made us feel, to hear these reports far 

away from home? 

Especially when 'home' was the place where all this was going on? 

It was Schwester Hilde's and the other sister's kind but disciplined 

and cool-headed firmness which got us through those days without 

too much emotional damage. 

Cool, calm and firm with kindness in the 

tone of their voices, they insisted that we 

continue our activities as if nothing had 

happened, and that we go bathing in the 

Ostsee and play 'explorer' in the forests 

and only talk about the ongoing events 

after listening to the radio in the 

evenings. 

They simply wouldn't allow any display 

of hysteria and made that as clear as a 

General before battle. 

And it worked! 

Gradually the weight of our fears would 

lift as we bravely faced the nightly broadcasts from Hamburg. 

Listening with almost no expectations, trying to understand some of 

the difficult words and statements of the news-casters, we then 

took-up the subject with Schwester Hilde and amongst each other. 

This way we could rationalize our fears, talk about them calmly and 

reassure each other effectively. 


Page 15 of 18 

11/5/2011


I can't remember exactly when the news came that a war had been 

avoided and that the borders were open again, but I do remember 

how overjoyed we were when we heard these words. 

Gradually we prepared ourselves to the fact that our return to Berlin 

was coming near. 

On the evening before our day of return, Schwester Hilde and the 

other sisters prepared a special song-fest for us and we went to 

sleep with the knowledge that Lensterhof was indeed a very special 

place and that the song with it's words: "Wir sind die Lensterhofer, 

wir sind vergnuegt und froh und wuenschen nur das eine es waere 

immer so," wasn't just rhetoric. 

The next morning came and our bus arrived to pick us up and bring 

us back to Berlin. 

I felt genuinely sad having to leave behind the glorious Baltic-Sea 

and Lensterhof along with the wonderful Schwestern, and especially 

Schwester Hilde. 

My 'HJ' knife was packed in my suitcase and I looked forward to 

Berlin with reluctant anticipation. 

After being kissed "good bye" on the forehead by Sister Hilde, I 

entered the bus smiling back bravely with tears rising in my eyes. 

Embarrassed, I looked away and noticed that other kids were 

struggling with the same emotions. 

The bus, then, took off as we waved our last "good-byes" through 

the windows. 


Page 16 of 18 

11/5/2011


The trip back went smoothly and even the dreaded border of 

Helmstaedt wasn't so awful the second time around. 

We had grown visibly, in character, self-reliance and even physical 

weight. 

Now we were already seasoned travelers ready to face our unknown 

future with confidence. 

Continue the journey to part XII 



Page 17 of 18 

11/5/2011

Gnostic Ch 12 


Part XII 


My mother, grandparents and friends were happy to see me and I was 

glad to see them. 

The only bothersome thing was that I had to go back to school for about 

one more week until our school-vacation started in the middle of July. 

Problems In School 

The class-room, teachers and other kids seemed more oppressive to me 

than ever before and I knew right then, my first day back, that I could 

never catch up, especially in math. 

I didn't understand one thing in math and had no clue as to what I could 

possibly do to improve this situation. 

The teacher and other kids might as well have talked Chinese, because 

that is what the symbols and letters of Geometry and Algebra looked like 

to me. 

When I returned home from school depressed and disgusted, I begged my 

mother to get me out of that school or I would run away from home and 

become a 'Gypsy.' 

She knew that I was quite serious about running away, as I explained to 

her, almost hysterical, what I had experienced in school and how I would 


Page 1 of 13 

11/5/2011


never be able to understand math. 

We agreed that I would stick it out for the rest of the week and that 

perhaps a tutor could bring me up to "standard." 

I wasn't sure at all that this was a solution, but figured that six weeks of 

school-vacation would give me plenty of time to work things out. 

Even A Tutor Couldn't Do It 

Across the street from us, in Axel's apartment house, lived a young man, 

probably seventeen years old, who went to the Gymnasium and was 

purported to be a real math whiz. 

My mother asked him if he would work with me and teach me math for 

some pocket money, and he agreed. 

So I started to meet with him in his apartment, and he went through the 

beginnings of Algebra and Geometry with me. Hating both, Algebra and 

Geometry, I felt completely frazzled trying to remember what he told me 

and to memorize the key rules which are absolutely necessary to know if 

one wanted to get anywhere in either subject. 

Daydreaming about what I could be doing instead of studying something 

for which I had absolutely no use, nothing seemed to sink in. 

After about a week of trying to comprehend something which I really 

didn't want to comprehend, I told my mother and my tutor that it was all 

of no use. I just wasn't going to do it anymore and waste my energy on 

something that had no place in my future. 

Telling my mother that I wanted to go to the other school, the 'Practical 

Zweig, or 'Pantoffelschule,' my mother must have realized that I wasn't 

cut out for the Technical Zweig, the school that I was in now, and 

reluctantly agreed that she would try to get me into the Practical Zweig. 

School or any other form of organized learning was never right for me, as 

I needed to study and explore freely wherever my spirit led me. 

Thus I thought it quite reasonable to choose the school with the least 

demands and intellectual confinement. 

And I still think, even today, that it was a good and right decision for me. 

Since it was school-vacation time, I didn't have to worry about my new 

school which would be the 'Zwillinge Schule' (Gemini School, a name 

deriving from the astrological sign because it was located in an area of 

streets with astronomical and astrological names). 

The school was located in a nice section of Neukoelln, down the 

Sonnenallee, past the unemployment office building complex and 

somewhat across from the S-Bahn station 'Koellnische Heide.' 


Page 2 of 13 

11/5/2011


Time Flies During Vacation 

Spending the school-vacation with my friends, playing in the streets and 

experimenting with my movie projector and phonograph, the weeks went 

by much to fast. 

Carmen told me how bad she felt that I had dropped-out from the 

Technical Zweig after she had heard about my dilemma. 

I explained to her my reasons but she still wasn't convinced. 

Being very scholastically inclined by nature, she couldn't understand how 

others, especially me, could have a difficult time with school. 

Thinking that I was just 'brilliant,' because of my wide ranging interests 

and fascinating stories, she almost cried trying to make me understand 

what I was 'throwing away.' 

Living in one room was awful, especially since I was going to be twelve 

years old in five month. 

But apartments were very hard to find unless one had connections. 

The city-government waiting list was endless and there was very little 

hope for my mother to find an apartment for us. One day my grandparents 

told my mother about a small apartment which actually was the living 

quarters attached to a shoemaker's store. 

The owner, Herr Diekmann, lived somewhere else and was willing to sublet 

the apartment to my mother. 

He was a customer of my grandfather's bicycle shop and in conversation 

heard about our need. 

Talking to my mother later, he told her that the apartment was in terrible 

shape and needed painting and other repairs, as well as cleaning. 

Besides that he had his leather sheets, some of which were something like 

six by four feet, stored there and needed to find room for them. 

Thus they agreed that my mother would have it painted and fixed up in 

November of that year. 

Prospects For Our Own Apartment 

The apartment was located in the Sonnenallee again. 

I think the number was 184, right across from a soccer-field, close to the 

'Thiemannstrasse.' 

It was a small apartment as I already mentioned, consisting of a large 

kitchen, a bathroom which would have to be shared with Herrn Diekmann 


Page 3 of 13 

11/5/2011


and his two employees, and a large living-room. 

Since it was located on the ground floor, which is called: parterre, it was 

cold and damp just as my grandparent's apartment. 

Still, it was better than renting just a room. 

Therefore we were quite happy to have found it. 

What made these apartments in old apartment buildings so cold was 

because the ceilings were so high up and all the heat from the customary 

coal oven made of tiles, called: 'Kachelofen,' would rise to the ceiling and 

leave the lower part of the room cold. 

Plus coal was expensive and we had to be careful as to how much we 

used. 

Needless to say, I had mixed emotions about the move because of having 

to leave behind my wonderful friends in the 'Schwartzastrasse'. 

The distance between the two places was considerable but one could walk 

there without much trouble. 

Still, despite this reasoning, I just knew that things wouldn't be the same 

after our move. 

My friends too were troubled by the prospect of my moving away. 

Fun - Mischief - Danger 

We enjoyed our summer vacation, going swimming in the 'Teltow Kanal' 

which was nearby and getting into other mischief. 

The canal was dangerous and dirty, as the water was deep right off the 

edge. 

We had inflatable tubes, tire-tubes, which helped, but I knew that there 

was real danger and never told my mother about swimming there. 

Stealing Coal 

(Kohlenklauen) 

We also used to steal coal which had fallen off the railroad trains or which 

was still in open wagons parked on side-tracks. 

Walking the tracks and carrying old potato sacks, we used to pick up 

every piece of coal from the ground or what we could reach from the 

wagons and stash it into the potato sacks. 

Actually there was quite a bit of coal to be found and we would bring it 

home like proud pirates carrying their bootie. The only real problem, 

beside the danger of getting run over by a train, was that it was against 

the law. 


Page 4 of 13 

11/5/2011


It was considered stealing as the coal belonged to the government railroad 

which was owned by East-Germany. 

All tracks and the land on which these tracks were located belonged to 

East-Germany through some kind of an agreement by the allied 

occupation government. 

There used to be a special railroad police force, who worked for and were 

paid by East-Germany. 

They wore black uniforms and were usually quite nasty if they caught 

somebody stealing coal or even just walking on the tracks. And they 

certainly didn't like kids fooling around on 'their' tracks. 

We were never caught, but came close a few times. 

One time we were walking along the tracks with our eyes focused on the 

ground, when we suddenly heard somebody calling out to us. 

Startled, but knowing instantly who it was, we started to look for an 

escape route. 

Seeing that we could only run in the forward direction, we started to run 

ahead as quickly as we could with our half filled bags. 

The track came to a bridge which went over the canal. Unfortunately the 

bridge was only built as a means for the train to get over the canal below 

and not for pedestrians or other traffic. 

Thus there was a wide gap between the wooden boards or planks (I don't 

know what they are called correctly) underneath the the steel rails, and a 

child our age could have fallen through them into the canal. 

Of course we were afraid to cross the bridge, but had little choice not to 

cross over the gaps by jumping from board to board, short of being caught 

by the 'railroad police.' 

This is not the bridge I mentioned in my story, 

but it is the same canal, the Teltow Kanal in Berlin Neukoelln 


Page 5 of 13 

11/5/2011


The cops, there were three of them, stopped chasing us when they saw 

what we were going to do. Perhaps they were worried that we would fall 

and they would get some of the blame. We made it safely across, out of 

breath and with shaking knees, looking back defiantly although this was 

more show then with any true feelings of triumph. We had beaten the 

"system" successfully, but it was a victory we would have rather done 

without. Little did our families know that the coal-pieces in our potato 

sacks could have nearly cost us our lives. 

The 'Gasanstalt' 

Another time when I came close to death or at least loosing a limb, was 

when we, as we often did, played near the huge Gas-Kokerie, called: 

'Neukoellner Gasanstalt' which was located right across the street from my 

grandparent's bicycle shop. 

One could always smell the gas in the air in that particular area of 

Neukoelln. 

This huge plant converted coal into gas which was used to cook in most 

households, apartments and street-lights. 

Anyhow, we used to go way back where the coal was stored behind a wall 

and cranes were operating to dig up the coal from huge stockpiles and 

carry it from there to the gas-production facilities further inside the same 

property. 

These cranes were up very high and moved about on rails. 

It just happened that one rail was in front of the wall and one could watch 

the large wheels, three in a row, attached to a kind of steel box, move up 

and down on this rail according to the direction the crane was going in. 

Fascinating stuff for boys of any age and especially fascinating to us, 

bored and looking for something to explore. 

Soon we were taking turns riding on the metal box above the wheels of 

this crane. 

I had played there before and was familiar with all aspects of this single 

track and therefore much inclined to show off in front of the others. 

First sitting on the box as it slowly moved down the track I soon stood up 

and started to climb up the steel contraption coming out of the box and 

leading way up to the probably four story above the ground rail on which 

the crane could move even as the wheels below moved in a different 

direction. 

It's difficult to explain the set-up and I'm not even going to try. But as I 

climbed about eight feet up, I lost my grip and fell upon the box landing 


Page 6 of 13 

11/5/2011


more or less on my butt. 

Having lost my balance from surprise and pain, I tried to stand up and fell 

off the box head first hitting the rail and tumbling somewhat to a position 

parallel to the track with the wheels moving slowly towards my left arm 

which was on the track. 

Axel had watched the whole thing happening and was quickly by my side, 

grabbing me by my right arm and pulling me more to the side away from 

the track. 

Split seconds later the crane wheel was rolling over where my arm had 

been. 

Axel had saved my arm through his quick reaction and cool head, and 

perhaps even my life. 

All of us were completely stunned and still couldn't comprehend what 

really had happened. 

I must have been in a state of shock, because I felt nothing, no pain nor 

fear, but began laughing hysterically to deflect from my embarrassment, 

which is the only thing I felt at the moment. 

Gradually I began to feel a dull throbbing pain on my forehead where I 

had landed on the rail. 

Touching it I could feel a lump and saw some blood on my dirty hand. 

Suddenly I wanted to cry very badly, but didn't dare to in front of my 

friends. 

Fighting away my tears, I told the others that we should go home as I 

wanted to clean up and hide the accident from my mother. 

It was so embarrassing to be around my friends looking like I thought I 

looked, all covered in soot and a huge 'horn' on my forehead, walking 

through the neighborhood back home. 

But I managed to get 'hold of myself' and make it to our room at the 

Schwartza Strasse without 'breaking down.' 

Unfortunately my mother was home and saw me before I could clean up. 

She screamed and couldn't believe what she saw. 

Looking in a mirror I couldn't believe what I saw either. 

My face was black and bloody from my dirty, coal and blood smeared 

hands, with which I had tried to wipe away my emerging tears and feel 

the, by now huge, lump on my forehead. 

Seeing myself thus in the mirror and having my mother's sympathy I 

broke out into free-flowing tears with sobs shaking my whole body. 

My mother hugged me and held me and I finally told her the truth about 

what had happened. 


Page 7 of 13 

11/5/2011


She couldn't believe that we were roaming around in that area and that 

the crane-wheels were accessible outside of the fence. 

She soon went over to Axel's apartment and thanked him for what he had 

done. 

....If she had only known what other dangers we had survived! 

Sometimes, though, ignorance and 'not knowing' is truly bliss. 

Rescue-Operation: 

'Reichsparteitagsalbum 1936' 

Another occasion, of which she never knew, was when I went on my bike 

into East-Berlin to pick up a Nazi photo album about the 'Reichsparteitag 

1936' (Reich's Party Congress in Nurnberg 1936). 

I can not remember how I found out about the oversized Nazi book, nor 

can I remember who it was that owned it. Perhaps they were distant 


Page 8 of 13 

11/5/2011


relatives or friends of relatives. Why they would tell me about it and 

expose me to the danger of bringing it through East-Berlin and then 

through the border-checks of the 'Volkspolizei,' is still a riddle to me. 

And not only that: but had I been caught with the album, they too, more 

so than I, would have been in deep trouble. 

The possession of Nazi books, pictures and artifacts like flags, posters or 

emblems was a criminal offense in the Communist East and punished with 

imprisonment. 

These laws were in effect in West-Germany also, to a degree, but I don't 

think they were as strict with them as the Communists in East-Germany in 

those days. 

This Sign Was Posted At Every Border Crossing 

In order to get the album I had to cross over into East-Berlin through the 

same border crossing which we used to get to my grandparent's 

'Schrebergarten' (gardenplot). 

Two "Vopo's" (people's 

police) were standing at the 

border eying me on my bike 

with bored indifference 

without even stopping me. 

Riding past them I had to 

continue up the 'Dammweg' 

into Treptow. 

Further up the road I had to 

make a left turn and keep on 

going for quite some distance 

until I found the address I 

was looking for. 

Ringing the downstairs bell, with the button right next to the name I was 


Page 9 of 13 

11/5/2011


looking for, I heard the loud hum which released the building entrance 

door lock. 

Pushing the door open I went up two flights where an older man was 

waiting for me. 

Inviting me to come in, he went to get the album from another room. 

Coming back and holding the almost brand new looking album I couldn't 

believe that it would soon be mine. 

Telling the man, whom I had never met before, that I thought it best if I 

stuck the album in the back of my shirt, I opened my pants and he pushed 

the album up my back between my undershirt and dress-shirt. 

Tightening my belt and pants again the album was secure on my back. 

After shaking hands and wishing me good-luck, the man escorted me 

back into the stairway and closed his apartment door. 

My bike was downstairs in the stairway where I had left it and I pushed it 

out through the entrance door onto the sidewalk. Getting on my bike in 

the street, I knew that the difficult part of my 'rescue operation' had just 

begun. 

The man at the apartment had reassured me that the album was not 

visible with my jacket on but I was still worried that it might shift sideways 

and then could be seen by the Vopos. 

This worry became more and more pronounced in my mind, the closer I 

got to the border-crossing. 

To my dismay I saw two different cops there who looked more eager than 

the previous two. 

In fact they had stopped somebody else on a bike and were looking 

through his briefcase when I got real close to them. My heart almost 

stopped, I just knew that I would be caught and go to prison or even to 

Russia! 

One of them stepped away from the man with the briefcase and, holding 

his hand up, motioned me to stop. Feeling a sudden need to cry and 

confess my 'crime,' I nevertheless knew that I had to hold on to my 

emotions and remain in control of myself. 

The 'Vopo' came close to me and with a sing-song Saxonian dialect 

(which is very distinctive like a 'southern twang' in the US) asked me 

where I was going. Perhaps he thought that I lived in East-Berlin and was 

going to the West to visit or bring stuff back into East-Berlin. 

I told him that I had visited my grandparent's garden in the 'Kolonie Roter 

Stern' and was on my way back home in West-Berlin. 

He looked at me, scrutinizing me like I was a real threat to the East- 

German government at my tender age of twelve, and then, seeming 


Page 10 of 13 

11/5/2011


almost reluctant, waved me through without a further word. 

With my legs shaking and heart pounding like a drum into my ears, I 

stepped down on the pedals while getting on the bike's seat. 

After pedaling a few steps I was in West-Berlin. 

Not looking back even once, I continued to pedal like crazy, thinking that 

they might still come after me. 

Finally I felt safe enough to slow down and continue on my way home 

drenched in sweat and out of breath, already anticipating the wonderful 

pictures in the album. 

I don't think my mother ever knew about the book and my 'rescue 

operation, as she would have never allowed me to go into East-Berlin to 

get it. 

So the album became another object I had to conceal and hide from her. 

The album was a treasure indeed, with lots and lots of glossy pictures and 

I went through it, page by page, like it was the 'holy of holies.' 

Since the album came in a neutral looking box it was easy to hide 

amongst my other books, comic books and collector's albums. 

Of course I couldn't wait to show it to my friends. 

Soon they too were looking through it in awe, admiringly asking me about 

all the details of my daring 'rescue operation' making me feel like a hero. 

August came, and with it the end of our school-vacation. 

Having arranged my transfer from the 'Technical Zweig,' to the 'Practical 

Zweig,' my mother still couldn't reconcile herself to the fact that I had to 

attend the 'Pantoffelschule.' 

Of course it was as embarrassing, as having to stay back in school, but I 


Page 11 of 13 

11/5/2011


didn't care and saw it as the lesser of two evils (school in general and 

attending a school for 'dummies'). 

Riding my bike down the 'Sonnenallee,' I was happy to have the dreaded 

'Technical Zweig' behind me and looked forward to do as little as possible 

in the new school. 

To Continue The Journey Go To Page 13 



Page 12 of 13 

11/5/2011



Part XIII 


Zwillingeschule and Herr Gueth 

Our teacher was a one-legged, chain-smoking, war veteran named 

Herr Gueth. 

His full name was Gustav Gueth and he was a Socialist in the Marxist 

sense. 

We didn't like each other right from the beginning. 

I don't know what it was about him that I despised but it definitely 

wasn't his smoking in the class-room. 

In fact, if I could find anything likeable about him I would have to 

say that it was his smoking, as I always, from the earliest days of 

my childhood, loved the smell of cigarettes, cigars or pipe smoke 

and couldn't wait to be old and daring enough to buy my own 

cigarettes and smoke to my heart's content. 

No, this man rubbed me the wrong way, perhaps, because he was a 

pronounced 'proletarian,' who constantly raved about the evils of 

National Socialism. 

Somehow he must have sensed my spiritual and mental connection 

to the 'Third Reich,' and detested me probably even more than I 

detested him. 

His hair was long and combed back in a way which was highly 

unusual in those days and only worn like that by Communists and 

radical Socialists. 

Most of the time he was unshaven and bushy hair grew out of his 

nose and ears. In other words, he looked exactly like the image he 

wanted to project, which was that of a member of that dubious class 

in orthodox Marxism called 'Proletariat.' 

Wearing cheap suits without tie, but with the shirt collar folded over 

the suit jacket collar, he looked exactly like many of the 

functionaries in East Berlin. 

The prostheses on the above the knee stump of his left leg must 


Page 1 of 40 

11/5/2011


have given him some incredible pain, as he had to remove it 

sometimes during class. 

Occasionally, when he was in the right frame of mind, he would tell 

us about his 'Landser' (Soldier) days on the Russian Front. 

But even those stories seemed distorted to me because he 

constantly interjected them with derogatory comments about the 

German Army. 

Still, despite my doubts, I did learn quite a bit about the war on the 

Eastern Front from his stories. 

He talked about the incredibly deep mud, after the late spring thaw, 

which made it virtually impossible to even walk through it as it would 

swallow up people and equipment. 

Also he spoke about the merciless execution of partisans when they 

were caught and how he loathed that practice, because he 

sympathized with them. 

Yet he failed to point out that these 'partisans' would do the same 

thing to any German soldier, no matter what his political beliefs 

were. 

Being one of those people who see things only in black and white, 

everything he told us seemed tainted by his perspective of a Marxist 

'true believer'. Thus the partisans were from his viewpoint the good 

guys and the German soldiers were the bad guys. 

Even as a child I could see through his propaganda talks and would 

sometimes ask him uncomfortable questions which visibly upset him. 

After one of his talks I asked him: "Why are you living in West 

Berlin instead of East Berlin?" 

To which he replied something like, "I am a Socialist, a Social 

Democrat and would never have anything to do with those 

Stalinists." 

...Which seemed very contradictory to me since he praised the 

Soviet 'partisans' who killed German soldiers behind the lines, and 

had nothing but praise for the Soviet Union during the war. 

He definitely didn't strike me as the same type of 'Social 

Democrat' my grandfather was. 

Anyhow, this Gustav Gueth wasn't my type of teacher and I would 

do anything to either ignore him or prove him wrong. 

Many of the kids from my old school, the Hertzberg-Schule, were in 

the same class with me at the 'Zwillinge-Schule,' which made it easy 

for me to adjust. 


Page 2 of 40 

11/5/2011


Our class was planning a two week trip to a city children's vacation 

home located directly by the 'Wannsee,' the famous Berlin lake I 

mentioned earlier. 

The trip was planned for the last two weeks of November 1953, and 

we were to live in a former 'Nazi mansion' right next to the 

Wannsee. 

I looked forward to this trip because it got me away from school and 

structured learning. 

Although I didn't particularly feel comfortable living in such close 

quarters with this teacher and some of his Marxist favorites, I still 

viewed the positive aspects, such as not having any school, as more 

enticing than the negative ones. 

Schulheim Wannsee 

A traumatic experience 

The day of our departure by bus to our vacation home at the 

Wannsee had arrived. 

It was a typical November day, dreary, rainy and cold. 

Our class met at the Zwillinge School with small suitcases containing 

necessities we would need for the next two weeks. 

A typical travel bus pulled up and we went onboard. 

The ride to our destination took only about an hour, but we enjoyed 

it nevertheless. 

The villa or estate where we were going to live, was beautiful and 

located right by the famous Wannsee. 

We could even see the familiar but empty 'Strandbad Wannsee' 

across the lake. 

The official name for our temporary home was 'Schulheim Wannsee' 

as it was thus designated a vacation home for school classes on a 

rotating basis. 

If my memory serves me right, food was brought in in thermos 

containers from the same central kitchen from which we received 

our 'Schulspeisung,' our noon meal, at school. 

Except, of course, we received three meals instead which were 

better than the simple soups we got at school. 

There were no 'nurses' or other 'Pflegepersonal' there and everything 


Page 3 of 40 

11/5/2011


was basically the responsibility of the teachers. 

Besides our regular teacher, Herrn Gueth, another teacher, who was 

our sports teacher, Herr Siedpohl, came also along to help oversee 

the operation. 

He was also a Marxist socialist and member of the socialist party's 

youth organization 'Die Falken,' which means 'the falcons.' 

I knew this from the 'bonbon,' the pin he was usually wearing on his 

sports jacket. 

Unlike Herrn Gueth's appearance, he was always neat looking with 

an almost military demeanor, looking more like a former Hitler Youth 

leader than a Marxist 'Falcon.' 

We were bunked in various rooms of about four to six bunk-beds. 

Every morning, after sandwiches for breakfast, we went on long 

walks through the adjacent forest of the 'Grunewald,' exploring 

Nikolskoe and the Pfaueninsel as well as all kinds of interesting 

sights, like the Russian-Orthodox Church built by the former German 

Kaiser for the Russian community in Germany. 

Herr Gueth had a terrible time with his prosthesis and could only 

occasionally join our long hikes. Usually it was Herr Siedpohl who 

marched with us. 

He was a good guy and I liked him despite his political leanings. 

In retrospect, I believe that our vacation home, the former 'Nazi 

villa,' was the famous or infamous place where the 'Wannsee 

Conference' took place. 

But I can't be sure. 


Page 4 of 40 

11/5/2011


Picture of me at Schulheim Wannsee November 26, 1953 

taken on my twelfth birthday which was also the day we left to 

return home. 

The flowers in my hand were given to me for my birthday. 

In background is the former 'Nazi' villa where we stayed. 

Usually, after our daytime hikes, we would gather around in a circle 

at night and have talks and even on occasion perform little actingskids. 

While performing in various skids, I discovered my love for acting. 

Even Herr Gueth, who usually treated me like a non-entity, 

mentioned my acting abilities to the group in reference to some 

skids by others which were just awful. 

Being neither 'popular,' nor liked by ones teacher, it was especially 

difficult for me to get up in front of all the others and 'perform' and I 

was thus very pleased with Herrn Gueth's comment. 

I had about four or five friends in my class, one of whom was Lutz 

Jewert. 

He is the one who told me one day in a discussion about National 

Socialism, that his father had told him Hitler would be viewed as the 

greatest statesman ever in about fifty years. 

Lutz was a little on the heavy side and a member of a Catholic 

German boy scout group. 

The other three or four I can only recall faintly. -But we were all 


Page 5 of 40 

11/5/2011


'outcasts' from the main group for one reason or another. 

This was also the first time we went to school with girls in the same 

classroom. Most girls seemed to like me because I was 'sensitive' 

and well mannered. 

Unfortunately it is here where I had a problem which would affect 

me for the rest of my life. 

" You ugly freak..." 

It was what is usually called a 'traumatic experience.' -One of those 

ugly incidents which leave a mark on one's perception and abilities 

forever. 

Of course this was the second incident of this nature. 

The first one being my 'explorations' with Helga in Erkner. 

Anyhow, what happened was something quite innocent. 

There was this girl in our class who looked to me very beautiful and 

whenever I thought she wasn't looking, I watched her, admiring her 

beauty. 

Then while we were at this trip, she confronted me and told me that 

she didn't want me to stare at her anymore, because she thought I 

was the ugliest freak in the whole world, or something like that. 

I must have 'died' that very instant, embarrassed to the point of 

death by her vicious, cruel reaction to my secret admiration. 

From this point on in my life I became to 'dislike' women. 

Not hate women, mind you, but more like fear women for the power 

they have over one's emotions. 

Over the years and decades, this has of course changed, but I still, 

to this day, remember her words and the effect they had on me. 

And if I linger too long in those dark realms of memory, I still feel 

my solar plexus become weak and numb and my face turn red with 

embarrassment. 

Strange as it seems, I can't remember her name, only that she was 

the daughter of a glass-installation contractor who had a store on 

the 'Sonnenallee.' 

As I already had an inferiority complex, this incident made it even 

worse. 

Observing myself in a mirror, I decided that my head was much too 

big and that my nose also was big and ugly and my body scrawny. 

Thus, I came to see myself as a freak and became even more of an 


Page 6 of 40 

11/5/2011


outcast. 

Girls became to me unattainable even as friends, because of my 

ugliness and I can only marvel at what ever spirits guided and 

protected me that I didn't commit suicide or become a 'serial killer' 

like Bundy. 

Perhaps it is genes or predisposition, but I never even hated 

women. 

Instead they became entities as far removed from my universe as 

mathematics and I learned to avoid them at all cost. 

When today I hear about men like Theodore Bundy and the 

incredible hatred they had for women, I often wonder what kind of 

experiences with women made them into the 'monsters' they 

became. 

Not having a father figure around with whom one could discuss this 

type of traumatic experience, might make it even worse since there 

was no one to ease one's self perception and thus lessen the trauma 

through the reassurance only a male to male talk could provide. 

Locked into the depths of mind and soul, those kind of negative 

experiences with the opposite sex can easily grow into rage, 

murderous rage, against anyone resembling the offender. 

Therefore I count myself 'lucky' and protected that it didn't drive me 

into this direction. 

Perhaps the reason was, that I had already acquired a certain 

spiritual depths and the dim perception that other girls liked me 

despite my 'ugliness.' 

Hannelore Schink 

I become a 'Vertrauensschueler.' 

One girl, Hannelore Schink, was sitting next to me in class. 

She was very pretty and not part of the 'popular' group of kids. 

She was also deep and very kind-hearted and helped me a lot with 

my home-work by letting me copy hers. 

Of course, after the experience with the girl in Wannsee, I wouldn't 

trust myself to make too much of Hannelore's friendliness towards 

me. 

I didn't dare to assume that she really liked me... 

....And how could she, with me being a 'freak' and so ugly? 

She even let me copy her tests so that I could pass from seventh to 

eight's grade and I still didn't even dare to look her into the eyes. 


Page 7 of 40 

11/5/2011


How sad! 

During every school year, there was an election for 

'Vertrauensschueler,' which is a class representative, and in eighth 

grade I was elected to this position mostly with the votes from the 

girls in my class. 

Herr Gueth was livid with anger at the results of our voting. 

Even worse, I hadn't even thought of becoming a classrepresentative! 

Not even in my most secret dreams would I have wanted to be 

drawn into this kind of 'official' position. 

--Not me this ugly freak with abysmal grades! 

Yet, the girls liked me and put my name up as a candidate and I 

won. 

And Herr Gueth, speaking with disdain about my election, claimed 

that personality alone was not the issue, but that a 

'Vertrauensschueler' should be an example with excellent grades 

also. 

So not only did I have to fight my own inferiority complex, but also 

count on the non-support of my teacher. 

What a hellish situation for an ugly freak like me! 

Hannelore Schink was the main drive behind this coup against 

tradition and teacher, because she liked me and saw me in a 

completely different light than I saw myself. 

Of course I know this now, because 'then' I wouldn't allow myself to 

even consider that she had a crush on me. 

Sometimes during class she would even put her leg next to mine, or 

her arm over the backrest of my seat and I, feeling all tingly and 

warm, wouldn't admit that it was anything else than a comfortable 

position for her. 

But this is all way ahead of the story. 

Going back to 'Wannsee' and the seventh grade, my life had become 

ugly and almost unbearable due to a few sharp words spoken by an 

annoyed girl. 

The rest of our days there are nothing but a daze in my memory as 

I would have liked to crawl away from it all into oblivion. 


Page 8 of 40 

11/5/2011


New Apartment at Sonnenallee 184 

November 1953 

We returned to the school where parents picked everyone up. 

My mother was there with the good news that our new apartment 

was ready and that she had already moved us in. 

As I already mentioned, it was right next to a shoe-repair place 

owned by Herrn Diekmann, consisting of a living room which also 

served as a bedroom at night, with my mother sleeping on the sofa 

while I would sleep an opened fold-away bed. 

There was also a kitchen and a bathroom which we shared with 

Herrn Diekmann and his two employees during the day. 

The place was always very cold because the 'Kachelofen,' the tiled 

huge coal-stove, couldn't throw off enough heat for the extremely 

high-ceiling in this old apartment. 

If I remember correctly, the ceiling must have been 12 or 14 feet 

high. 

Like all of these old apartment houses it was a 'cold-water' flat. 

Which means that there was no hot water. 

In the bathroom was a coal-fired water-heater which had to be fired 

up in order to have hot water for a bath. Naturally we could only 

afford to do this perhaps once a week. 

The rest of the time we would have to wash up with cold water or 

water heated in a kettle on the kitchen gas-stove. 

As the kitchen had no heat, we used to turn on the gas burners on 

top of the stove to wash up in the mornings. Nevertheless, we had 

our own place and didn't have to share an apartment with somebody 

else. 

Herr Diekmann and his two employees were no bother as they only 

used the bathroom and went home shortly after five in the 

evenings. 

Every weekday I would ride my bike to and from school and keep it 

in the small hallway of our apartment. 

The huge window of our living room was about four feet off the 

ground, facing the 'Sonnenallee.' 

I could watch hundreds of people walking by and overhear their 


Page 9 of 40 

11/5/2011


conversations, which could be quite interesting. 

We used to have an easy chair which matched the sofa, and in this 

easy chair I used to sit, right by the window and read books which I 

had either borrowed from the public library in the Ganghofer Strasse 

or from two private libraries where I had to pay for the books I 

rented. 

Also I still loved the 'Mickey Mouse' and 'Nick Knatterton' detective 

comics. 

Besides those, there used to be a magazine for kids called: 

'Rasselbande.' 

It too was the German edition of an American magazine which had 

distant connections to the Bahai'i faith with a New York City address. 

Alternating between books on Theosophy, Biographies of Hitler, 

Tesla, Thomas Edison and children's novels by Enid Blayton and 

comic books, my life was already guiding me into my future 

interests. 

Some people might call it 'unhealthy' for a 'child' to read so much 

and to neglect all those things deemed appropriate by public 

consensus, but I found in books what I couldn't find in life, 

adventure and intelligent friends. 

Another very influential book was called 'Bastelbuch fuer Kinder,' or 

something like that. It was huge and contained a lot of projects 

which one could work on to build things which we otherwise couldn't 

afford. 

...Such as camera-boxes, tips on the right lenses for projectors of 

various kind, telescopes, record players, ear-phones, telephone 

experiments, radio experiments, even the foundations of television 

experiments and much more. 

Onkel Werner and Tante Martel had given me this book as a 

birthday gift and it was probably one of my most valued book 

possessions next to the Nazi book I rescued from East Berlin. 

Other books I loved were Mark Twain's 'Tom Sawyer,' 'Huckleberry 

Finn', 'The Yearling' by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, and 'Robinson 

Crusoe'... 

I also used to go to all the used book stores and stands in the 

vicinity of Neukoelln, such as Tempelhof, Kreutzberg, Schoeneberg, 

and Staeglitz, searching for unusual books ranging from spirituality 

to surviving Nazi books. 

Most of the time I couldn't afford the price but sometimes I did find 

some cheap books which I would buy. 


Page 10 of 40 

11/5/2011


I even found some Nazi propaganda books with lots of stimulating 

pictures which would land one today in a German prison. 

One of my favorite writers has always been the American Thomas 

Wolfe. 

Through much luck I even found some old volumes of his novels and 

devoured them as soon as I got home. 

His novel 'Look Homeward Angel' left a deep impression on me. 

Also quite a few other American writers stimulated my interest in 

America and the American perspective on life. 

Mark Twain's 'Tom Sawyer' and 'Huckleberry Finn,' and other books 

by him were like gasoline poured on fire to me. 

I remember writing a letter to "Twentieth Century Fox" begging 

them to make Mark Twain's books into movies. 

Of course, I never received an answer. 

Since we had no television in those days and since I didn't bother 

much with home-work, I had lots of time to read to my heart's 

content and also experiment more with electricity and 

communications equipment that I had bought cheaply from 'Atzert 

Radio', a large electronics store close to the Anhalter-Bahnhof. 

These experiments sometimes not only blew our fuses but the fuses 

in the whole apartment house, including Herrn Diekman's store. 

He would come running into the hallway and holler something 

like:"Holger, you rascal, did you blow the fuses again?" Then he 

would laugh and replace the fuses with faked anger. 

A sample picture of how we looked in the 1950's 

Every day I would ride my bike to visit my friends at 'Schwartza 

Strasse,' and we would all play as we used to when I lived there. 

...But gradually my visits there became less and less as things are 


Page 11 of 40 

11/5/2011


when one moves away from a former neighborhood. 

We were still good friends, but somehow my move had alienated me 

from them and I didn't feel quite right there. Also my need to read 

as much as I possibly could, in order to satisfy my curiosity about 

life and the conflicts within my soul, lead me to spend more and 

more time with my books and experiments. 

Scharnhorst Jugend 

Always remembering what Uncle Ali had told me and driven by an 

inner desire to 'Know,' I did everything I could to find material 

related to Spirituality, Religion and National Socialism. 

My dream was to contact the SRP (Sozialistische Reichs Partei) and 

see if they had a youth movement. 

When I finally found out that they had been outlawed by the 

government, I was devastated. 

Not far from us was a newspaper kiosk which carried papers as 

varied as the Jewish paper in Germany (I forgot the name), 

Communist newspapers as well as quite a few 'far right' publications, 

such as 'Nation Europa, Deutsche Woche, Der Stahlhelm, National 

Zeitung, Soldaten Zeitung, Reichsruf and later also 'Deutsche Sozial 

Zeitung (Otto Strasser's publication after returned to Germany from 

Canada). 

Plus they had an extensive supply of UFO papers with lots of articles 

about Adamsky and Theosophical and other mystical publications of 

any group imaginable. 

Sometimes I would spend literally hours looking at them and 

wishing that I could afford to buy them all. 

Of course those were the days when people still read extensively and 

actually spent money to inform themselves. Thus publications like 

this flourished. 

The owners of this kiosk were quite friendly towards me, perhaps 

puzzled by my insatiable interest in their material for sale, as even in 

those days of no television it was quite unusual to find a young boy 

of my age interested in those off-beat newspapers and magazines. 

After more than a years time, I probably had sampled them all and 


Page 12 of 40 

11/5/2011


decided to write to some of their addresses to inquire whether they 

had a youth organization. 

Some didn't respond at all and some responded with further 

addresses to write to. 

When I wrote to the 'Der Stahlhelm' which is a publication of the 

'Bund Deutscher Frontsoldaten,' (Similar to the VFW in the US), they 

sent me an application for membership with such questions of where 

and when I had served in the German Army and on what front. 

When I received that response, I became very nervous not knowing 

how to reply. 

Finally I wrote to them a letter explaining that I was only thirteen 

years old and that I wanted to know about a youth organization. 

They responded with an apology and a name and address in Berlin. 

The youth organization of the 'Stahlhelm' was called the 

'Scharnhorst Jugend,' and it's leader in Berlin was a man named 

Peter Koehler. 

I was ecstatic! 

Success finally. 

Soon after this letter arrived I rode my bike on a lengthy trip to 

Berlin-Lichterfelde to meet Peter Koehler. 

When I arrived at the address, I saw a whole bunch of bikes outside 

the small apartment house and became a little anxious about having 

to face a whole group of strangers who would not only observe me 

with curiosity but perhaps even judge whether I could join or not. 

As it turned out, there were about six people in Peter's apartment of 

which only one room was his own. 

He was an 'Untermieter' and only rented one room from the elderly 

couple who owned the apartment. 

Peter Koehler was a student at the 'Freie Universitaet' who looked 

and acted exactly as I had imagined. 

Being about twenty-six years old and a former Hitler Youth leader, 

he radiated discipline and order, but also a kind of easy going 

friendliness. 

Of course to me at my young age, a twenty-six year old man 

seemed ancient and I was instantly awed by his military bearing and 

demeanor, as well as by his telling me that he was a former Hitler 

Youth leader. 

I was invited to sit on Peter's bed and he asked me all about myself 

and how I had found him and his organization. The others there 


Page 13 of 40 

11/5/2011


were listening intently and one of them stood out especially . 

His name was Peter Kreiss and he was about the same age as Peter 

Koehler. 

But this Peter Kreiss seemed secretive and cold. 

His outfit, a black uniform made him look like an SS man. 

Something about him was foreboding looking and almost menacing. 

Despite my misgivings about Peter Kreiss, he seemed to like me and 

I would get to like him later. 

We were discussing various subjects which eventually led us to talk 

about spirituality, Hitler and the occult connection to the Nazi 

movement. 

Peter Koehler was very knowledgeable in all subjects but seemed 

especially interested in my opinion regarding spirituality. 

I related some of my experiences with visions and clairaudience 

which fascinated him. 

Also my knowledge concerning Theosophy and Gnosticism seemed to 

impress him considerably. 

After about two hours, Peter dismissed the meeting and invited me 

to return next week. 

I was overjoyed and happy beyond description when I rode my bike 

home. 

Finally I had found what I was looking for, new friends, who were 

like me! 

When the next meeting came up, I couldn't wait to get there. 

Again we were in Peter's room and many things were discussed. 

One interesting subject was that the 'Scharnhorst Jugend' had 

rented an apartment in Kreutzberg, Urbanstrasse. Since that was not 

very far from where I lived in Neukoelln the prospect of being so 

close to the 'action,' was just unbelievable to me. 

What luck, to live so close! 

Why Kreutzberg was chosen for an apartment seemed difficult to 

understand, because this area of Berlin is absolutely Communist and 

'proletarian,' and very hostile to any right-wing movement. 

In other words, it was an area where one could get his 'ass' whipped 

just for wearing our grey shirted uniforms with a black, white and 

red scarf worn in boy-scout fashion. 

We also wore dark shorts or long pants according to the seasons 

and military belts with German army locks that had the inscription of 

'Gott Mit Uns.' 


Page 14 of 40 

11/5/2011


Peter had just told me about the uniform and asked me to get one 

from him for some nominal amount of money that same day. 

He also gave me a pin in the shape of a shield which had a black 

cross with a golden crown on a white background. 

Good God, I was a member now! I couldn't believe my luck! 

A picture of a 'Pimpf' of the HJ could illustrate our 'Scharnhorst 

Jugend' looks. 

Our next meeting was to be already at the new location so close to 

my home. 

When I got home that day, I begged my mother to give me the 

money to buy my uniform through Peter Koehler. 

In fact I had to explain to her all about the 'Scharnhorst Jugend' 

and my connection to it, since I had not mentioned it to her before, 

knowing that she would react fearfully and negatively. 

Using all my 'charm' and 'inspired eloquence', I finally convinced her 

that this was not a Nazi organization, but part of the renown 

'Stahlhelm.' 

She relented reluctantly and gave me the twenty or so Marks to 

give to Peter next week. 

Of course the 'Scharnhorst Jugend' wasn't Nazi oriented, because, as 

I found out later, to my dismay, they were Monarchists and Peter's 

favorite 'royal-house' were the 'Welfs,' or die 'Welfen.' 

This would eventually become a big issue with me and some others, 

especially Peter Kreiss, and we would break away from the 


Page 15 of 40 

11/5/2011


'Scharnhorst Jugend' for that reason. 

I had no use for Monarchs or Monarchy as my outlook was already 

more 'socialist' than conservative. 

Coming from a very humble background, how could I, in all honesty 

justify a conservative agenda, not to even speak of a Monarchy. 

Even in my admiration of National Socialism, it was the 'Socialism' 

which attracted me the most. 

Of course this 'Socialism' is not the same as Marxist Socialism, but 

has many things in common with it anyhow. 

...It is 'Folkish' Socialism where the entire Nation is seen as an 

organic whole where everybody contributes to the whole to the best 

of his abilities and receives 'social security' in return. 

Perhaps the American term 'Populism' could describe somewhat what 

this form of non-Marxist Socialism is all about. 

To be blunt, I found Monarchism repulsive beyond description and 

still do so today. 

Pictures of me at age 14, long after my 'Scharnhost Jugend' days, 

but I was still wearing my pin because I liked the way it looked. 

Riding my bike down the Sonnenallee to the 'Hermanplatz,' and then 

down the Urbanstrasse I looked anxiously around to find the given 

address. 


Page 16 of 40 

11/5/2011


The Street was getting more and more proletarian, with drunks 

stumbling along the curbs and dirty children playing in the streets. 

Eventually I saw a person with a black uniform standing in a huge, 

old-fashioned doorway. 

This is not the actual building, but it looks a lot like the place 

where we had our meetings. 

It was Peter Kreis on 'guard duty.' 

This guard duty was a tradition taken over from the 'fighting days' of 

the Hitler Youth. 

Where a guard was posted outside a meeting in order to warn the 

group from approaching danger, like Communist agitators or other 

hostile elements. 

So Peter Kreiss stood there 'stramm' like a soldier guarding an 

ammunition depot in enemy territory. 

I was impressed and also somewhat scared. 

The thought that I might have to stand there too and physically 

defend our apartment, made me uneasy, to say the least. 

Greeting Peter, he told me where to go. The apartment was in the 

'hinterhof' area, which means actually, the second court-yard, on the 

parterre (street level). 

I rang the bell after locking my bike in the yard area, and somebody 

answered the door. 

Our greeting was 'Heil Scharnhorst,' and after exchanging the 


Page 17 of 40 

11/5/2011


greeting, I was invited in. 

It was a cold-water flat like my home and looked desolate, dark and 

depressing. 

Peter Koehler and the others were already there and a few boys 

which I hadn't met yet came after me. 

All in all we had about ten people there. 

One boy came with his father and Peter seemed very respectful 

towards both. 

The boy was only about ten years old and his name was Olaf. 

I heard through the grapevine later that the father was a high 

ranking former military officer who had just recently returned with 

his family from Chile. 

Olaf became something like a pet to Peter. 

When Peter Kreiss was relieved from guard duty by somebody else, 

he and Peter Koehler became embroiled in an argument about the 

former German Air-Force, the Luftwaffe, and what would have been 

the proper airplanes, bombers or fighters, to save Germany during 

World War II. 

Peter Kreiss sided with Hermann Goering's decision to support the 

production of fighter planes over bombers (or was it the other way 

around?). 

Naturally the argument advanced further into a heated discussion 

about ideologies and political philosophies. 

I observed just how much Peter Koehler, despite his own poverty, 

despised especially the 'Socialism' in National Socialism and how 

Peter Kreiss represented everything I believed in. 

Peter Koehler, our Scharnhorst leader, was a Monarchist and elitist 

through and through. 

Peter Kreiss was a National Socialist through and through. 

As I observed the two, it became clear to me that I wouldn't 

'belong' very much longer to this group, as I would rather join the 

Communist party than find any use whatsoever for Monarchism. 

Peter Kreiss was a carpenter by trade and had a deep sympathy for 

working people, while Peter Koehler had never really worked at all 

and therefore had no understanding of work and workers. 

While our two leaders argued in back, the others were putting 

together parts of a German fighter plane model from Revell. 

They seemed neither surprised by the argument nor even 

interested. 


Page 18 of 40 

11/5/2011


...And although I liked to 'bastel' and experiment, putting together a 

plastic model didn't interest me at all. 

Instead I read some material on Scharnhorst which was written in a 

dry and scholarly fashion and bored me to death. Some time later 

Peter Koehler announced that we were all invited to a concert at the 

'Hochschul Brau terrace' in Berlin-Wedding, where I military band 

was going to perform marches ending with the 'Grosse 

Zapfenstreich.' 

We were to meet at our apartment here in Kreutzberg and travel 

together by city bus to the district of Wedding next Sunday at nine in 

the morning. 

That was exciting news for me as I loved military music and had 

never really experienced a German military band in close proximity. 

Sunday came and my mother was very worried because she 

anticipated trouble from Communists and other left wing elements at 

the planned performance. 

Of course I couldn't understand why she would worry. 

To me it seemed nothing to have a band play German marching 

music in the district of Wedding. 

Wedding, I must mention, is another very working-class 

neighborhood and quite similar to Kreutzberg in that aspect. But she 

eventually gave in and let me go. 

I rode my bike to Kreutzberg and left it inside the apartment and 

when everybody had arrived, Olaf with his father had come also, we 

marched to the bus stop to catch the bus. 

When we arrived at the bus stop in Wedding, we had to walk quite 

some distance to get to the outdoor terrace-restaurant (Bier-Garten) 

which was owned by a brewery named 'Hochschul Brau.' 

The owner was an old time conservative and probable Monarchist 

who had financed the whole performance. 

About half way to our destination we saw lots and lots of police and 

sidewalks cordoned off. 

...There were police truck with 'water-cannons' on top and what 

seemed like a whole army of police cadets who were used as 

'Bereitschaftspolizei,' which means that they lived in police barracks 

and were ready for action anytime. 

I almost felt like celebrity when we were allowed to pass beyond the 

police line. 


Page 19 of 40 

11/5/2011


There were lots of people watching the whole affair who were 

blocked off from entering the 'restricted area.' 

But I didn't really see anybody being unruly or hear anybody 

shouting obscenities at us. 

Everything seemed hyped but nevertheless peaceful. 

Inside the terrace we had a table reserved for us by the ownership 

and were thus very close to the band which was already there. About 

20 musicians were sitting on garden-chairs, practicing and warming 

up their instruments. 

There were 'Kesselpauken,' kettledrums and regular drums, fanfares 

and trumpets, fives and God knows what other instruments. 

I was so excited, especially listening to their warm-up sounds and 

imagining how it would sound when they played for real. 

The fanfares had black, white and red flags attached to them which 

seemed unbelievable to me, because although these former German 

colors weren't outlawed in those days, one never imagined to see 

them at a public event. 

.....And then, suddenly, the whole place was shaking with the 

'Ferbelliner Reitermarsch' played by this very large band. 

My heart beat went crazy and my blood must have reached a boiling 

point. 

My God, I was in heaven! 

Never before, even in my wildest dreams when listening to my 

brown records scratching away, could I have imagined what the 'real 

thing' sounded like from so close up. 

...And we were so close that we could almost touch the first row of 

musicians. 

Now, the 'Ferbelliner Reitermarsch,' a cavalry march, used 

kettledrums and fanfares and I was instantly transported into 

another dimension when the six or eight fanfare players suddenly 

stood up and started to join the music. 

It is just unimaginable for anybody who hasn't experienced this first 

hand. 

And then the kettel-drums joining in too....what indescribable joy! 

The deep base of the drums and the pure, soul-shattering treble of 

the fanfares was enough to motivate anyone to do anything! 

I at least was ready to conquer the whole world and the heavens 

too. 


Page 20 of 40 

11/5/2011


Although I had been to the 'Polizei Schau' in Berlin which was a 

show of police skill and discipline once a year at the Olympia 

Stadium where I had heard and seen the police marching band 

perform the same marches, it was nothing compared to this 

experience. 

At the Olympia Stadium the band is far away and the music is also 

transmitted by loudspeakers which limits the effectiveness of any 

kind of music. 

But here at the 'Hochschul Brau' terrace I was 'right there' and the 

drumbeat was my heartbeat and the fanfares and trumpets were all 

my dreams awakened into reality. 

The only time I would have a similar 

experience later in life was, when I 

visited the opera in Berlin and in New 

York City. Of course it was Wagner's 

Tannhauser, 'The Flying Dutchman' 

and 'Parsifal.' Only at those 

performances was I able to re-live 

what I have just described. 

While I was in this state of almost 

'divine' ecstasy, people whom I had 

never met before came to our table 

and talked mostly to Peter Koehler 

and Peter Kreiss. 

When they left they would usually 

order 'Weisse mit nem Schuss,' white 

beer with a shot of strawberry or other fruit concentrate, for all of 

us. 

This kind of beer is low in alcohol content and comes in a big oval 

shaped special glass, but still to a young boy it is quite an 

experience to get these drinks served. 

And I could definitely feel a 'buzz' after drinking a couple of those 

huge beers. 

Who these people were I don't know, but I would assume that they 

were part of the 'right' and interested in a revival of a meaningful 

'right-wing' youth movement. 

As to the expected demonstrations, nothing really happened. 

Gradually the wonderful afternoon became night, and the concert 

ended with a solemn and soul stirring performance of 'Der Grosse 

Zapfenstreich.' 


Page 21 of 40 

11/5/2011


Again many strangers came up to us to shake our hands and say 

'Auf Wiedersehen,' congratulating us on our looks and demeanor. 

When we left the terrace and got into the street, police were there 

taking pictures. Also the press was there and who knows who, all 

taking pictures of us and everybody who had attended the concert. 

Taking the city bus back to our Kreutzberg apartment we debated 

animatedly what we had just experienced. 

When I arrived at home, my mother was waiting in hand-wringing 

anticipation. She had heard on the radio that heavy demonstrations 

had occurred at the concert and that police had arrested a number of 

people. 

I had no idea what she was talking about as I had seen nothing 

unusual happening. 

The next day there were pictures in the newspapers 

of right-wing 'extremists' and 'nazis' who were 

attending a concert at the 'Hochschul Brau' outdoor 

terrace. 

My picture was there too amongst many others. 

My mother was completely torn apart by this 

publicity and afraid for my future. 

I thought it was exciting and a mark of honor to be 

seen as an 'extremist.' 

In fact, I hoped that all my friends and school 

acquaintances would read the articles and see my 

picture there. 

I felt like a movie star and 'conspirator' combined. 

How the demonstrations could have occurred without us knowing 

about it, being right there, I will never know. 

Some of my friends at school had read the papers and soon the word 

got out that I was in it and that I was a 'Nazi' conspirator. 

My head swelled and I, for once, wasn't bothered my by inferiority 

complex. 

I was somebody, somebody who was important and had to be 

reckoned with! 

The repercussions though, were that my teacher Herr Gueth and 

other teachers, including Herr Siedpohl, hated me even more than 

before and attempted to ignore me completely, which was just fine 

with me. 


Page 22 of 40 

11/5/2011


But there were some fellow students in my class and in my school 

who tried to get me into fights. 

Other students though, whom I hadn't known before, came to me 

and started talking about their own thoughts and feelings about 

Germany and our countries future. 

I had made some new friends unexpectedly. 

We formed a little group or 'cell' within our school and debated 

politics and history during lunch break and occasionally after school. 

One day Peter Kreiss showed up at my home wanting to talk to me. 

My mother wasn't home, so it was the perfect time to receive a 

visitor. 

He told me about his feelings towards the 'Scharnhorst Jugend' and 

its monarchist leanings, which wasn't news 

to me. 

He mentioned that he had left the group 

and was going to form his own 

organization, which would be more in line 

with National Socialist ideals. 

When he asked me if I would be interested 

in becoming his assistant, I said yes. 

He seemed relieved and began outlining his 

ideas which I agreed with. 

Then he asked me to remain with the 

'Scharnhorst Jugend' for some more time, 

because he wanted me to approach some 

kids in the group and steer them to him. 

He and Peter Koehler had had another 

argument and Peter Koehler had thrown 

him out of the group. 

Now he needed somebody to do what he had planned to do himself. 

I was that 'man.' 

Kreiss told me the names of a couple boys who might be interested 

and asked me to approach them cautiously during the next meeting. 

Upon leaving he invited me to come and visit him at home in 

Wannsee. 

I promised that I would and we made a date for my visit. 

It was to be one day after our Wednesday Scharnhorst meeting. 

The Wednesday meeting went fine, but seemed to be completely 

boring without Kreiss there. 

At the door stood a new kid whom I hardly knew and he seemed 

very ill at ease, for which I couldn't blame him. Kreiss was big and 


Page 23 of 40 

11/5/2011


menacing looking and 'commies' or whatever wouldn't pick a fight 

with him that easily. 

Plus he was as old as Peter Koehler. Us scrawny little boys would be 

easy picking for them, whoever they might be. 

Just imagining myself standing there like a target, dressed in a 

'reactionary' uniform for all to see, gave me the jitters and a reason 

to make my membership in this group as short-lived as possible. 

During the meeting I asked the two boys Peter Kreiss had pointed 

out to me, to meet me outside because I had to talk to them in 

private. 

They agreed and we met after the group meeting was over. 

I told them what had happened to Kreiss and that he wanted to form 

a new 'movement' more in line with 'Nazi-ideology.' 

At first they seemed shocked by Kreiss' dismissal and the blunt 

invitation coming from me, whom they knew only for a short time. 

Perhaps they even thought it was a trick or test of some kind, 

because they started to squirm and stutter for a while until they had 

probably convinced themselves that I spoke the truth and was 

indeed a messenger from Kreiss. 

They asked me what Kreiss wanted them to do and where to meet 

for further discussions. 

We exchanged addresses and I told them that I would let them know 

after my meeting with Kreiss the next day. 

We left as new friends and fellow 'conspirators.' 

This time I took the S-Bahn to get to Kreiss' house in Wannsee. 

Getting off at this last station before the Soviet Zone, I had to walk 

for about five miles before I arrived at the 'house.' 

I couldn't believe what I found, because there was no house. 

Instead there was a once very expensive estate which had been 

bombed-out, leaving only the basement intact. Somebody had 

added a brick structure of less than four feet on top of the 

basement, which made it look like an entrance to an underground 

bunker. 

The estate-grounds were huge and overgrown with wild-growing 

grass and trees, and the whole place looked foreboding and 

dangerous to enter. 

After walking about twenty feet to the entrance, I saw Kreiss 

coming up the few steps which led to the entrance. He greeted me 

with a hearty 'Heil Hitler,' and led me down the stairs into his 


Page 24 of 40 

11/5/2011


'house.' 

As usual he was dressed in his black former SS uniform with riding 

pants and boots and I had to admit to myself that he just looked the 

way I would have liked to look. 

Of course he could get away with it because of his size and looks, 

while I would have been beaten up the first time I wore it. 

He told me the story of the house, that it was his family's home and 

been bombed-out during the war. 

His father had been a big shot with the National Socialist Party and 

been killed as an SS man in action. 

What happened to his mother I don't know, since he never 

mentioned her and I didn't want to ask. 

But later I would hear from others that she had died during the 

bombing and that Peter Kreiss was the only survivor. 

After showing me the basement structure which looked in complete 

disrepair, we settled down to 'talk business.' 

He told me the story of General Remer's SRP (Sozialistische 

Reichspartei) and that he had been a member. 

Then in 1952 the SRP was outlawed by the West-German 

government and he had joined the 'Scharnhorst Jugend,' because 

there was no other influential group around in Berlin at that time. 

But he was soon disillusioned by the conservative-monarchist 

ideology of the 'Stahlhelm,' and it's youth organization the 

'Scharnhorst Jugend.' 

Although he admitted that he generally liked Peter Koehler, he said 

to me, that he had argued with him constantly and had given up on 

him and his politics a long time ago. 

His final argument with Peter had convinced him that he couldn't 

work with him anymore and this had motivated him to push Peter 

Koehler into dismissing him from the organization. 

Then he said that he had made contact with the DRP (Deutsche 

Reichspartei) of which he was a member, asking for permission to 

start a chapter of their youth movement 'Reichsjugend' in Berlin. 

He was sure that there would be no problem and had thus already 

started 'recruiting' for it. 

I was to be the second member but not the second in command, 

because he needed a few more older, experienced men to fill the 

upper ranks. 

Still, he promised me that I was to be something of an intermediary 

between the leadership and the rank and file membership. 

Of course, that was just fine with me since I had no desire to be in 

charge of anything, because it just wasn't in my nature to crave 


Page 25 of 40 

11/5/2011


power of any kind. 

All I really wanted was to find friends with whom I could have 

something in common and learn more about National Socialism and 

it's spiritual undercurrents. 

Most of all, I wanted to meet former Nazis who could tell me first 

hand about the movement. 

Uncle Ali had planted the seed and awakened my fascination for 

what National Socialism really was and what it should have been, 

and I wanted nothing more than to continue where he had left off. 

Thus, Peter Kreiss was to become my new mentor and mediator to 

people which I would have never been able to meet without his 

introduction. 

Unfortunately, Peter Kreiss was not spiritually inclined nor interested 

in learning about the spiritual undercurrents of National Socialism. 

He was a practical man who had absolutely nothing of a poet within 

him. 

And I was in all reality his total opposite, not only being too young to 

develop a real personal friendship with him, but also too much of a 

'dreamer' to be of any practical use for his dreams of power. 

No, he didn't seem power-hungry on the surface, but after knowing 

him some time, I sensed that power was really what he desired 

more than anything else. 

Which is fine for his type of personality, since it inspired him to give 

of himself one-hundred percent at all times and thus also would 

inspire the rank and file membership to do what they normally 

thought they could not do. 

He was what could be called a born leader, with all the faults and 

charisma this type of person has. 

I liked him very much after a while, because I could speak to him 

like to a brother and he would try to explain things to me with the 

patience of a saint. 

Perhaps it was the complete difference in our personalities which 

had attracted us to each other. 

While I was basically open and lenient in my views, he saw 

everything from the perspective of a doctrinaire 'true believer.' 

While I was a romantic dreamer on the spiritual path, he was a 'nononsense 

realist.' 

I respected his knowledge and experience and he respected my 

psychic awareness and unusual quest for knowledge. 

In some quirky sense, we gave to each other what we didn't seem 


Page 26 of 40 

11/5/2011


to have within us, but what we still needed to realize our innermost 

potential. 

Often, in retrospect, I ask myself why I was so attracted to national 

socialism at such an early age, and I can honestly say that it had 

nothing to do with racism on my part, or with a craving for power 

over others. 

I knew nothing at all about racism or had thoughts about racial 

superiority. 

Germany during the 1950's had neither foreigners nor people of 

different races living there like there are today. 

The only black people I knew were American soldiers and they were 

quite nice and interesting guys and the only Jews I knew were my 

former classmate Eberhard Galinsky and the owner of the junk store 

where I had bought my movie projector and the 'brown' Telefunken 

records. 

Eberhard, my Jewish class-mate was a great kid whom I enjoyed 

being with, because he was intelligent and had a good sense of 

humor. 

Even his mother, whom I had met when I visited him occasionally at 

his apartment in the Geyger Strasse, was a kind and friendly 

women, no different than my own mother. 

So there definitely was neither thought nor desire for prejudice or 

any kind of 'racial' outlook. 

National Socialism was something grand and noble to me and I saw 

it as a form of Gnostic idealism put into a political system, which 

would uplift mankind to a state of almost divine possibilities on 

earth. 

Of course I was much too young to realize the corruption and evil of 

human nature which would eventually undermine and destroy even 

the most noble intentions. 

I loved the 'pomp and circumstance' of the rallies and the waving 

swastika flags, the heart-stirring music and young people inspired to 

live to their highest potential. 

Much opposed to the young people of my own generation, wasting 

their lives with trivial pursuits, American pop music and 

preoccupation with sex. 

Instinctively I felt alienated from music which was base and crude 

and without any higher inspiration. 

Never could I understand how people could constantly listen to 


Page 27 of 40 

11/5/2011


music with simplistic, childish lyrics going on and on about 'love,' 

and desire for love. 

I even felt embarrassed by the lyrics when overhearing them on 

somebody else's radio. 

And this kind of 'embarrassment' has lasted throughout my life. 

I felt drawn to classical music instinctively from an early age and no 

other music except marshal music, at the right occasion, I would 

even consider 'music.' 

Pop music to me was embarrassing with it's whining and crooning 

over women and singers dressed up like fools. Even the music itself, 

the alien rhythms, the gyrating, swooning and jerking of people 

looking as if in a sick trance, always appalled me. 

It seemed all so low, the glorification of of man's lowest instincts, so 

pathetic and uninspired. 

I felt deep within myself, that this was not only ugly and 'evil,' but 

utterly degenerate. 

How anybody could choose to listen to this kind of music was 

incomprehensible to me then and still is now. 

Why would they not listen to symphonies and operas instead? 

Even today, I still 'judge' people by their reading (or non-reading) 

habits and by what kind of music they enjoy. 

Some people claim that they enjoy all music, depending on the 

setting and occasion, but even that is incomprehensible to me. 

How can you 'enjoy' listening all day to pop music and rock and 

then go to the opera or listen to a symphony occasionally? 

How can you 'serve two masters? 

If you truly love the experience of classical music, you can not 

possibly feel anything but disgust for popular music. 


Art in National Socialism was 

to me the total expression of 

man's possibility, noble and 

god-like. 

It was not only its 

commitment to classical 

music, but also its grand 

visual art, it's distinctive and 

grandiose architecture, its 

heroic sculptures and 

paintings and its inspiring 

motion pictures. 

Page 28 of 40 

11/5/2011


Some people and some so called 'art experts' have put it all down 

as typically fascist glorification of the state. 

I can't see it that way at all. 

To me it was the emotional and material glorification of man's 

inherent possibilities, sponsored and made possible by the state. 

And is not the state nothing else but the union and manifestations 

of all the Nations people, their souls and culture made manifest? 

Would not the National Socialist state be the possible means to 

accomplish mankind's evolution into a better human race? 

How else can mankind continue to evolve? 

If art and beauty are only for the rich elite, and if the masses are 

fed only brain numbing entertainment around the clock, how can 

they be uplifted and evolve? 

Or would it be better to just let the status quo remain and leave the 

masses to their own base instincts and ideas of 'fun?' 

Should a strong nation-state raise the state of consciousness of the 

masses against their will? 

...And who is to tell what is uplifting and noble? 

This question has been thrown at me so many times throughout the 

course of my life and I can only say that even crude and basic 

people instinctively know what greatness is, even if they can't 

express it in their own lives. 

Is it not that people who are constantly brainwashed with low-life 

emotions in music and visual art, will loose their inherent ability to 

distinguish good from evil and surrender to the low-life existence 

surrounding them. 

Do you think that so many people are still attracted, even in a 

sometimes ignorant way, to National Socialism and Hitler, because 

they love to flirt with 'evil?' 

Or is it because something pure and noble about national socialism 

has touched their soul? 


Page 29 of 40 

11/5/2011


Fifty-seven years have passed, the 'democratic' propaganda mills 

have spewed nothing but hatred and distortion about it, and yet, 

people are still drawn to it's philosophy and Wagnerian grandeur. 

How can this be? 

What is it about National Socialism that has moved people to 

forsake their reputations and social standing, their academic titles 

and possessions for its ideals? 

Is it this flirtation with 'evil' and racism as our 'democratic' cabal 

would want us to believe? 

Or is it an inner longing and 'knowing' which can not be defined in 

mere words? 


Page 30 of 40 

11/5/2011


I could go on and on about what originally drew me to National 

Socialism at such a young age. 

Perhaps it was even pre-disposition or pre-determination through 

reincarnation. 

Who knows? 

Some people, with a judgmental disposition will say that it is a 

'psychiatric' problem and that I'm mentally ill and crazy. 

How can I respond to that? 

Certainly it is not a rational subject where one can easily explain 

one's irrational decisions. 

Be that as it may, I can only say that I am an idealist from birth and 

that I, despite my National Socialist 'leanings,' am not a 'true 

believer.' 

First of all, I never subscribed to any racial theories or prejudices 

and never will. 

It is just incomprehensible to me and completely against my nature. 

So I would probably have gotten in trouble during the 'Third Reich.' 

Nevertheless, I don't think that it is good nor right to flood every 

European country, England, the USA, Canada and Australia with 

third world people of other races, but this opinion does not derive 

from a racist perspective at all. 

It comes, in my case, from my own observations of life and from my 

intuitive understanding regarding the immense conspiracy taking 

place right under our very eyes, to create a One World Government. 


Page 31 of 40 

11/5/2011


I believe that this is enforced to undermine 'Western Civilization' in 

order to create division within once more or less homogenous 

populations, by the advocates of a One World Government. 

Who these people are, this evil 'cabal,' which has infiltrated every 

government of every civilized nation on earth, I don't want to get 

into at this point, as it would lead me completely off track. 

I neither hate nor feel resentment towards any race or nationality 

on this earth and would never do anything to harm anyone unless I 

was attacked first. 

Thus, to me, National Socialism without the racism would be the 

answer to much of the trouble in this world. 

Naturally, many people will say that National Socialism is racism 

first and foremost, but I believe that this is not true at all. 

The early National Socialist movement, especially the group in 

Northern Germany and Berlin lead by people like Gregor and Otto 

Strasser, Ernst Roehm and even Josef Goebbels, before he changed 

course, was quite different from the movement in Southern Germany 


Page 32 of 40 

11/5/2011


with Hitler, Himmler and Goering. 

The Northern German NSDAP was much more 'left' oriented than 

'right' or conservative. 

They were anti-Jewish to a degree, but never 'racist'. 

They were nationalists but not reactionary and could be easily 

compared to American Populists like Huey Long or even to a more 

limited degree to America's F.D.R and his New Deal. 

Perhaps we shouldn't put labels on people so hastily as a judgment 

of their personality by ideas they express. Nothing ever is just black 

and white, as there are so very many shades in between. 

I don't hate Adolf Hitler because he was myopic and racialist in his 

perception of the world. 

And I don't hate Roosevelt because he instigated war with Germany 

and Japan, and allowed Zionist conspirators to deceive the American 

people, while plotting their tribal agenda. 

Both men did a lot of good and attempted, in their own way and 

state of consciousness, to deal with world wide depression, 

unemployment and human suffering. 

Adolf Hitler on left and Roosevelt with fellow masons on right 

(center) 

Both were charismatic leaders and both were needed in their own 

way by the suffering populations of their nations. More than 

anything, I despise today's leaders for selling out to Zionist 

manipulations against the interest of their people and doing nothing 

to relieve crime and human squalor in a meaningful way. 

Corrupt and greedy beyond description they are non-entities 


Page 33 of 40 

11/5/2011


without concern for a better humanity living in a better world. 

If anything they are nothing but puppets in the hands of those who 

want to rob humanity of even what little spark there is left of their 

divine heritage and institute a one world government of the rich for 

the rich. 

Addendum: 

Continue my story on page 14 


Here is some material from the internet regarding the SRP and DRP 

(Deutsche Reichspartei): 

According to the Basic Law, the Federal Constitutional Court could 

ban a political party that aimed at obstructing or abolishing the 

system of democracy. The activities of a number of openly 

antidemocratic parties during the Weimar Republic had inspired the 

authors of the Basic Law to include this strong provision. In 1952 the 

Socialist Reich Party (Sozialistische Reichspartei--SRP), a successor 

to the NSDAP, became the first party to be banned. The SRP had 

maintained that the Third Reich still existed legally, and it had 

denied the legitimacy of the FRG as a state. A few years later, the 

KPD was also suspended. Although the KPD was at first represented 

in all Land parliaments, it gradually lost support. After 1951 the 

leadership of the KPD began to pursue an openly revolutionary 

course and advocated the overthrow of the government. After five 

years of deliberations, the Federal Constitutional Court declared the 


Page 34 of 40 

11/5/2011


KPD unconstitutional. 

One of the most interesting documents in the file is a report dated 

11 February 1952. The report concerns a meeting between a special 

agent of the 66th CIC Detachment and Dr. Manfred Roeder, formerly 

the Judge Advocate of the German Air Force (Luftwaffe) who served 

as the assistant prosecutor in the espionage case involving Red 

Orchestra agents. The meeting, which took place in Hannover, 

Germany, was arranged through Graf Wolf von Westarp, a leading 

figure in the Sozialistische Reichspartei (Socialist Reichs Party, or 

SRP), a postwar German rightist party. At this time, the CIC was 

actively pursuing leads concerning the Red Orchestra case. 

According to rumors, some "eight crates of documents" concerning 

the case had been hidden by German intelligence personnel in the 

LÜneburger Heide shortly after the war. Thus, the meeting with 

Roeder was intended to elicit information necessary to allow CIC 

agents to locate and exploit the Red Orchestra records. 

The Strange Saga of Hitler's Bodyguard 

By Martin A. Lee 

Prior to his death on Oct. 4 at the age of 84, Major-General Otto 

Ernst Remer was the last living "legend" of the Third Reich. Best 

known for his pivotal role in suppressing the plot to overthrow Adolf 

Hitler in July 1944, Remer then served as the Fuehrer's personal 

bodyguard and security chief until Hitler's bitter end in a Berlin 

bunker. 

After World War II, Remer became a different kind of bodyguard, a 

protector of Hitler's legacy and defender of neo-fascism. He also 

should have been a warning bell to Western intelligence services 

enamored by the notion of "using" ex-Hitler officers at the start of 

the Cold War. 

While some Third Reich veterans, such as Reinhard Gehlen, sided 

with the West and worked for the fledgling CIA, many of the Nazis 

appeared to have held to their own political agenda. Often, they 

were more loyal to their fascist comrades -- helping them survive 

defeat and regroup in a post-war world -- than to their new Cold War 

paymasters. Some ex-Nazis seemed most interested in keeping the 


Page 35 of 40 

11/5/2011


fascist flame burning. 

Remer might have been the most publicly contemptuous of the 

Western democracies. After World War II, an unrepentant Remer 

carried the torch for neo-Nazi movements in West Germany and 

elsewhere. He openly advocated a revival of fascism while secretly 

collaborating with the Soviet Union in a strategy to undercut Western 

influences. 

Over the past half century, through his indefatigable proselytizing, 

Remer mentored generations of young extremists, including key 

leaders of reunified Germany's current neo-Nazi scene. Within these 

circles, Remer was revered as a physical link to Hitler. Remer was a 

father figure who provided a sense of continuity between past and 

present. 

But Remer's case sheds light, too, on the little-known chapter of 

early Cold War espionage history. While some Third Reich veterans 

were recruited by Western intelligence agencies as part of the 

American-led anti-communist crusade, other Nazis, including Remer, 

followed Germany's centuries-old geo-political imperative of a 

German-Russian alliance. These Nazis were careful not to burn 

bridges to Moscow. 

Though based in West Germany, Remer declined to work for the 

Americans and instead pursued a clandestine relationship with the 

Soviets. In 1949, he founded the Socialist Reich Party (SRP), which 

grew into a mass-based neo-Nazi organization that vilified Bonn's 

affiliation with the Western alliance. Campaigning for the SRP in local 

and state elections, Remer thumbed his nose at the United States 

and disparaged democracy as an alien form of government unsuited 

to the iron soul of the German people. 

As Remer's party gained momentum at the ballot box (out-polling 

the ruling Christian Democratic Union in several voting districts), 

SRP representatives conducted secret negotiations with Soviet 

authorities in East Germany and began receiving financial support. 

"I sent my people there," Remer acknowledged in an interview 40 

years later. "They were all received at the Soviet headquarters in 

Pankow." In 1952, the West German government banned the SRP as 

the successor to Hitler's Nazi Party. 


Page 36 of 40 

11/5/2011


Although he harbored no sympathy for communism as an ideology, 

Remer emerged as the most outspoken West German proponent of a 

Cold War alliance with the Soviet Union. He saw Soviet Russia as a 

mineral-rich neighbor vital to Germany's economic strength. Racial 

factors also influenced Remer's decision to play the Eastern card. 

Russians were white people, while the United States, as he saw it, 

was polluted by racial minorities. 

American Friends 

Perhaps most surprising was the assistance Remer received from 

Nazis in the United States while he agitated for a German-Russian 

rapprochement. Harold Keith Thompson, a New York-based 

businessman, registered with the Justice Department as the official 

U.S. agent for the SRP before it was outlawed. Thompson also 

established the Committee to Free Major General Remer after the 

SRP chief was jailed in 1952 for slandering West German officials. 

Thompson's devotion to Hitler's bodyguard did not waver when he 

learned that Remer had gotten covert money from the Soviet Union. 

"Take money where you can get it," the American Nazi shrugged. 

According to Thompson, several neo-Nazi organizations in West 

Germany were happy to take communist funds "provided they didn't 

have to compromise their political principles." 

While defending Remer, Thompson worked behind the scenes as the 

principal U.S. point man for the infamous ODESSA network 

composed of Nazi SS veterans. Declassified U.S. Army intelligence 

documents confirm that this fabled post-war Nazi network -- whose 

alleged exploits have generated literary and cinematic 

embellishments -- did exist. According to these reports, ODESSA 

operatives maneuvered on both sides of the East-West divide to help 

Nazis escape to Latin America, the Middle East and other safe 

havens during the late 1940s and early 1950s. 

"Those were difficult years," said Thompson, who became, in his own 

words, "the chief and almost exclusive representative in North 

America for the interests of the surviving Nazi Party and the SS." 

Some of the money that lubricated the ODESSA machine had been 

plundered from Holocaust victims. 

But West German law explicitly prohibited any attempt to resurrect 

the Nazi program. So Remer, after serving a brief prison term, spent 


Page 37 of 40 

11/5/2011


the better part of the next three decades in the Middle East. Based 

initially in Cairo and later in Damascus, he became a successful 

entrepreneur, selling weapons and German technology. His shady 

business ventures with Arab clientele embroiled him in high stakes 

international intrigue. 

When he returned to West Germany in the early 1980s, Remer 

continued to preach the Nazi gospel. Speaking to neo-Nazi rallies, he 

touted Russia as a better partner for Germany than the United 

States. 

Denying the Holocaust was another part of his rancid political fare. 

In 1987, Remer traveled to southern California to give the keynote 

address at a conference hosted by the Institute for Historical Review, 

an organization dedicated to promoting the spurious notion that the 

Holocaust never happened. 

Thompson had arranged for Remer to speak at the event where he 

was enthusiastically received by an audience that groaned at every 

reference to Roosevelt and Churchill and applauded whenever 

National Socialism and Hitler were mentioned. 

Remer's anti-Jewish diatribes got him into more legal trouble back 

home, however. In 1994, he lost an appeal against a 22-month 

sentence for "inciting hate, violence and racism." He fled to exile in 

Spain. Remer died there three years later, surrounded by neo-Nazi 

youth who worshipped him as an icon and have vowed to carry 

forward Remer's fascist torch. 

The race hatred that Remer espoused also is very much alive in a 

reunified Germany, where violent attacks against political asylum 

seekers, guest workers and other foreigners continue with numbing 

regularity. 

l Martin A. Lee's book on neo-fascism, The Beast Reawakens, 

was recently published by Little, Brown. 

Copyright (c) 1997 


Page 38 of 40 

11/5/2011



Part XIV 

Berlin 1954 - 55 

Reflections on Kalamazoo and 

American Dreams 

Reflecting on my childhood I would only like to say that despite the 

abject poverty and near homelessness, it was a wonderful time in 

my life and much preferable to growing up today in Germany or 

America. 

We might not have had material things deemed 'necessary' by 

today's standards, but we had hope, dreams and unlimited 

innocence. 

And it is this 'innocence' which had made my life, in those days, 

wealthy beyond description. 

Political correctness and media brainwashing was just beginning to 

become a factor in schools and movies, but wasn't effective yet, 

because most of us were not exposed to television until the early 

1960's. 

'Rias Berlin' and 'Sender Freies Berlin,' the two radio stations in 


Page 1 of 24 

11/5/2011


Berlin, still broadcast extensive programs of classical music and 

operas in those days, especially in the evenings and only the 

American army station 'AFN Berlin' broadcasted 'pop' and 'rock' 

music twenty four hours a day. 

In school we heard about the 'holocaust' and the persecution of 

Jews during the Third Reich under Hitler, but it was still 'toned down' 

and thus came up only once in a great while; but we did become 

subjected to American propaganda, for the American way of life, 

quite regularly. 

Often during school we would be lead to the auditorium to watch 

movies about America. 

One I still remember quite clearly, it was called 'Kalamazoo, eine 

Mittelstadt im Mittelwesten,' because it had a tremendous impact on 

me. 

A one hour long black and white movie about this midsize city in the 

American mid-west, located in the state of Michigan, was extremely 

well done and persuasive. In fact I can honestly say that this movie 

formed a good part my understanding of America and eventually 

inspired me to emigrate to this beautiful country. 

Perhaps it was the quaintness and innocence depicted in an 'Leave it 

to Beaver' like setting, or the happy people with their cars and 

houses blending into a vast landscape of cornfields and lakes, but it 

touched something deep within me,-a longing for harmony and 


Page 2 of 24 

11/5/2011


peace. 

America seemed to me like an innocent giant, wealthy beyond 

imagination promising me what I so desperately lacked in post-war 

Berlin. 

America became to me the promise of heaven on earth. 

In school, Herr Gueth, our teacher made us write a report on this 

movie and on America. For perhaps the first time in his class, I was 

inspired to do my homework with care and love. Using pictures I cut 

out of magazines and newspapers and researching through library 

books, I came up with a "stunning" report which must have shocked 

even Herrn Gueth. Needless to say, I got an A+ and he had me read 

it in class to my total embarrassment. Still, I was proud of myself 

and my writing ability and it perhaps even demonstrated to Herrn 

Gueth that I was capable to do well in school if inspired by the right 

material or teacher. Of course Herr Gueth had nothing to do with my 

'breakthrough,' as it was this movie and it's theme which stimulated 

my imagination and desire to excel. From then on I made it a point 

of pride to write excellent reports, even on subjects which interested 

me very little. 


Page 3 of 24 

11/5/2011


What is most amazing though is, that the real America, the America 

I found when I arrived here in 1963, was exactly the way I had seen 

it in the movie. 

Especially in Danbury, Connecticut, which was at the time just about 

the same size as Kalamazoo, I think. 

Never in my life had I met such nice and caring people and such 

endless possibilities! 

This vast land and it's kind and open people, as I found it in 1963, 

shall always be my most cherished memory. 

Propaganda or not, this movie, 'Kalamazoo, a midsize town in the 

American mid-west,' was true in every way. 


Page 4 of 24 

11/5/2011


These two pictures say it all! 

America, as I found it to be, especially away from the big cities, was 

a most wonderful place, and, to me, a true heaven on earth. Really, 

I can't say enough of the wonderful people I met in those days, their 

almost childlike innocence and trusting ways. I was offered rides 

when walking on the sidewalk and invited into homes and treated 

like a family friend, and I was helped and guided by complete 

strangers for no other reward than to be helpful to a new immigrant. 

A sales clerk at a small 'Sears 

and Roebuck' store in downtown 

Danbury, co-signed my first credit 

application in this wonderful 

country. I didn't ask him to, but 

he offered it freely when I looked 

at a record player and told him 

that I didn't have the seventy or 

so dollars to pay for it. 

At Danbury Hospital I got a job in 

the pharmacy although there 

wasn't even an opening, because 

Mrs. Love, the director of 

'Personnel' liked me and sent me 

'up' to see Mrs. Palmer the 

pharmacist to check if she could 

'use' me. 

Mrs. Palmer was also anxious to 

help and thus I got a job in the 

hospital pharmacy which I liked 

very much. After about two weeks working there and always being 

there early because I had to walk and didn't want to risk being late, 

she even gave me a key to the pharmacy to let myself in and set up 

the coffee for us. 

Where else, in the whole world, would one be trusted with such 

innocence and caring? 

Of course, all this is no more, as this country has been ruined and 

destroyed from within. I only want to mention this, ahead of the 

story, to make the reader understand what America was like in those 

years. 

I feel so sorry for the youth of this country today, who have to go 


Page 5 of 24 

11/5/2011


into fortified and police-guarded schools, and live daily in a state of 

paranoia and fear. Robbed of their innocence by deliberate 

programming on television and movies, by exposure to sexuality and 

depravity at an early age, by degenerate rock stars and their 

cacophony of music and drug use, these young people of today in 

America don't have dreams or a future, except the desperate hope 

to become 'rich' to somehow escape into their own withdrawal from 

life in this now 'multicultural' pit called America. 

The America of the early sixties and even seventies, is not the same 

country that it is today. Perhaps I'm over-idolizing the America I 

knew then, but what I know and experienced, with the eyes of an 

immigrant, is the truth as I know it. 

The people of America today have fallen from heaven into hell and 

they don't even seem to be aware of it. 

The reason why this happened and how it was accomplished by the 

secret 'cabal,' those malicious people who saw in the old, true 

America a barrier to their plans for a one-world government, is not 

only obvious, but in plain sight to anyone who can still think for 

himself and thus see through their manipulations. 

Even if one doesn't understand it completely, one can still perceive 

clearly what has been going on in the last thirty or so years. Ever 

since the assassination of president Kennedy in November 1963, this 

country has gone into a downward spin. 

Isn't it all so obvious? 

As in the movie 'Soilant Green,' when 

the main character lies down to die, and 

he watches the movie played on a large 

screen, with it's glorious landscapes and 

harmonious music, so do I feel now when 

looking back, in my mind, at what a 

glorious place on earth America was. 

I too feel like I am dying now, slowly in 

the morass that this country has become. 

Is there still hope? 

I wished I could say 'yes,' but I really don't think that what has 

been lost through 'social engineering' and brainwashing in schools, 

kindergartens and mass-media, can ever be restored. 

To me it was innocence, the innocence of it's common people, which 

made this country what it was. 

And once this innocence was destroyed, through the rape of our 

children's minds, through the manipulation of thinking by 'politically 

correct' doubletalk and hypocrisy and distrust into one's intuition and 


Page 6 of 24 

11/5/2011


instinctive knowledge of 'right' and 'wrong' by the social-engineers of 

the cabal, all hope for a return to 'innocence' has become 

impossible. 

When I speak of 'innocence,' I mean only the people, the average 

people of America, and I would be a fool to think of the government 

and all it's politicians to have, even then, been innocent in any 

possible sense. 

I certainly realize that even then 'social engineering' was going on 

at full speed and that the 'cabal' had already penetrated every 

branch and every aspect of government. 

The only difference was, that compared to today, the cabal was still 

more or less 'testing the water', and that thus the average person 

was still relatively free from the effects of their programming. 

But now I'm way ahead of my story and must return to Berlin in 

1954. 

Back to Berlin in 1954 

How could I possibly reconcile, within my mind, my National 

Socialist beliefs and my new found love for America? 

The truth is, that I really couldn't and was thus torn between the two 

'extremes.' 

Then, by accident I found a book which seemed to make it much 

easier. It was a 'Nazi' book by someone with the fascinating name 

'Colin Ross,' and it's title was 'A Hitler-Youth' travels through 

America.' 

Peter Kreiss had it in his small library and I discovered it while 

looking through his book-shelves for interesting books. 

Of course, I immediately asked him if he would sell it to me and he 

agreed to do it for something like ten German Mark. 

The book was about the fascinating story a Hitler Youth and his 

travels throughout the United States in the mid-thirties. 

I was ecstatic with joy, because now I could mentally unite the two 

previously opposing loves of my life, National Socialism and 

Americanism. 


Page 7 of 24 

11/5/2011


I learned about the 'German Bund,' and other groups in America 

who attempted to develop an American type of National Socialism. 

And I also came to appreciate the vastness and greatness of this 

country even more. This book led me to other books about America 

from various political perspectives, as well as to novels and movies 

about life in America. 


Page 8 of 24 

11/5/2011


Peyton Place 

One such movie was 'Peyton Place.' First I saw the movie and then I 

read the book and I immediately searched an atlas for this town in 

Maine. 

Diane Varsi the star of Peyton Place 

Diane Varsi the star of the Peyton Place movie was and still is, to 

me, the most beautiful woman on earth, and the coastal landscape 

of Maine inspired me with a longing for America as the destiny of my 

dreams, which would stop at nothing until fulfilled. 


Page 9 of 24 

11/5/2011


Perhaps it was the purity and innocence expressed in Diane's 

beautiful face, which reflected to me something so deep and 

mysterious, striking a cord in my soul, a longing, sexual and yet as 

pure as this mysterious, vast and beautiful country America. And I 

knew then with absolute certainty that I was destined to live there 

and that the Gods of my fate would, against all odds, make it 

possible. 

Not only had America become a dream, but it had become a religion 

to me. A faith so strong and so focused, that at my young age 

already I knew that it's revelation would come to me in mysterious 

ways and that one day I would walk on it's sacred ground, the 

Elysium of it's whispered promise, America. 


Page 10 of 24 

11/5/2011


As I already mentioned, I loved to read Thomas Wolfe and William 

Saroyan, also Jack London, Mark Twain, Theodore Dreiser and so 

many others. I read about the American form of government, about 

the various states and their governments and about demographics, 

the different nationalities and races living there and the segregation 

of 'colored' people in the southern states. 

Somehow I couldn't understand how such freedom-loving, 

democratic people could 'hate' people of color. The few black people 

which I had contact with through asking them for candy or 

'chocolate,' were always nice and kind, and I couldn't imagine why 

people would hate other people for their 'skin-color.' 

Especially reading about the Ku-Klux-Klan and seeing pictures of 

lynching's, absolutely horrified me. 

How could this be? Here I watched the movie 'Kalamazoo,' and 

people were so kind, happy and fair-minded, and then there was the 

American South with the Klan and segregation, with lynching and 

abuse of Negroes just because they had a different skin color. 

In fact, I thought and still think, that many of them look really good 

with their brown skin and curly hair. Thus was my innocence. 


Page 11 of 24 

11/5/2011


Paul Robeson world-famous singer and artist. 

Here I was, a 'Nazi' in my self-perception and I despised the Klan in 

the United States! 

When I also read that the Klan and the Bund had often worked 

together, I was devastated, and I slowly began to withdraw from my 

love for National Socialism, or at least from what National Socialism 

meant to most people. 

Uncle Ali, himself somewhat brown or olive-skinned, was my 

example and I knew that he had never, ever made racist remarks. In 

fact, from what I remember, he always referred to National 

Socialism as a world movement which could embrace all races and 

nationalities on an equal basis. 

The way he had taught me was, that every nation and country could 

and should be part of the National Socialist world movement as 

totally autonomous and independent entities. 

He said, that there was no such thing as racial supremacy or Aryan 

superiority. Every race and every nation had it's God given destiny 

and should be allowed to follow their own evolutionary path without 

interference from outside sources. 

National Socialism was to be a world-revolution, much like Trotzky's 

idea of a world revolution, except that it was not meant to destroy 

national and racial identity, but instead use this identity and cultural 

heritage to bring about a more civilized and noble man. Germany as 

the first National Socialist nation was to be the center of the world 

revolution. Much like Stalin's concept of a homeland for Communism 

in the Soviet Union. 

Thus I could easily compromise my views in my own mind and 


Page 12 of 24 

11/5/2011


understanding. 

Unfortunately many of the people who were involved with the 

'movement' were nothing like uncle Ali, but all to often small-minded 

bigots and German ultra-nationalists. 

Again I was an outsider even within the various 'Nationalist' 

movements which had at first promised to give me an identity and 

an ideological family. 

Now I was alone again and at odds with those who held so much 

promise when I first met them. 

North Sea Island 

Norderney 

During the summer of 1954 I was invited to partake in a youthmeeting 

of various 'right-wing' groups at the German North-Sea 

island of Norderney. 

This offer was made to me through Peter Kreiss and his 

'Reichsjugend' connection. 

Officially the trip was sponsored by a political party which was 

called: 'BHE - Bund Heimatvertiebener und Entrechteter.' Which was 

a somewhat right leaning party fighting for the rights of world war II 

refugees. 

It seems to me that various 'right-wing' youth organizations 

received invitations for one or two boys each. 

I was chosen because Peter Kreiss and I were at the time the only 

members of the 'Reichsjugend' in Berlin and Peter couldn't go 

because of his job and age. 

After all the formalities were taken care of and my mother had paid 

a small nominal fee, we were told to meet at a certain day in June, 

1954 at the Zoo Railroad station (Bahnhof Zoo). 

When we arrived there, there were at least thirty boys with their 

parents waiting. 

We were told by an organizer that a compartment had been reserved 

for us and he also made sure that we understood how to behave 

when we came to the East-German zone check-point. 

Since I had already, during a previous trip to Groemitz, experienced 

what it was like, I felt like a seasoned world-traveler. When I looked 

around I saw Olaf, Peter Koehler's 'pet,' from the 'Scharnhorst- 

Jugend.' I couldn't believe that Peter Koehler would choose Olaf 

because he seemed much too young to go on this trip alone. 


Page 13 of 24 

11/5/2011


Just as I was beginning to feel nervous about the whole thing, the 

train belonging to the East-German 'Deutsche Reichsbahn,' pulled in. 

After counting everybody as we entered, our adult guides told us 

where to sit in the various compartments. 

Each compartment held six or eight people facing each other. The 

train smelled of cheap diesel fuel and was filthy. Nevertheless, we 

were all feeling kind of elated and full of anticipation about visiting 

Norderney and the North-Sea. 

My nervousness had given way to a form of happy surrender to the 

inevitable. 

Everyone in the compartment was a stranger and we began to 

gradually warm-up to each other by telling stories of previous 

adventures and about our membership in various youthorganizations. 

After waiting for about thirty minutes, the train slowly began to 

move and we eased out of the huge station. 

Bahnhof Zoo, Berlin (Zoo railroad station in the early 1950's) 

Our guides came around to instruct us further about the border 

crossing and how we must behave in certain situations, especially in 

case that we were detained or questioned. The main point being, 

that we were never to mention which organizations we belonged to, 

but to insist that we were refugee children on a vacation trip to 

Norderney. 

By the time they had finished with their little lecture, we were 


Page 14 of 24 

11/5/2011


already on the outskirts of Berlin. 

After about an hour, we came to the border crossing station and the 

train stopped slowly. 

We saw an open railway station and lots of East German border 

police with sub-machine guns and German shepherd dogs. 

No sooner that the train had stopped, two of them came into our 

compartment and asked for identity papers. Of course we already 

had them in our hands in fearful anticipation. 

They looked at them and at us with bored indifference and left 

waving us 'good bye.' 

The thick tension in our little compartment began to lift immediately 

and we began to relax in our seats, making some stupid jokes and 

comments. Of course we knew that the whole thing wasn't over yet 

since the border-police would have to go through all the other 

compartment also. 

After about an hour's time, we heard the train-station announcer 

give the 'all-clear' signal and the train began to move again. We 

were elated to have gotten away so easily. By this time now it was 

already getting dark outside and we watched with silent inner relief 

the East-German countryside pass by. 

In the twilight of dusk the dreary landscape looked even more 

forbidding and hostile than in the daytime. 

I watched pensively every nuance passing by the window, as it was 

always my habit to observe and daydream about the various sights 

coming into my view. 

Hardly ever did I sleep on trips anywhere no matter whether it was 

day or night. Too many things which seemed to bore most other 

people were of immense interest to me. I always loved to observe 

the architecture of old farm-houses, the deserted roads and the deep 

forests, people on bicycles or walking along lonely roads, ships in 

rivers and the architecture of bridges, everything fascinated me and 

stimulated my imagination. 

Sometimes psychic flashes would appear in my vision and I would 

be drawn to visualize things that might have happened there. 


Page 15 of 24 

11/5/2011


Visions like scenes from World War II, refugees pulling handcarts 

loaded with their belongings and children crying and war scenes of 

battle as well as invading Russian soldiers. 

German children murdered in Nemmersdorf 1944 

No matter where I traveled, be it in Germany or the United States, 

even to this day, I always observe everything with the same 

intensity, waiting for my intuition to connect me with the landscape 

in view. And I love to travel in absolute silence, no radio ever, in 

order to immerse myself in the sights and sounds of my 

surroundings. 

After some hours of travel, we came to another border station were 


Page 16 of 24 

11/5/2011


we were checked out with the same bored indifference by the East 

German border-police. We were somewhere at the border of the East 

German zone and the British zone. It was early morning by now and 

we were absolutely jubilant to be 'free' again. 

I don't remember what the name of the town or city was where we 

stopped. But our guides came around to tell us that we could leave 

the train for one hour and get something to eat at the railroad 

station. 

I think we were in Lueneburg, but, like I already said, I don't 

remember for sure. 

We ate hot dogs and rolls and drank soda with it like hungry wolves. 

Our fears and most dreadful imaginations about being put in jail in 

East-Germany, or even worse, being sent to camps in Russia, had 

evaporated like morning dew at noon. We were free again! The knots 

in our stomachs had dissolved instantly and now we were absolutely 

starved. 

Feeling refreshed and full of food and energy, the train continued to 

a town by the North Sea which I believe was called 'Norden,' where 

we left the train and went aboard a small boat which took us to 

Norderney, which is one of several German islands off the northwestern 

coast facing towards 'Helgoland,' another island way out in 

the North Sea. 

The weather was blustery and we felt cold and disappointed. The 

smell of ocean was very intense and the immense North Sea looked 

like lead in coloring. 

The waves were high and threatening and the whole area didn't 


Page 17 of 24 

11/5/2011


seem inviting at all. 

The boat which was to take us to Norderney was small and moving 

around like a wild stallion. Some of us got sick within minutes and 

had to throw up over the railing. Fortunately I was not one of them 

and didn't have to take the good natured teasing that went with it. 

Rocking up and down and sideways, the boat took off and we went 

towards Norderney. 

The island looked so small and fragile from our distant position and 

grew gradually larger as we approached slowly. 

As it turned out, when we arrived in the small harbor, it wasn't that 

small after all and looked quite interesting with it's 'downtown' area 

and small tourist hotels, restaurants and shops. 


Page 18 of 24 

11/5/2011


We had to carry our luggage and walk for about three or four miles 

out of town into an almost desolate area made up of huge dunes, 

sand and pine trees. 

Climbing over the dunes and dragging our luggage with sand in our 

shoes wasn't exactly fun, but adventure seemed to be definitely in 

the air. 

Our path to the camp with WWI bunker 

Suddenly after climbing over our last dune, we saw a camp 

consisting of about three wooden barracks similar to former 'Labor 

Service' barracks. 

On arrival, our guides, huffing and puffing, attempted desperately 


Page 19 of 24 

11/5/2011


to bring order into chaos and make sense of what seemed impossible 

living-conditions, when we discovered that the barracks didn't have 

either a wooden floor nor any kind of insulation. In other words, we 

were standing on sand in the barracks and the cold wind was 

blowing through huge cracks between the wallboards. Military style 

bunk-beds with thin mattresses had been put along the walls and 

the center of our barracks and we were told that we had to go to 

another barrack to get blankets and sheets. While getting our 

bedding, we were also told by our guides that the 'cook' would not 

be preparing meals until the next day and that we had to walk back 

into town later in order to get something to eat. 

This is 'Jugendheim Bauer' where we stayed in Norderney 


Page 20 of 24 

11/5/2011


Photo-album cover I made after the trip to Norderney 

I still have the report book and this is the first page. 


Page 21 of 24 

11/5/2011


Doesn't look so impressive by today's standards, but I was very 

proud of this project. 

Continue my journey, go to page 15 next 


PEYTON PLACE LINKS: 

Meeker Museum's Peyton Place Page (Outside Link) 

Diane Varsi, Star of Peyton Place, Page (Outside Link) 


Page 22 of 24 

11/5/2011


Grace Metalious Author of Peyton Place 

Click on picture to read her short biography off this website 

Continue my journey, go to page 15 


Page 23 of 24 

11/5/2011



Part XV 

Berlin 1954 - 55 

North Sea Island Norderney 

After we had returned to our barracks and made up our beds, we 

went on to explore the camp and it's surroundings. 

Sand and dunes were everywhere and the grass growing sparsely on 

the dunes was hard and sharp. It was very cold for a summer day 

and the blustery wind made even my ears hurt. 

But what did it matter when the inner heat of discovery and the 

promise of adventure takes over one's mind and spirit. We were so 

excited! 

After an hour or so of almost feverish excitement, we decided to 

walk into town again to get something to eat. When we returned to 

the camp it was already dusk and two of our three guides were 

waiting for us. We formed an assembly and they announced that 

about fifty or so more kids were going to arrive from all over West- 

Germany the next day. Some of the kids who had arrived with me 


Page 1 of 12 

11/5/2011


from Berlin, I had already met at different occasions. Not many 

though, only perhaps three or four including 'Olaf' from the 

Scharnhors-Jugend. 

Rumors spread that a group from the 'Wiking Jugend,' the youth 

group of the 'Hilfsgemeinschaft ehemaliger Angehoeriger der Waffen 

SS,' were also coming. These kids were considered in whispered 

admiration as the 'elite.' I had, at one time, attempted to find them 

in Berlin, but didn't get anywhere. It seemed that they only existed 

in West-Germany. So I looked forward with mixed emotions to 

meeting them. Feeling excited about the possibilities and fearful that 

they would reject me as not worthy of their attention. 

The toilets for the camp were in a separate wooden structure. About 

six stalls with square, box-like, wooden commodes and no flushing 

mechanism. I guess they were what's called an 'outhouse' on a large 

scale. But the three shower stalls in our barracks had running water, 

only barely-warm but bearable. 

There were also faucets and sinks for us to use to wash up in the 

mornings. 

To use the term 'roughing it,' would perhaps describe our 

'accommodations' best. But that was exactly what made the whole 

situation so exciting and adventurous. 


Page 2 of 12 

11/5/2011


I am on the upper left bunk 

By nine o'clock we were already in bed, telling stories and joking 

around until sleep gradually took over and silence spread through 

the barracks. 

I woke up to a cold and smelly dawn. It must have been about five 

in the morning and I was cold, shivering under my thin army 

blanket. From the South side of the island came the fishy, salty and 

decaying smell of the low-tide. It was almost nauseating and on top 

of my feeling so cold and anxious, it seemed almost overwhelming. 

I got dressed quickly and went to the 'outhouse' to relieve myself. 

Then I washed my face and took a walk towards the ocean. 

When I got to some of the old World War I fortifications and 

bunkers, built with huge chunks of concrete which could probably 

outlast humanity, I sat on one of the concrete blocks and faced the 

open sea in silent reverence. 

God, I loved the sea and her promise of adventure! 

Ever since my vacation in Groemitz, at the Baltic sea, I felt such a 

strong longing to explore the world. And not only that, I felt such a 

deep spiritual promise and affirmation, such oneness with spiritual 

beings and with all humanity, whenever I sat silently by the shore, 

looking with transfixed gaze at the rolling, foaming waves. 

I felt like I had returned to the 'source' of all life and being-ness on 

earth. 

Yes, I felt like I had, once again, returned home. 

After some time of silent reverence and meditation, I shook myself 


Page 3 of 12 

11/5/2011


loose from my trance state and slowly walked back to the camp. 

By that time most kids had gotten up and were waiting with sleepy 

indifference to get something to eat. The lights were on in the messbarracks 

and we could hear the muffled sounds of activity inside. 

Everybody was starving and soon the door was unlocked from the 

inside and we were allowed to go in. There were huge tables and 

long benches, like picnic tables only much longer, and we sat down 

waiting for our food. Ready made, open-faced sandwiches made with 

hearty German rye-bread was served on big platters. Some had 

cheese and others liverwurst and other sliced sausage on it. 

We ate with a ravenous appetite until nothing remained and washed 

it down with glasses of milk which was served in large pitchers for us 

to pour into our own glasses. When we had finished, we were told to 

assemble outside for information and roll-call. 

The other groups were to arrive today and we were asked to help in 

their accommodation and orientation. 

Organized into small groups of three or four boys, we helped in the 

distribution of sheets, blankets and pillow cases, worked in the 

kitchen, peeling potatoes and cleaning pots and pans, as well as 

cleaning and straightening out the barracks for them. 

They arrived in two large contingents with two train arrivals at the 

Norden railroad station. 

The first group came walking down the path around noon. About 

fifteen boys, looking somewhat tired and cranky, didn't impress us 

very much. 

The second and last group arrived around six o'clock in the evening 


Page 4 of 12 

11/5/2011


with the same attitude. After eating and resting, they all seemed to 

become more lively and talkative. 

At eight o'clock, we were told to assemble and were then split up to 

move into different barracks, in order to mix kids from different 

areas of Germany and thus encourage more interaction. 

At first I didn't like the idea because I had already made friends with 

some of the boys from Berlin, but later, when I met some of the new 

kids from West-Germany and made friends with them, I came to 

appreciate the split-up. 

By about ten o'clock we were in our bunks falling asleep quickly. It 

had been a physically and mentally demanding day. 

The boy in the bunk below me was from the Hanover area in Lower- 

Saxonia. 

He was a member of the Viking-Youth, organized around the 

organization of former Waffen-SS members. Blond haired with 

features like from an idealized 'Hitler-Youth' poster, he could have 

certainly been arrogant and dismissive to us other kids not endowed 

by nature with such striking 'Aryan' features, but he was one of the 

nicest and most helpful boys in the whole group. A natural leader, he 

took it upon himself to organize barracks meetings where we would 

sit and talk about ourselves and about history, the second World War 

and whatever else came up. 

Since he was in the bunk right below me and thus in very close 

proximity, we immediately developed a close friendship. Often, 

during our free time, we would walk off together to sit by the sea or 

on top of 'my' concrete block by the WWI fortification. 

We would talk intimately about our lives and aspirations, about our 

spiritual quests and our families. 

He told me of the brutal treatment his father had received in allied 

camps after the surrender of 1945 and about how his family had 

been ostracized by former friends and neighbors under the climate of 

de-nazification. 

We also talked about the books we had read and the organizations 

we had dealt with. 

At one of our sessions, he asked me if I had ever heard of a 

magazine called 'Der Weg' from Argentina. When I declined, he told 

me that he would give me an address, which was very secret, in a 

town named Bad-Pyrmont, and said that if I wrote to them and gave 

his name as a reference, they would mail me a copy and I could then 

subscribe to it. 

The magazine, he said, was published by former ranking National 


Page 5 of 12 

11/5/2011


Socialists in Buenos Aires, Argentina, by 'Editoral Druffel Verlag,' or 

was it 'Duerer' Verlag? I can't remember the exact details, but I did 

write to them at the German address given to me by my new friend 

whose name, by the way, was 'Volker.' 

It took about three weeks for me to get a copy in the mail and it 

was indeed a very exciting publication. 

It's front and back cover was tan colored with a wide 'Nazi-brown' 

stripe in the middle. 

There was no pretense, this was a Nazi publication for all intends 

and purposes! A 'high-brow' theoretical journal filled with articles 

about Mozart, Hans Ulrich Rudel's exploits as a fighter pilot and 

political articles attacking the Nuremberg trials. 

There were advertisements for books I could only dream about, 

because I would never have the money to order them from 

Argentina. 

Indeed, this was 'hard-core' stuff and I loved it. 

One advertised book, I remember, was "Mit Goebbels bis zum Ende" 

and another was "Ende und Wende einer grossen Zeit". 

The price for a year's subscription was not very high, considering 

that it came all the way from Argentina. Something like twenty to 

thirty German mark. I raised the money by telling my mother and 

grandparents that I wanted to subscribe to a cultural magazine from 

a foreign county which was very educational and stimulating. 

After begging and harassing them for a while, I was indeed able to 

raise the money and to send it as a postal money-order to the 

address in Bad-Pyrmont, but I never received any more copies 

because about a month or so after receiving my sample copy, the 

operation was closed down by the German political police. 

I read it in a newspaper (Die Welt) first and also got a letter from 

my friend Volker in Hanover. He told me that the police had raided 

the address where I had ordered my magazine and confiscated all 

addresses of subscribers, warning me that I might get a visit from 

them also. 

This never happened though and I can just imagine their 

astonishment if they had come to visit and found a thirteen year old 

boy as their 'neo-nazi' suspect. 

My mother would have died on the spot. 

But I never heard from the police about it, thank God. Not that I 

cared about it for myself, but I didn't want my mother to have to 

deal with the situation and find out what my 'cultural' magazine 

subscription really was. 

She never did. 


Page 6 of 12 

11/5/2011


Our days in Norderney were filled with group meetings, exchange of 

information, soccer, swimming in the ice-cold North Sea and 

explorations of the island. 

Nobody demanded our participation in any of those activities and we 

were pretty much free to do what we wanted. 

I had found friends in Volker and about five or six other boys. We 

often left the group and their activities to do our own thing. 

We explored the island like true adventurers, looking for buried 

treasures of the last war, for buried weapons or even books, but 

didn't find anything worth the trouble. 

One time I found something in a crack of one of the fortifications 

which looked like a rifle-barrel, calling the others we got all excited, 

only to discover that it was a rusty bicycle pump. 

Nevertheless, we did learn a lot from each other, things like 

comradeship and loyalty as well as a deepening of our political 

'convictions' and spiritual beliefs. 

Volker is the only one whom I ever told about uncle Ali. Never 

before or after until writing this account of my life, have I talked 

about him and his teachings. And Volker never betrayed my trust. 

He was fascinated by uncle Ali's life story and the teachings of 

Gnostic National Socialism and envied my 'luck' of having met such 

an important and colorful mentor. 


Page 7 of 12 

11/5/2011


Bathing in the cold North Sea was enticing but usually didn't last 

more than five minutes because of the cold water and cool air. We 

actually had our own beach where nobody else came to bathe. 

It was located north of our camp and on the north-east side of the 

island. Most tourists, of whom there weren't really that many in 

1954, were using the official beach on the north-west side of the 

island near the 'downtown' area. 

This gave us peace and solitude to talk and relax together 

undisturbed from nosy strangers who might have inhibited our 

conversations. 

For the first time in my life I was amongst friends, real friends, who 

not only believed in what I believed in, but were also intelligent and 

open to deep discussions about life in general. 

These were happy days for all of us indeed. 

We were 'comrades' in the deepest sense of the word. 

One evening we had fried herring and fried potatoes for supper. It 

tasted great and I ate much more than I should have. After falling 

asleep at night, I suddenly woke up sick to my stomach and I barely 

made it out of my top bunk to the toilet barracks when I exploded 

from top to bottom. 

Sitting on the toilet with diarrhea and throwing up unto the wooden 

floor planks in front of me. I was so sick that I didn't even notice 

that there were other kids too who seemed to be in the same 

predicament. 


Page 8 of 12 

11/5/2011


After spending some time on the toilet and attempting to clean my 

mess from the floor with pieces of newspaper which we used to wipe 

ourselves (we had no toilet paper), I returned to my bed in the 

barracks. 

I was dizzy and shook uncontrollably when I realized that the whole 

barracks was filled with sick kids just like me. 

Getting back into my bed, I had to jump out again after a few 

minutes throwing up onto the sand-floor. Others were doing the 

same. The place was like a beehive with all of us sick and throwing 

up. 

Some kids even went into their pajama-pants because they couldn't 

make it to the toilet building. 

The smell was sickening, to say the least. 

Soon our guides came in and informed us that we probably had 

food-poisoning. 

By morning, non of us had slept a wink and we were too sick and 

exhausted to do anything but lay-down again on our bunks. We were 

told to drink lots of water and to try to get some sleep and 

eventually we did fall asleep into a dreamless void. 

I slept something like fifteen to twenty hours and awoke around 

midnight feeling much better. 

All around me everybody seemed like in a coma and I got up and 

went to my favorite place, the fortification in the dunes. There I sat 

and gradually found my balance. 

After a couple hours in the cold and windy air, I went back to my 

barracks and slept another five hours. 

Much to soon our time was up on Norderney and we had to pack our 

belongings, exchange addresses and get ready for the return trip 

back home. 

I felt sick in heart and soul, having to part from my newfound 

friends and our life on the 'wild side' in almost complete freedom. 

The thought of having to return back to conformity and to people 

who didn't understand me, seemed unbearable. 

For once in my life I had not felt as an outcast and 'oddball.' I had 

been amongst true friends and fellow outcasts and never felt so 

relaxed and 'at home' as I did on Norderney. 

No, I didn't want to return to Berlin and face my old life in this 

crowded and dreary city again. 

We left Norderney the same way we had arrived there, by boat to 


Page 9 of 12 

11/5/2011


Norden and then by train back to Berlin. 

All of us looked different and radiated a new self-confidence. 

We were seasoned. Not only seasoned travelers, but seasoned in our 

beliefs and attitudes toward life. 

Norderney had given us something very special but indefinable. 

We had come as 'little boys' and we left as big boys, almost men. 

We had come as political 'boy-scouts' and returned as comrades and 

friends committed to a common ideal and cause. -Not as members of 

different organizations, but as members of a people, a community of 

peoples called 'Aryans.' 

We were all members of a generation which had experienced War 

and horrors beyond descriptions at a very tender age. 

Most of us were refugees of one kind or another, had lost fathers, 

mothers, aunts, uncles and grandparents under the most horrific 

conditions imaginable and were thus psychologically and even 

physically damaged by our experiences and nevertheless were able 

to rise above all of those 'handicaps,' because we found meaning 

and purpose in life despite it all. 

We were 'survivors,' not by conscious choice, but by finding refuge 

in our common heritage and worldview. Together we had dreams of 

a better world and a better future which would be the task of our 

generation to bring about. 

Our minds were not poisoned by television and movies and the 

propaganda they contain. 

We had still found our true selves through reading and exploring the 

world in almost complete self-reliance and innocence. 


Page 10 of 12 

11/5/2011


The whole world might have been against us, as German people, 

condemning us hypocritically for things they themselves had also 

done, but we knew of our worth, self-worth and worth as a people, 

because our minds had remained free from social-engineering and 

subtle propaganda. 

We, as a generation, had fallen through the cracks. Thank God for 

that! 

Go to page 16 to continue the journey 



Page 11 of 12 

11/5/2011

Childhood16 


Part XVI 

1955 - 1956 

Back in Berlin from Norderney 

Going back to school after such an extraordinary summer vacation 

was a drag. I felt totally alienated from my school mates and friends 

after having had such an intensely gratifying encounter with young 

comrades who were not only intelligent and in many ways 'outsiders' 

like me, but who had given me such stimulating comradeship and 

hope. 

Looking at the blank faces of my schoolmates, I was abhorred at 

their ignorance and conformity. Their lives and mundane 

conversations seemed like an unbearable burden to endure and I 

resolved to re-live what I had experienced in Norderney through 

even more reading and day-dreaming about my favorite subjects 

which were America, National Socialism, Communism, Spirituality 

and biographies of inventors such as Edison and Tesla as well as 

those of Hitler, Goebbels and Rudolf Steiner, to mention just a few. 

We were in our last school-year and everything was geared to 

prepare us for jobs as apprentices in various trades. Apprenticeship 

usually lasted for three years and after taking a final test one would 

become a journey-man or "Geselle". 

I couldn't for the life of me see myself in any such 'trade' and was 

much to pre-occupied with my dreams of America and adventure to 

pay much heed to such down to earth endeavors. 

Nothing like this appealed to me when we watched movies which 

were designed to give us information about the various trades 

available to us. Of course, in order to get an apprenticeship one had 

to go around to different companies and apply humbly with one's 

'Zeugnis' (school report) in hand, hoping that the owner or head 

honcho would take a liking to this scraggly 14 year old and hire him 


Page 1 of 17 

11/5/2011


for apprenticeship. 

Little chance of such 'luck' was there if one's 'Zeugnis' (the final 

school-report card) wasn't at least 'befriedigend' (satisfactory) in 

general. 

Since my performance in school was abysmal, and I had no interest 

in beefing it up during this, my last, year, I couldn't even think and 

hope to find such a apprenticeship. 

Did I worry about my dim prospects of finding something which 

would constitute a job? Of course not. 

Somehow, I knew that my destiny would guide and help me and I 

did trust in my destiny as much as only a fourteen year old idealist 

could. 

I just knew, in my heart and soul, that I was glad to get out of this 

slave-camp called 'school' in order to test my inner knowledge to 

find the right road to wherever destiny would take me. 

My mother was almost hysterical with worry but I just knew that the 

normal path of limited prospects and further slavery was not for me. 

I did make a little effort though and applied at 'Bolle', a grocery 

chain in Berlin and despite my misgivings about the whole thing, was 

hired as an apprentice to become a grocery clerk...or something in 

that vain. 

I don't know why I went to Bolle, but remember that I did it 

because they had big advertisements in the 'Berliner Morgenpost' 

newspaper and I thought that I would stand a better chance of being 

hired there than being scrutinized too closely by the owner of a small 

shop or company. And I couldn't believe it myself when, after taking 

a test with Bolle and an interview, they sent me a letter within a 

week, telling me that I would start in April 1956 at one of their 

branches in Schoeneberg. 

Well, I still had a couple of weeks to go in school and didn't really 

look forward to go from the frying-pan into the fire...From one 

slavery into another. 

We finished school in April 1956 and had a little gathering in the 

school auditorium for the occasion. 

Herr Gueth and Herr Siedpol and some other teachers were there 

and shook our hands teary eyed. After all, these teachers had been 

with us for three years and developed a bond with us, even though, 

as in my case, they couldn't quite figure out what possible future we 


Page 2 of 17 

11/5/2011


could have as 'proletarians' and 'Staatsburger' (citizens) in a divided 

and increasingly insecure world. 

After shaking hands with our teachers we were set free, waving 

'good-bye' to each other and rode our bikes home. 

How I had anticipated this day! 

But the the 'joy' seemed somehow hollow and meaningless after it 

was all over. 

Especially with the prospect of having to report to Bolle in two weeks 

to learn a job which I had no interest in at all. 

BOLLE 

After two weeks of vacation and dreaded 

anticipation I took the A4 bus from the 

Weserstrasse and got off in Schoeneberg. 

Walking for about 15 minutes I found the 

street where the store was located and 

arrived at the store. 

It was a smallish old-fashioned grocery 

store where the clerk and wares were 


Page 3 of 17 

11/5/2011


behind a large counter and where you told the clerk what you 

wanted and he would get it for you. In other words, it wasn't 'selfservice' 

like our modern grocery stores are. 

The three ladies behind the counter looked at me and one of them 

exclaimed after I introduced myself: "Kieg doch ma, der kleene, is 

der nich suess"! Which roughly translated would come to: "Take a 

look at this little guy, isn't he sweet"! 

I could have melted on the spot, feeling like a complete fool. My 

first instinct was to just turn around and run away. But that, at the 

moment, seemed not quite possible, I reasoned. Thus I just smiled 

with her and took the whole thing as a joke. Which was good, 

because these three older ladies were quite nice and really didn't 

mean any harm. And in retrospect, I was small and thin and must 

have looked like a little kid coming into the store wanting to play 

'Kaufmanns Laden' (Grocery store). 

One of them, who was the manager, took me by the hand, like a 

mother would with a child and led me to the back storage room 

where she told me that she was happy I had come and that she 

hoped I would like to work at the store. 

Then she gave me a white apron and a cap to put on my head and 

told me not to worry and just come out to the store when I was 

ready. 

The store wasn't open yet and so the manager took me around and 

showed me where things were, especially the milk container from 

where milk was dispensed with measured 1/2 or 1 liter ladles which 

we had to dip into the milk cans customers brought with them to be 

filled. 

This was going to be my first task. I was the milk dispenser. 

When the store opened, house-wife's (Hausfrauen) started to come 

in and I was the one to dip the milk carefully with the measuringladle, 

under their scrutinizing, watchful eyes, into their aluminum 

milk containers. 

I also helped to get things for the other counter ladies and tried to 

absorb as much about my duties as I could. 

And there were 'beasts' in the store that worried me to death, 

namely the 'cash-registers'. What I mean is, these cash-registers 

weren't like today's by any means at all but were only there to give 

change. 

They didn't add and didn't tell you what the amount of change was. 

I would have to add up the prices of different items on a writing 

pad, tell the customer what the total amount of their purchase was, 


Page 4 of 17 

11/5/2011


and make change with the cash register. What worried me was that 

under the pressure of customers waiting in line, I would be too 

nervous to correctly add up the different items and thus make 

myself look foolish. 

Of course, this indeed would happen to me when I advanced into 

becoming a full-fledged 

clerk after a few days at 

the store. 

The customers, those 

'Hausfrauen', were 

indeed a special breed of 

mean and bitter women 

who loved nothing more 

than to let out their inner 

frustrations on those who 

couldn't really lash back 

at them, -the grocery 

clerks. 

I learned quickly to 

protect myself from their 

wrath by using the only 

weapon of self defense 

that I had available to 

me, my boyish charm, 

and 'charm' them I did 

unabashedly. 

Being the only 'man' in the store, gave me a certain advantage over 

female clerks, the advantage of being able to 'flirt' with these rough 

and often abused women who seemed to enjoy my presence at the 

store and smile and talk to me, treating me more like a confidant 

and friend, than a mere clerk. 

To the amazement of the female clerks who had been at this store 

for many years and knew the 'troublemakers' well, they were able to 

see with their own eyes how these 'battle-axes' turned into almost 

diminutive 'little Frauleins' in my presence. Oh, and I could be 

charming when I wanted to be. 

Especially when my 'life' depended on it. 

And to me, my life did depend on those ladies and their good grace. 


Page 5 of 17 

11/5/2011


Early on, in my life, I had learned to handle my mercurial 

grandmother with charm when I saw that I could discharge her 

anger at me by using such phrases as: "Oh, Oma, you are so 

temperamental"! Which would instantly make her laugh and change 

her outburst into an innocent moment of delight. In fact, I was the 

only one in our extended family who understood her and was able to 

handle her. 

Of course, one of the reasons I understood her so well was because 

I too had inherited her temper and knew therefore how to deal with 

her tantrums. 

But even though I had this advantage, I just couldn't see myself 

being a Bolle clerk. 

It just didn't interest me and, in fact, made me feel depressed and in 

a complete rut. 

Was this life? I asked myself countless times while contemplating 

how disappointed I was, having anticipated my freedom after school 

only to find myself in a similar, if not worse, place. 

Something had to be done! 

Thus after about two or three weeks at Bolle, I called them from a 

pay-phone and told them that I had decided to quit my job with 

them. My mother was highly disappointed, to put it mildly, but I had 

convinced her that Bolle wasn't for me. 

Thus I was released from my apprenticeship contract with them and 

was on my own. 

School for delinquents and unemployable 

youths 

Newspaper Route 

So there I was, in a precarious situation indeed. Since I was 'under 

age' and not employed in an apprenticeship anymore, I came under 

the special attention of the State. 

Apparently quitting one's apprenticeship was a 'No, no' and brought 

with it serious consequences. 

Not knowing what I had gotten myself into, I was amazed to get a 


Page 6 of 17 

11/5/2011


letter in the mail which ordered me to report to a special school for 

delinquent and un-employable juveniles like me. 

The news hit me like a rock in the stomach! 

Realizing that I was in serious trouble, I reported to this school on 

the day I was instructed to and couldn't believe what I saw. 

Actually the school itself looked quite normal, like any other school. 

But inside, it was a totally different story. 

The 'children' I saw there, and had to content with, were anything 

but normal school kids. 

They were indeed frightening looking lot. If anything, they were 

exactly what one would envision while contemplating the word 

'delinquents'. Perhaps the word 'criminals' would be more adequate 

though. 

It was a wild place where no learning took place whatsoever, which 

would have been just fine with me, but the chaos in the classroom 

and in the whole building was beyond description. 

If anything this 'school' was a place where, if you weren't a 

delinquent and criminal, you would sure as hell become one. 

I felt like having been condemned to hell with no way out. 

When the time finally came to go home, I decided that I would 

rather go to prison or whatever place the state would have for me, 

then to go back to this 'school'. 

And I never went back. 

The next day, I pretended to go to school to my mother and went 

looking for a job. 

In the newspaper I found an add looking for someone to take over a 

newspaper route and I went to apply. 

The place listed was in a shabby neighborhood of Neukoelln and 

easy to find. 

A storefront distribution center not much bigger than an apartment, 

I talked to the manager, a sloppy looking character who didn't ask 

many questions but seemed happy to have found someone to take 

over a route for two newspapers, "Der Tag" and "Die Welt". 

He explained to me that I needed a bicycle which I already had and 

had to get up early in the morning to deliver the papers door to door 

in a large sized area which included Neukoelln, Tempelhof, 

Schoeneberg and reaching into the near Zoo area. 

After agreeing to wanting the job, he handed me building entrance 

keys for locked apartment buildings on a huge key-ring and told me 

to be back at the center the next morning at around 3am. 


Page 7 of 17 

11/5/2011


I left my interview happy with excitement and anticipation. Free at 

last, I thought, ...free at last... 

My mother didn't seem too excited about my new job, especially the 

idea of me getting up around two in the morning and riding through 

half of West Berlin on my bicycle. But in those days there wasn't 

much crime to worry about and one's safety at such an early hour in 

the morning wasn't much of a worry. 

Nevertheless, she was more than apprehensive and not very 

convinced of my ability to do this job seven days a week. Aside from 

the fact that there really wasn't much of a 'future' for me in this kind 

of employment. 

The next morning I woke up to the alarm and got myself ready to 

see what my new job was all about. 

I ate some bread with cottage cheese on it and got on my bike in the 

darkness of night. It was truly a new experience for me to see and 

feel Berlin in those very early morning hours. 

What a different world this was indeed! 

Arriving at the center, there was lots of activity going on there with 

people counting and sorting their newspapers and the manager 

running around answering to problems and shortages. 

It was a regular bee-hive and nothing like I had seen in the day time 

when I applied for the job. 

The manager seemed relieved that I had shown up and handed me 

a small stack of papers with typed addresses and comments. The 

pages were dirty and worn and sometimes it was difficult to make 

out the addresses, but, at least, they were sorted and stapled in an 

order which allowed me to follow the route more or less logically. 

Starting at the 'Silberstein Strasse' it went through the upper parts 

of Neukoelln into Tempelhof and then into Schoeneberg, close to the 

Bolle store where I had previously worked and further into the 

general area close to the Kurfuersten Damm where my route 

finished. 

Neither "Der Tag" nor "Die Welt" were very popular newspapers in 

those days, so the huge area which my route covered is deceiving as 

to the amount of papers I actually had to deliver. But it was still 

quite a feat to be able to not only ride such a large distance with two 

side-saddles which hang off your bike's luggage clamp over the back 

wheel, stuffed to the bursting point with newspapers, as well as 


Page 8 of 17 

11/5/2011


another stack on top of the clamp itself. 

I must have had about 150 papers to carry and deliver. 

And it wasn't easy to find all the addresses listed on the route-paper. 

Besides that I had to find the right key to many apartment houses 

which was also time-consuming and tedious. 

Fortunately I knew Berlin very well and could find my way through 

all the different streets and sections of this large city with ease. 

Thank God, it didn't rain during my first few days, as this would 

have made it much more difficult to look at the route paper while 

doing all the deliveries. 

I had to hustle like I never had before, riding my bike with speed 

and running up the different apartment house stairways to my 

various destinations. 

Sweating profusely after a short while, I nevertheless enjoyed the 

solitude of those early morning hours. 

At least I was on my own and didn't have to deal with customers or 

bosses. 

Hearing the chirping of early morning birds, I felt great despite 

having to literally race my bike through the early morning streets, 

jump off the bike and run up silent, dimly lit stairways and back 

down, over and over again and again. 

Heck, I was young and this kind of strenuous activity didn't bother 

me at all. 

Only on Sundays was my route hell. On Sundays my two 

newspapers didn't publish but instead I had to deliver the "Welt am 

Sonntag" paper which was the Sunday's edition of "Die Welt" and 

was quite thick and popular. 

Therefore I had to do Neukoelln and Tempelhof first, then return to 

the distribution center in Neukoelln and load my bike up again to 

continue into the other sections of Berlin. 

Despite this truly burdensome Sunday's runaround, I still loved this 

job enough to continue it for about five more month. 

I should also mention that since my newspaper route wasn't 

considered an apprenticeship and I was only 14 years old, the school 

for delinquents kept on sending post cards threatening my mother 

and myself with juvenile court if I didn't return to school at once. 

Having become wise to those cards by a lucky accident, I caught the 

mailman on the street before he could slide the card through our 

apartment mail-slot where my mother would find it, and through the 

cards into the street sewer. 


Page 9 of 17 

11/5/2011


This went on for a few month, until finally a police man showed up at 

our apartment door and demanded that my mother and I appear for 

a hearing in a few days. 

So I was 'exposed' and my mother became very agitated and 

frightened for my future. 

When the day of our appearance there came and I had finished my 

daily route, we walked to the Neukoelln court house and waited to 

be called for the hearing. 

I was called in alone first and the judge started right away in a 

diatribe about responsibility and my obligations to continue school 

until I could find an apprenticeship, or, if I couldn't find one, until I 

reached the age of 17. 

After getting this lecture off his chest, he became more fatherly and 

asked me why I didn't want to go to this school. 

He also said that I looked like a fine young man and just didn't fit 

the profile of a delinquent. 

I decided to turn on my charm and intellect and confessed to him in 

all honesty that I thought this school was a terrible place. Describing 

to him what I had experienced there and begging him not to send 

me there again, because I just wasn't going to do it no matter what. 

Speaking freely, I told him about my daily newspaper route and my 

extensive reading in history, religion, geography and my knowledge 

of Edison, Tesla and other inventors. 

After conversing with me and kind of testing my knowledge of those 

subjects, I could see in his face and by his body-language that he 

was deeply impressed if not moved. 

Of course I avoided talking about my political views. Then, looking 

at me very seriously, he said that he thought that I was a special 

case and that he would highly encourage me to find alternative 

schooling and an apprenticeship as soon as possible and that he 

would defer me from having to return to this school for delinquents 

as long as I would continue to do my paper route and seriously look 

for an apprenticeship. 

I don't remember if there were any other stipulations attached to 

his ruling, but I was deeply moved by his kindness and 

understanding and promised to do as he had asked me to. 

In September my mother had seen a sign in the store-window of a 

bakery. It was a sign asking for an apprentice. 


Page 10 of 17 

11/5/2011


She had gone in and talked to the owner, Herrn 'Baeckermeister' 

Febel, about me and he had told her to send me over to talk to him. 

When she came home, she told me about him and begged me to 

just take a look and talk to him. 

So, just to keep her from bothering me about it, I went to see him 

and ended up signing up for an apprenticeship. 

I don't remember why I did it besides the fact that an apprenticeship 

of any kind was better then none. 

Even I, the idealistic dreamer, could understand that by then. 

October 1956 - October 1959 

Apprentice in a Bakery 

Move to Berlin-Mariendorf 

The bakery was a storefront 

operation, like so many others were 

and probably still are in Berlin. 

There was a small store in front 

displaying the baked goods and a 

'backstube' -bake room- about the 

size of an apartment. And it was just 

Herr Febel and myself working 

there. Sometimes, usually before 

certain holidays, there were a few 

more people who were retired but 

looking for some extra money. 

Herr Febel was really a nice, middle 

aged, red-haired veteran of World 

War II of Hungarian origin. His wife was a snippy, dark haired 

woman whom I disliked intensely. 

Working with Herrn Febel was great. He was a patient and kind 

teacher and I learned rapidly to be of real help and do my tasks 

conscientiously and, of course, quickly. 

Working in a small bakery without much machinery is hard labor, 


Page 11 of 17 

11/5/2011


but I reveled in it and enjoyed being able to lift 100 pound flower 

sacks and sifting them by hand. 

Weighing only about 120 pounds myself (if that much), this is not 

an easy task. 

Also, although we had a mixing machine for bread and 

'Schrippen' (a certain kind of breakfast and lunch roll), many other 

dough's had to be mixed and beaten by hand which was physically 

strenuous. 

The ceramic tiled baking-oven took up one whole wall and was fired 

with coal and wood and had to be loaded up at many intervals to 

keep the right temperature for baking. 

All in all, I learned quickly and Master Febel seemed quite happy 

with me. 

For breakfast Master Febel used to disappear into his apartment's 

kitchen to eat and Frau Febel, his pretentious, snippy wife would 

bring me a small plate with old, and I mean real old, baked goods to 

eat in the working area. 

I would have been embarrassed to give this stuff to my dogs, but 

she acted as if she handed me gold on a platter. 

To this day, I can not imagine how she could in good conscience 

treat another human being to such abominable stuff and keep a 

straight face. 

I don't think that Master Febel, eating in his kitchen, knew what she 

was bringing me as he was much to kind a person to be part of such 

an insult... especially since an apprentice is expected to do the work 

just like a ;journey-man' -Geselle. 

My pay was only about 30 marks a month which wasn't enough to 

buy a book. 

But, those were the days and I began to understand why my 

grandfather was such an avowed Socialist. 


Needless to say, I was 

appalled that people 

could be so exploitative 

of others. 

Many times during those 

three years I wanted to 

just 'pack it in' and tell 

them to go to hell, but I 

somehow managed to 

keep on going in the 

Page 12 of 17 

11/5/2011


daily drudgery for almost no pay. Especially since I knew that after 

these three years of slavery I would never, 

ever work in a bakery again. 

So I kept on plodding along and giving this 

job all of my strength and dedication. 

During this time, about 1957, my mother's 

request for an apartment had been 

approved by the government and we finally 

were able to find a decent "Neubau 

Wohnung" (a newly built apartment house) 

in Berlin-Mariendorf, Alt-Mariendorf 44. 

It was a small apartment but seemed like 

heaven after the dank place where we lived 

before that was attached to the shoemaker's shop on the ground 

level. 

Everything was so new and shiny and we even had a small balcony 

where one could sit in the sun and read or watch the traffic going 

through Alt-Mariendorf, which is an almost suburban section 

bordering on rural Buckow and Lichterfelde. 

The only problem was that it was about ten miles away from 

Neukoelln and thus from my job. 

Since I had to be there at 5 am I couldn't use a bus or street-car, 

but had to rely on my trusty bicycle once again to get me back and 

forth summer and winter. 

...So for almost two years I rode the ten miles back and forth to 

work, which also meant that I had to get up much earlier than 

before, at about 4 am. 

Working such crazy hours and having to go to sleep between eight 

and nine pm, kept me out of a lot of trouble. 

I severed my contacts with 'right-wing' youth movements and spent 

most of my free time reading. 

The Mariendorf public library was located right across the street 

from our new apartment and I spent a lot of time there feeding my 

ever growing interests. 

America and Canada were foremost on my mind as I came to realize 

that Germany just wasn't big enough for me and my thirst for travel 

and adventure and for my need to find an escape from the drudgery 

of my apprenticeship. 

Somehow I was able to buy a moped, -a very light motor-cycle 


Page 13 of 17 

11/5/2011


which promised relief from having to pedal my bike day in and day 

out. But after a few weeks of winter, riding it in snowy streets and 

falling on my butt a few times, I traded it with a family friend, Peter 

Haller, for a modern tape-recorder with all the frills, ...made in East 

Germany. 

How he got it I don't know but I was glad to get rid of this moped 

for it. My bike was much more comfortable and reliable to me, 

especially during the long winters. 

At the end of my third year of 

apprenticeship, during September 1959, I 

had to go to another bakery which was 

located in the Hermannstrasse in Neukoelln 

to work there and thus be tested by another 

Meister for my knowledge and abilities to 

function as a Geselle (journeyman). 

Of course this is a difficult task, to work and 

be scrutinized for ones ability and knowledge 

in a completely strange working 

environment. Needless to say, I was terrified 

and nervous when I reported there at 4 am 

in September of 1959. But, despite my 

misgivings everything seemed to work out 

well enough. 

Since this was a larger bakery, there were about four Gesellen and 

two 'Lehrlinge' (apprentices) working with me and I seemed to fit 

right in. 

The Master baker there was an older, cranky man with little 

patience and I immediately disliked him....And he seemed to dislike 

me. 

Perhaps there was some undercurrent of dislike for Herrn Febel, my 

Meister, but I sensed that this cranky old man was out to get me, no 

matter what I did right or wrong. 

But despite my sensing this ugly undercurrent, I thought I had done 

quite well and deserved a rating of 'good' for practical work and for 

theoretical knowledge. 

When I returned to work with Herrn Febel at my usual work-place, I 

told him about my misgivings in regards to this man. Herr Febel told 

me not to worry and that indeed he had, in the past, complained 

about this man to the Innung for judging Lehrlinge sent to him 

unfairly. 

Well, since I didn't plan on really becoming a baker after my 


Page 14 of 17 

11/5/2011


apprenticeship, I didn't really worry about the whole matter any 

longer, beyond the fact that it irked me as grossly unfair. 

To hell with them all, was my thought! 

Herr Febel offered to hire me after my apprenticeship and I politely 

declined. 

Smelling infinite freedom just a few weeks away, I couldn't possibly 

see myself continuing to work at that place, or any bakery for that 

matter. 

Then the final day of my employment with Herrn Febel arrived. It 

was a working day like any other and I couldn't believe that his wife, 

even on that occasion had the nerve to bring me ancient cake for 

breakfast. 

Those cheap bastards! 

I was angry beyond words and on this final day told her what I had 

wanted to tell her for three years, to shove this buckled, dried up 

Pflaumenkuchen (Plum-cake), which was at least five days old, 'up 

her ass'. 

She didn't take my insult lightly and an argument ensued.... 

Herr Febel came out from his kitchen to see what was going on but 

just stood there aghast at my furious outburst. 

I had been such a meek lamb through three years of service and he 

probably couldn't imagine what had gotten into me. 

The time was about 10 am and I just went to the room where I kept 

my bike, changed my clothes and left, never to return. 

During those years we didn't have a telephone and thus there was 

no more conversation with Herrn Febel. 

After about a week I received my 'diploma' (Lehrbrief) with the test 

scores from the baker's Innung and my test scores were, as I had 

suspected, below what I thought I should have received. 

They were 'satisfactory' for practical work and 'good' for theoretical 

knowledge.... 

Oh well, what could I do....? It was over, three years of slavery and 

I had prevailed... and the test scores weren't really bad, just 

average. 

A new world with new possibilities was beckoning and I was ready 

to embrace my new freedom..... 


Page 15 of 17 

11/5/2011


Continue the journey to page 17 



Page 16 of 17 

11/5/2011



Part XVII 

Working for ARWA 

1959-1960 

After recuperating for a couple of weeks from being a baker's apprentice, I had to look for work. 

Needless to say, I was itching for adventure and all my planning for the future was related to find a 

way to be able to see the world. Of course, America was first and foremost on my mind, but, at the 

moment, there seemed to be no possible way to get there. Thus, any country would do to satisfy 

my need to see the world. 

Seeing an advertisement for workers needed at a women's hosieries manufacturer in Berlin- 

Tempelhof caught my attention and imagination. ARWA was a large German company with plants 

in various areas of Germany and in South-Africa and I had heard that it was possible for workers to 

be sent there, upon request. 

Thus I applied at ARWA and was hired. 

So, around mid October 1959 I began working at ARWA, in the huge knitting 

plant. Unfortunately there isn't much that I remember, except that it was 

very noisy, filled with large knitting machines which vibrated the floor of the 

walkways between the rows of machines. 

One could feel the vibration strongly going right up one's legs to one's head. 

The noise coming from the vibrating machines was deafening and many 

workers wore earplugs. 

My job was to walk between two rows of machines lined up for about 100 

feet and to listen for a certain sound which was clearly audible, even in the 

midst of the 'normal' noise.-Sounding like a high pitched screech, it indicated 

that a machine had a broken threat or needle. I would then have to reset the 

malfunctioning machine, rethread it and if necessary, find out which needles, 

of perhaps hundreds of needles, that were arranged in a circle, were broken 

and needed replacement. 

On my first or second day there, I remember replacing a needle and rethreading it, when upon 

restarting the machine, the whole row of machines started screeching and breaking down. The 

foreman came running and in near panic stopping the whole row of machines from an emergency 

switch. I felt like an idiot and never quite understood what had gone wrong, except that I was 

responsible for ruining thousands of needles and God knows how many stockings... 

The foreman was a decent guy though and patiently explained to me again how to do the 

rethreading process. 


Page 1 of 12 

11/5/2011


My suspicion is that perhaps I had put the wrong size needle into the ring and thus caused the 

'catastrophe'. 

Another memory of ARWA is the great cafeteria they had and the really excellent hot lunch they 

served there. 

What was even more surprising, was that they also served a bottle of beer for lunch. I never took it 

though, because I was afraid that it would make me too sleepy to continue working after lunch, but 

many of my co-workers did. 

-Living in America now, I can not even imagine having beer for lunch at an American factory. 

After working there for a while, I began to ask fellow workers about what it took to be sent to 

South-Africa by ARWA. 

They told me that one had to work for the company at least two years before being able to apply 

for such a transfer. 

I knew right then that I would never be able to work at ARWA for two years with only a slim chance 

of being sent to South Africa. 

Thus I began to look for a job that would open more possibilities of adventure for me. 

By early May 1960, I was ready to make a move and went to the large city of Berlin employment 

office in Neukoelln...close to my former school at the Zwillingestrasse. 

Applying for job as fire fighter 

at the US HQ in Berlin-Clayallee 

Page 2 of 12 

At one of the many bulletin-boards there with job listings, I saw an add that truly caught my 

imagination. 

It stated that the United States Air Force was looking for Fire Fighter trainees at Tempelhof Airport 

and gave an address in Berlin-Dahlem, Clay Allee, to apply in person. Right then and there I knew 

that this was exactly what I had been looking for. 

Upon leaving the employment office I took the subway to Oscar Helene Heim station in Dahlem, 

and as it turned out, the station was located almost diagonally across from the U.S. Headquarters 

compound in Berlin, which included the Consulate and the employment office for civilian 

employment with the US armed forces. 


11/5/2011


Main entrance to HQ building and US Consulate. The employment 

office was actually across the street from a side entrance. 

Photo credit: http://www.berlin-brigade.de/ 

Page 3 of 12 

Coming up the steps of the Oscar Helene Heim subway station, I couldn't believe what I saw. 

It seemed that I had arrived in America. At least, an America as I had always envisioned it. 

In this genteel neighborhood, a suburb of Berlin, life seemed to take on a different dimension. 

Although the architecture of the various buildings there were typical creations of National Socialist 

construction-style, they could also be easily related to buildings found in Washington, DC. 

Having read many books and seen many pictures of America, I could immediately see the 

similarity. 

Everything seemed so unlike to what I had experienced as typical of Berlin. For one thing, there 

was plenty of open space. Clayallee itself was a wide highway with broad sidewalks. Pine-trees, well 

kept hedges and shrubs surrounded elegant villas and former German ministry buildings which now 

served the occupational US forces. 

The American flag was flying everywhere and I could see US Army and Air Force soldiers cruising 

by in their big American cars. 

A little further down Clayallee was a typical American shopping center, movie theater and school for 

dependant children. 

Also sitting back quite a distance from the road were apartment houses for military families. 

American buses passed by taking soldiers as well as their wives and children to other military and 

civilian installations in Berlin. 

US Army buses were dark olive colored and Air Force buses were dark blue. 

Bus stops were marked with their own special signs which were placed often near Berlin city bus 

stop signs and I watched with envy the passengers getting on and off those buses. 

To claim that those Americans were like gods to us is hardly an exaggeration. They were like 

emissaries from another, better world, a country resembling paradise on earth. 

Even their clothing looked so different, so relaxed and colorful, compared to our stiff looking, bland 

German style.... 

Needless to say, I had entered the subway in the squalor of the inner city, passed through the 

endless, dark and dank smelling tunnels underneath the teeming city not only to have crossed a 


11/5/2011


large part of Berlin, but to have arrived in heaven. 

I was suddenly in the America of my dreams! 

Page 4 of 12 

Walking to the HQ building of my destination, I saw a sign pointing to the employment office 

located at a side entrance off a side street. All signs were in English and German. A street crossing 

sign marked 'Pedestrians' caught my attention because the word looked so strange to me. 

Thick yellow lines marked where one was supposed to cross the street. There was a guard at a 

gate who spoke German and one could ask there for information about getting to the employment 

office, although there were also plenty of signs in both languages to point out the way. 

When I finally arrived at the correct office, I was handed a form to fill out by a friendly German 

secretary. This form too was printed in English and German. After filling it out and handing it back 

to the secretary, she asked me to wait in a waiting room, telling me that she would call me as soon 

as she was able to contact the Tempelhof Airport fire department to verify details about the job. 

After waiting for about thirty minutes, she came back and handed me some papers which I was to 

take to the fire department in Tempelhof. 

She had scheduled an interview for me there for the next day. The only thing was, she told me, 

that the job appointment as fire-fighter trainee would not be open until September, could I wait for 

four month? 

Of course I couldn't. I needed a job as soon as possible. Gathering my courage, I asked her if she 

didn't have a kind of temporary job for me right then to bridge me over. 

Looking through her rolex index cards, she said that the only immediate opening was at the US 

Forces laundry at Andrews Barracks in Lichterfelde. Without hesitation, I agreed to the job in the 

laundry until my appointment as fire fighter would come through. 

Thus I ended up having to go for two job interviews, one at Tempelhof airport and the other at the 

laundry in Andrews barracks. 


11/5/2011


Job interview at Tempelhof Airport 

Page 5 of 12 

Arriving at a side gate which gave access to the fire department at Tempelhof airport, a German 

guard, employed by the US Air Force, made a phone call to the fire department to verify my 

appointment. Then he pointed to the open gates in which I could see four large fire trucks and told 

me to just walk in there and as for Herrn Gaertner. 

In front of the gates I saw a volley ball net and wondered what it was, as I had never heard of that 

game before. Walking into the station through one of the open gates, I saw younger men polishing 

the huge red 'American LaFrance' fire trucks. Asking for Herrn Gaertner, he came suddenly sliding 

down a shiny pole from upstairs. 

A genuinely nice man in his forties, his mannerisms and open friendliness made me feel 

immediately at ease. Offering me one of his Pall Mall cigarettes, he ushered me into a small office 

on the right of the station. 

There was a coffee pot and he poured me a cup, handing it to me, he pointed to some sugar and a 

milk container. 

Everything about him was so kind and comforting that I just knew that the job was mine. 

He told me that there were four applicants and that the final word would come from T/Sgt. 

Quarles, the US Air force sergeant in charge of the fire department, but that he would definitely put 

in a good recommendation for me. 

After he had explained a general outline of what it was like to work at the fire department and that 

the hours of work were 24 hours on duty and then 24 hours off, which I really liked, he took me on 

a tour through the facility. 

Besides the large garage for the two fire trucks trucks, a water-tanker and an ambulance as well 

as a Volkswagen bus as a general 'run-around' vehicle, there was next to Herrn Gaertner's office a 

CQ room with an extensive, complicated looking, switchboard and two way radio where the 

emergency calls, mainly from the airport tower, came in and from which then the operator on duty 

would sound the alarm, announce the kind and location of the emergency over the fire 


11/5/2011


department's speaker system and open all the gates for the trucks to be able to get out. 

On the other side of the station was a quite large kitchen, where one of the fire fighters did the 

cooking of lunch and supper. 

Page 6 of 12 

Walking up a spiral stairway, we came to the upstairs quarters with two huge dormitories, one for 

each of the alternating shifts. There were about 15 cots and lockers in each dormitory and Herr 

Gaertner explained that we could sleep there at night with our heavy rubber boots and silvery 

looking asbestos pants rolled over the boots by our bedside so we could slip into our boots and just 

pull the pants up in seconds. 

More or less in the center area of the dormitories were two large holes with a silver pole in the 

middle. Looking carefully over the edge and down below, it seemed like we were quite high up. 

On the bottom, down below, was a large, round, rubber platform to provide a bouncy softer 

'landing' for fire men sliding down the poles. In order to reach the pole, one had to lean over the 

large hole and grab the pole with both hands, then wrap one leg around it and cross it quickly with 

the other leg while also shifting from holding the pole with one's hands to the crock of the right arm 

and using one's crossed feet pressed against the pole, to determine the speed and final stop of 

one's ascension down the pole. 

Herr Gaertner demonstrated the whole operation and after having 'landed' downstairs and looking 

up at me, told me to give it a shot as he would watch and monitor my moves. I must admit that I 

was very scared. Heights didn't agree with me very well and looking down while reaching for the 

pole, Herr Gaertner kept encouraging me. 

He told me not to look down but only at the pole straight ahead of me. So, after some hesitation, I 

had no choice but to lean over the 'abyss', grab the pole with my sweaty hands and literally jump 

to wrap my legs around the pole. Reaching the bottom before I anticipated it, I used my left hand 

to break the speed instead of my feet and burned my hand from the friction. Not badly in any 

sense, but knowing that I hadn't done it quite right and emboldened by my semi-success, I asked 

Herrn Gaertner if I could practice some more. 

Walking back up the spiral staircase, Herr Gaertner demonstrated his moves again and when my 

turn came, I did it right. Feeling so proud of myself for not only having mastered my fear of 

heights, but having also slid down with ease and speed, I came to enjoy the whole thing and 

goaded Herrn Gaertner to do it over and over again. 

He seemed to enjoy my youthful exuberance and determination and I think, in retrospect, that it 

probably was just that exuberance which landed me eventually in the training program above 

other, probably better qualified, applicants. 

Who knows? 

Herr Gaertner did seem to genuinely like me, even before the 'pole-slides', but sometimes it is just 

such a spontaneous determination, as I must have shown, which gives the most lasting impression. 

Anyways, after asking my new friend how long it would take before I could expect an answer to 

my application, he told me that it would be at least a couple of month. I would have liked to start 

right then and there, but knew that there was no way to speed-up the process. 

Herr Gaertner again encouraged me by telling me that he thought that all would go well for me and 

that he looked forward to my coming to work with him and his crew. 

Happily, and somewhat consoled, we said 'Auf Wiedersehen' and walked back to the gate. 


11/5/2011


Job interview for a temporary job at the US Armed Forces Laundry 

at Andrews Barracks, Berlin-Lichterfelde 

Main Entrance to Andrews Barracks which was the former 

Lichterfelde Kaserne of SS Leibstandarte. 

After being at the exciting fire station, the thought of applying at the laundry was not very 

stimulating. But I needed a job immediately and thus had no other choice, but to go home to eat 

something and then take a bus to the Andrews Barracks in Lichterfelde. 

Inside Andrew Barracks 

As far as I remember, the Armed Forces Laundry was located off a side entrance to Andrews 

Barracks. I had to pass a guard post whom I told that I wanted to apply for a job at the laundry 

and who then told me exactly where to go. 


Page 7 of 12 

11/5/2011


The laundry itself was a huge warehouse like building with all kinds of washing, drying and steampressing 

machines as well as a dry-cleaning section. 

It was hot in there from all the washing machines, mangles and tumble dryers, but that didn't 

bother me at all since I was used to extreme heat from my work at the bakery. 

I had to see a Mr. Peko, who turned out to be a middle-aged, almost military looking man with a 

crew-cut. He told me that he was originally from Czechoslovakia and had immigrated to the United 

States after the war. When I told him that I too wanted to emigrate to America, he seemed 

impressed and somehow happy, telling me how much he liked it there and that he looked forward 

to returning to the US within the next few years. 

From the papers given to me at the Clayallee HQ employment office, he could see that my job with 

him would only be temporary because I was waiting for an appointment with the US Air Force fire 

department at Tempelhof airport and that seemed to disappoint him. It seemed to me that he had 

taken an instant liking to me and would have liked to have me work at the laundry permanently. 

He too, he told me, was a civilian employee of the US Army, even as the manager of the laundry. 

After a few more formalities and small-talk, he took me down from his office unto the ground 

floor. I should mention here that his office was located in such a way that he could look down 

through his huge windows and see everybody and everything going on in the laundry. 

At the time this struck me as terribly distrustful, if not disgusting. Never had I seen anything like 

this, that every move and action of a worker would be monitored. But then, I reasoned, that it 

really wasn't his fault, or even the Army's fault that the office was located there and that the 

building was constructed in such a way. 

Anyways, Mr. Peko seemed easy-going and friendly as he walked me through all the different 

sections of the operation. When we came to the huge, commercial dryers, he told me that this is 

where I would be working as a 'tumbler operator'. 

Telling me that it was especially hot and that it involved heavy lifting of items like wet fatigues, 

sheets and blankets which I would have to lift out of laundry baskets and shove into the large open 

dryer doors, he asked me if I thought that I could do the job. 

Of course, I said 'sure' immediately, telling him about my apprenticeship in a bakery and the heavy 

labor and heat this work had involved. 

Reassured, he took me back to his office and asked me when I could start working. I told him that 

I could start immediately and he told me, with a smile, to be at work the next morning at 8 am as 

he escorted me out of his office. 

Working at the laundry 

and the kindness of a gay friend. 

Page 8 of 12 

Coming home, my mother, as always, didn't seem to share my enthusiasm very much. Certainly 

she was happy that I had another job, but working in a laundry didn't exactly give her much hope, 

-even if it was at Andrews Barracks, working for the US Army. 

To me it was the first step into a new world and the fulfillment of my destiny. 

To her it was just another 'hopeless' menial job, -Americans or no Americans. 

While my whole life has always been guided and directed by an inner sense of 'intuitive destiny', 


11/5/2011


Page 9 of 12 

she could not ever understand what made me 'tick'. 

Nevertheless, I was happy and certain that my path had been cleared by mysterious, hidden 

forces. To me there was no such thing as a 'lowly' job. Every job, to me, was slavery and my only 

concern was that I would be free to be myself and free to think and dream while working. 

Actually, the more menial a job was considered to be, the more appealing it was to me, since 

physical labor could be done mechanically, robot-like, while I could use my mind, at the same time, 

to think and explore whatever was the driving force of my 'intellectual' pursuits at the moment. 

Money and income, never concerned me much, as I was much more influenced by how a job would 

fit into my need to remain as free as possible. 

Leaving the apartment house at about 7 am the next morning, I rode my bike from Mariendorf to 

Lichterfelde. A ride which took me about thirty minutes and I arrived at the laundry by 7:30. A 

fellow employee whom I met in the locker-room, took me kindly under his wings. His name was 

Arne and he told me eventually, after working with him for about a month, that he was gay and 

that he had been a German prisoner of war in a P.O.W. camp in America for some three years and 

had loved every day of it. In fact, he told me, that he wanted to stay in Texas, where his camp was 

located, but that this hadn't been possible. For those three years he had worked in the fields of 

Texas and even in the streets of a city which I think was Amarillo and he couldn't even express how 

well he was treated there, in the camp itself and by the local population. 

Sometimes, when telling me some of his experiences there, he would even become teary-eyed, 

overwhelmed by memories and emotions. 

I shall always remember Arne's kindness and willingness to help. He was a great soul and good 

friend to me during those three odd month at the laundry. 

Arne lead me to the floor manager who showed me to the dryers. There were, I believe, 10 

machines I had to keep running without loss of time. In other words, I had to organize how long it 

took for certain loads, like fatigues, bundled underwear, linens or private bundled clothing and thus 

organize the filling up of the dryers. 

I also had to make sure that certain items were completely dry and others, which were going to be 

pressed after drying, had to be left somewhat wet. 

Arne operated washing machines right across from my dryers and would every so often push 

laundry carts emptied from his washing machines, next to my dryers. When in doubt about drying 

times of certain items, I would ask him for his advice. He knew the laundry operation in every 

phase and was always ready to even help me load my machines when I couldn't keep up with the 

volume of work. 

The first two weeks were stressful, but after a while I got the hang of it and began to enjoy my 

work there. Fast paced hard work has always given me a 'rush', making me feel good and 

important, as a link in a chain of labor. 

There was a cafeteria where we could buy food and snacks and sit for our thirty minute break and 

talk. I couldn't get enough of Arne's first hand experiences in America and he enjoyed telling about 

his experiences. Arne had a much younger boy-friend working at the laundry who didn't hesitate to 

look at me with disdain, if not ill concealed hatred. 

Of course, Arne was aware of his boy-friends ugly behavior towards me and, in order to make me 

understand the reason, told me that he was homosexual and that his boy-friend was just jealous of 

me. 


11/5/2011


Page 10 of 12 

It didn't bother me too much after I knew the reason, but it made me feel quite uncomfortable 

nevertheless. 

Despite my discomfort, because I liked Arne so much as a person and for his having lived in 

America, I pretended that his friends behavior didn't bother me at all and I continued my friendship 

with him. Arne never made any advances towards me, but told me that I would, one day, 

understand more about being homosexual. Perhaps he could sense my innocence in sexual matters 

and thought that I too would one day 'come out of the closet', which never happened. 

But I must admit, that, through the course of my life, I had many gay friends. In fact I probably 

had more close gay friends than 'straight' ones. 

They were all people whom I dearly loved, but not in a sexual way. 

Perhaps I was always drawn to gay men, because of their intelligence, kindness and nonjudgmental 

attitude towards me. They were open, accepting and some of them even gregarious 

people who weren't tied to family, children and social status and thus took me in as just another 

'oddball'. Naturally not all gay men are like that as some are very much the opposite, especially 

when it comes to social status, money and pettiness. 

One day, in late July, Mr. Peko called me in his office and told me with a sad face that he had bad 

news. I was devastated and could hardly move, just 'knowing' that it must have something to do 

with either my appointment to the fire-department, or my job performance... 

...Then he smiled and explained that the good news for me were bad news for him, because I was 

one of his best workers and he was about to loose me. Flattered and excited I reached for the 

paper he was handing me and read that I was to start on August 8th at the fire department. 

While looking at the paper, he told me that he had given his special recommendation for me to the 

fire-chief, T/Sgt. Quarles. Shaking his hand with both of my hands, I thanked him profusely, telling 

him that I would come back if I didn't like being a fire-fighter. He said: "anytime," smiling 

knowingly as I left his office to continue my work. 

Having received what I had hoped and worked so hard for, I was suddenly facing a dilemma! 

I loved my job, my co-workers and the environment of Andrews Barracks so much that, upon 

receiving what I had wished for, I wasn't really happy. 

Should I stay at the laundry instead? 

My intuition led me to understand that for me, in order to get to the United States, the laundry 

would be a dead-end, while working at the fire department along with American G.I's, I would have 

a much better chance to find ways and means. 

Of course, I had no idea what those 'ways and means' could possibly be, but I, nevertheless, was 

certain that my 'destiny' would lead me there, as long as I followed my intuition. 

After my last day at the laundry was finished and I already had said "Auf Wiedersehen" to Mr. 

Peko, saying "auf Wiedersehen" to Arne was painfully sad. We both knew that we would never see 

each other again and had tears in our eyes, as we embraced each other for the first and last time. 

Turning my back on the laundry and my beloved 'Andrews Barracks', I could not possibly have 

known, that Andrews Barracks would eventually play a pivotal role in my ability to emigrate to the 

United States of America..... 


11/5/2011


Continue the journey to page XVIII 


Page 11 of 12 

Revised: July 18, 2010 . Communication: discoverer73(at symbol)hotmail.com Go to Home Page Go to Index 

of All Articles Pages 


11/5/2011



Part XVIII 

Working as a Fire Fighter Trainee 

7350th Sup Sq, INST ENG, Fire Department Operational Crews, 

Tempelhof Central Airport, Berlin, Germany 

1960 - 1962 

On August 8, 1960, a hot and humid day in Berlin, I reported at 8 am to the 

Airport Fire and Rescue Department at Tempelhof Airport. Of course the place 

was already somewhat familiar to me from my interview there in May. 

Mr. Gaertner had done his best to show me the station and give me an idea 

about what my new job was going to be. Nevertheless, as I approached the 

gate, showing the guard there my letter of acceptance, and walking towards 

the open garage doors at the station, I had to cope with mixed feelings of 

anticipation and apprehension. Would I measure up to their expectations? Not 

being exactly the athletic type, I also wondered about how I would do playing 

the mandatory volley ball and soccer games there. And how would the other 

fire-fighters feel about me? Would they accept me into their group, or would 

they reject me as not qualified for the job? 


Page 1 of 13 

11/5/2011


Herr Gaertner, I forgot his first name, was there to help me again. He was 

the 'crew chief' of our shift and I'm ever so grateful that I was so lucky to have 

started on a day when his crew was on duty. He re-introduced me to the other 

men in the crew and led me up the spiral stairway again to show me my army 

cot and help me put sheets and a blanket on it in the correct, army, way. Then 

he took me to the storage room to give me my asbestos outfit, heavy pants, 

rubber boots and a heavy jacket as well as the "helmet" which covered not 

only the whole head but also the shoulders and the face with a fire-proof, seethrough 

plastic window. Then we carried the outfit to the opening in the floor 

with the center pole was and he told me to just throw it down, except the 

helmet though, which he told me to put on and then slide down the pole. 

Thank God, I still remembered how to get down the pole and thus I didn't have 

any problem sliding down even with this contraption on my head. 

Herr Gaertner then led me to one of the fire 

trucks and showed me a side door where he told 

me to run to if an alarm was sounded. It was a 

small cabin with one seat in it. I was to be a 

'hand-line man' and I would sit there in the truck 

and help with whatever was needed to be done. 

Of course, there was more to this job and I 

would eventually learn how to pull-out the hose 

which was located right next to my little cabin 

and run, while pulling the hose out of the 

compartment, towards the fire and spray it with 

foam. 

This sounds pretty easy, but considering the 

heavy asbestos outfit, running while pulling the 

hose, isn't all that easy. 

The truck, as one can see in the picture above, 

had also a 'turret' which looks like a cannon. This 

turret is operated from inside the main cabin by either the driver of the truck, 

or by the 'turret operator' 

.... Another thing I must mention is that the water-pressure in the hand-held 

hoses is tremendous and one had to use all the strength one could muster to 

hold on to it while spraying the foam-water mixture and keep the hose from 

whipping around like a mad snake. But, of course, I would not experience this 

until later. 

At the moment, Herr Gaertner told me just to put my boots and pants rolled 

up around the boots on the ground right in front of my cab door with the 

jacket inside the cabin.... Then we both walked to the kitchen where Walter, 

the cook, was already serving breakfast to the crew. There was a lot of joking 

and small talk, jovial bantering and announcements, while we ate a delicious 


Page 2 of 13 

11/5/2011


breakfast of ham and eggs. 

Some of the guys tried their best to scare the hell out of me by telling me all 

kinds of horror stories of things gone wrong in the past. But I could tell that 

most of it was just good natured fun and Herr Gaertner did his best to expose 

the 'tall stories' for what they were in order to keep me from exposing my 

naiveté. 

Being by far the youngest trainee ever in the whole department, I was no 

match to their cunning and would often fall for their jokes and stories. 

But it was all part of the camaraderie and I didn't mind it at all. 

After breakfast the trucks were moved out of the garage and parked in front. 

I was shown how to clean, polish and wax the trucks and how to remove the 

hoses from their compartments and how to turn the water on, and then how to 

line-up the hoses and roll them up again. 

I was also shown how the truck's water tank was filled and how the foam tank 

was filled. The foam came in 10 gallon (I'm not sure anymore) cans and stank 

to high heavens. 

One had to open the can and dump the content, which smelled like rotten, 

decomposed flesh, into a larger hole on top of the truck. Water and foam was 

mixed automatically when the water was turned on, coming out of the heavy 

brass-nozzles as white foam. When poured into the truck, the foam was just 

stinking black liquid. When I, for the first time, opened a can to pour it into the 

truck's tank, everybody was waiting to see and hear my expression about the 

incredible stench and they definitely had a lot of fun when I screamed: "Dit 

stinkt ja wie Scheisse"! (It smells like shit!). 

For lunch, our main meal in Germany, Walter cooked up noodles with goulash 

which tasted great. I remember somebody making an obscene joke and I 

started to laugh so hard, with my mouth full, that noodles came shooting out 

of my nose. Which, of course, was even more inspiration to the others to keep 

me laughing... 

Most of the guys at the fire-department were in their late thirties to fifties. 

Many had been 'Front-Soldaten', battle-hardened soldiers during the second 

World War. 

They were a tough crowd of men with hearts of gold. 

I was just a naive boy to them and they truly enjoyed teasing and, at the 

same time, coddling me. Without any effort of my own, I was the center of 

their attention and I enjoyed my 'status' as such immensely. Having grown up 

without a father, I craved male companionship and I had now, even though a 

little late, found it. 

I liked them and they liked me, what more could I have asked for? 

After supper we had to play volley ball for about one hour. I had never played 


Page 3 of 13 

11/5/2011


this game before but was able to catch on pretty quickly. These guys were 

good at it and took the game seriously. In fact they played in tournaments 

against the U.S. Air Force teams at the airport gym on a regular basis. 

So I had to really get into it despite my aversion to 'sports'. 

Amazingly I did quite well and was even an alternate player at the 

tournaments. 

During one of the tournaments, I remember that the Air Force referee wasn't 

able to make it due to other duties and thus some of the Air Force players 

pointed to me and told our team that they wanted me to be the referee 

because 'I looked honest.' 

I didn't know, at first, what they were saying in English and almost froze up in 

fear when Herr Gaertner translated "We want him because he is the only one 

who looks honest enough" and I realized what they were asking of me. At first 

I felt like just running away, but realizing my situation, I came down from the 

bleachers and took position to start the game. Still not knowing how I got 

through the game, I thanked God and my lucky stars for having guided me 

through this feat. 

With P.T. finished, Herr 

Gaertner took me into the 

C.Q office to let me listen 

in on the conversations 

between the pilots of 

approaching air-planes 

and the control tower. 

My school-English being 

very basic, I couldn't 

understand very much of 

the garbled sounding 

babblings (at least, that is 

what it sounded like to 

me) and started to realize 

that I needed to quickly 

learn more English in 

order to be able to function during my eventually approaching night as a C.Q., 

where I would have to be able to understand alerts coming from the tower and 

pass them on through our loud-speakers at the station. 

How could I ever understand those messages coming from the tower? Herr 

Gaertner pointed out a short list of important factors which I would have to 

listen for and write, with a marking pen, on a plastic sheet. 

He explained that the messages which went to the fire-department, airportpolice 

and the central German fire department dispatchers were always 


Page 4 of 13 

11/5/2011


formulated in the same pattern. 

As I remember it, there was first the type of emergency (like, for example, DC 

6 airplane with a 'feathered' engine, which is a propeller blade that shifted in 

shape and had to be shut off). Then would come the location of the emergency 

(like which building or most-likely which runway the troubled plane would 

come in to, something like A North or A South for example), and something 

else which I forgot. 

The message from the tower would be repeated several times which made it 

easier to catch up with the message. 

Well, sheet or no sheet, this C.Q. business was the stuff of nightmares for me. 

I simply had to learn more English and resolved to listen to the Armed Forces 

Network radio station as much as I could stand it. (most of the time they were 

playing 'hit' music like 'rock around the clock', with only occasional news or 

other spoken programs). 

Herr Gaertner, noticing my apprehension, if not fear, patted me on the back 

re-assuring me that it wasn't as bad as it looked, 

-or sounded. 

Having eventually been on C.Q., all alone in the office, with everybody else 

sleeping, laying on the cot, attempting to fall asleep and then suddenly to hear 

the sound of the emergency radio, I can only say that it was frightening 

beyond description (at least to me), no matter how many times one had 

previously gone through it. ...And then to quickly get to the receiver, pick up 

the phone, and hear at first only an incredible amount of commotion which 

somehow merges into a voice on the other end, speaking in fast English and 

me trying to make sense of the message, was an indescribable nightmare 

scenario which I desperately needed to accept as reality and pass on as a 

concise message to the sleeping crew. 

Trying to hear over my amplified heartbeat, I finally did get the message and 

sounded the alarm, but then, the first time I did this, I forgot to open the 

garage gates with everyone in the trucks ready to take off for the runway. 

They tried to signal me with their hands and screamed until I finally got the 

message and pushed the four buttons for the gates to open feeling like an 

idiot. 

It was just a 'stand-by' and when they returned, Herr Gaertner re-assured me 

that this kind of stuff happened all the time and that I shouldn't worry nor let it 

get to me. 

But, nevertheless, I could never, ever warm up to those endless nights as 

C.Q... 

After my introduction to the C.Q. room, we worked some 

more on keeping the trucks polished and then proceeded to 

clean the upper floor dormitories, shower room, pool and 


Page 5 of 13 

11/5/2011


television room, class-room and hallway. The hallway was waxed and needed 

to be wet-mopped and buffed. 

I had never seen nor handled an electric buffer before and surely enough, the 

monster-machine went out of control with me hanging on for dear life. Just 

about everybody was watching in anticipation of my inability to control the 

beast and their laughter went out of control with my jumping around with this 

wild machine. Of course, there is not much to being able to use the buffer, but 

it can be quite an experience for those unfamiliar with it's operation. 

It looked so easy watching others do it, but, when this guy operating it gave it 

over to me upon my begging for a try at it, I had to learn the hard way to 

make it go correctly. I should have restrained my curiosity and kept my mouth 

shut until somebody would have shown me how to do it, but thus is youthful 

self-confidence.... 

At six pm, we had a hearty supper consisting of open-faced, German bread 

sandwiches, which Walter had prepared, and soup. After that we were free to 

do whatever we wanted to in the station. I was introduced to the American 

game of 'shooting pool' and learned to enjoyed it. Not that I was ever really 

good at it, but it was fun and relaxing. 

Others watched television or played cards. We were allowed to go to sleep 

after ten and most of us went to bed after eleven. Just before going to bed, we 

had to slide downstairs and get our pants and boots which had to be placed 

right next to our cots so that we, if an alarm was sounded, could slip right into 

the boots and pull our pants up in seconds. Our jackets remained in the firetrucks 

to be slipped on while driving to the location of the emergency. Thinking 

constantly about what I had to do if such an emergency alarm was called, I 

didn't get much sleep during my first night, if any at all. 

Herr Gaertner had told me that sometimes there were night-drills also and 

I kept on worrying about how I would perform without any experience... 

But nothing happened during this first night, and we were awakened by a 

loud voice over the loudspeakers to 'rise and shine' at six o'clock in the 

morning. 

After showering, shaving and picking up our gear, we slid down the pole and 

placed our boots and pants back by the fire-trucks again, because we had to 

be ready to respond, even though the other shift was coming in at eight 

o'clock. 

Walter had made a pot of coffee and we sat around drinking it and smoking 

American cigarettes provided for us by a couple black Air-Force guys who were 

attached to us in the day-time. 

I had bought a carton of Winston's from from one of the G.I's for ten German 

marks, after Herr Gaertner mentioned this advantage to me. 

There was a PX right at the main military terminal and these two air-men were 

constantly shuttling between our station and the PX, probably just to get away 


Page 6 of 13 

11/5/2011


from the station and whatever their work was supposed to be. 

The new crew arrived between 7:30 and 8:00 and we were then ready to 

take our gear back up the spiral staircase and place it into our lockers in the 

dorm. 

Sliding back down the pole, we said 'Auf Wiedersehen' and 'Tschues' and 

walked out of the gate. 

Sometimes we, as a group, would go to a pub which was already open, 

because they also served breakfast food, and had a few beers. 

Yes, we were a tightly knit group and I liked that very much.... 

Pursuing The Spiritual Path 

On the way home I got off the street-car and went to a sporting-goods store 

to buy myself a pair of 'Keds' sneakers in order to be 

able to move quicker playing volley-ball. Coming home 

about 9:30 a.m., I told my mother all about the new job. 

She was weary of my enthusiasm, as she had heard it all 

before, but, on the other hand, 

seemed to be happy that I liked 

my new job. 

I had the whole day to myself, 

having to work 24 hours and then 

being off for 24 hours, was a 

good deal to me. I was off when 

most people had to work and 

could roam Berlin in pursuit of 

whatever inspired me at the moment. 

Religion and spirituality were always my main 

objectives and thus I hounded used book-stalls and 

book-stores in search of interesting books. 

One occult book store near the Nollendorf Platz in the Motzstrasse provided 

me with lots of books and insight. 

The store was located in the building where Rudolf Steiner had once lived and 

worked out his theories. 

I knew that from a plaque next to the main entrance, a commemorative plaque 

which told of Steiner having lived there. 

Books were, and still are, expensive in Germany and I had to be careful with 

my selections. Steiner's books and theories had a deep influence on me but 

seeing his pictures, I just couldn't warm up to him on a more personal level. 


Page 7 of 13 

11/5/2011


He always looked so sickly and sad which somehow didn't make sense to me. 

Shouldn't a man with such immense insight and knowledge look more dynamic 

and healthy? 

Even to this day, I have the same feeling about him, even though I should 

know better. I always liked 'Madame' Blavatsky, 'HPB,' as she was called in her 

days. 

She just radiated strength and psychic charisma to me. With her smoking 

cigarettes and cursing like a man, she appealed to me very much. What others 

saw as 'vulgar' behavior, I saw as honest and forthright, without pretense of 

saintliness or false 'religiosity'. 

She was who she was, take it or leave it! 

Having read many of her works and many biographies about her, positive as 

well as negative, I have come to the conclusion that she was the genuine 

article, so to speak. 

Her main works, "The Secret Doctrine" and "Isis Unveiled," are without rival in 

scope and knowledge. 

How, in her time and age, she could have faked the immense information in 

these works, I can not possibly imagine. 

No, to me, this woman was all she claimed to be and more. 

I can not claim that I understood her material completely, perhaps not even 

10% of it, but she certainly and unknowingly had planted a seed within me and 

inspired me to, in my own erratic way, enter the narrow Path in pursuit of 

Knowledge... 

Or, perhaps I should say: 'Uncle' Ali planted the seed and Madame Blavatsky 

nurtured it. 

She helped me understand life, my own as well as ALL life, and gave me 

solace when the 'oddity' of my relentless drive to Know became, at times, too 

much to bear. I was an 'outsider' and I knew it. 

My quest was not the quest of my peers and I couldn't control nor help that. 

What brought joy and fulfillment to most people, things like going out, dancing 

and dating, had no appeal for me at all. 

I lived and moved to a 'different drummer' indeed. 

Perhaps I can say that intuition or psychic insight was, and still is, the 

motivating factor of my life. 

While others planned to have a family, friends and a good career, I was only 

content when I could freely explore the mysteries of life, death and spirituality. 

That this was not a conscious decision, but a relentless inner drive, should be 

clear. 

I would much rather have been like everybody else around me, since it is often 

painful to be seen as an outsider. 

But, this was and still is who I am and what I am since birth and I could do as 

little about it, as others would be able to find interest and motivation in my 


Page 8 of 13 

11/5/2011


pursuits... 

Vedanta and Christian Science 

Another big influence were Vedanta and Christian Science. When I first saw 

Mary Baker Eddy's work "Science and Health", in a display case, near a train 

station, I was very curious about it. 

Visiting a Christian Science reading room, I was very disappointed that they 

were out of the book at the moment. Especially because I also liked that one 

page was in German and the other in English which would have helped me in 

my studies of the English language. 

Thus I ended up buying her 'Prose Works' which also featured the German - 

English text in the same manner as "Science and Health". 

What struck me almost immediately was that Mrs. Eddy's insight related so 

strongly to the teachings of Vivekananda and Ramakrishna. 

Having already read a book by Vivekananda, I could easily relate to Mrs. 

Eddy's 'Prose Works'. 

I don't mean to give the impression that I understood Mrs. Eddy's Christian 

Science nor Vedanta in any appreciable sense, but only that I did gain an 

intuitive perspective. 

For example, I had no idea, at the time, how one could be healed from a 

physical disease through studying Christian Science, but I did understand 

something of her reasoning dealing with God as All there is, as basis of her 

theological reasoning. 

Wasn't that exactly what was taught in Vedanta? 

Yes, Mrs. Eddy's logical approach to religion appealed to me immensely. Didn't 

she manage to teach in a logical manner what mystics and Gnostics had 

attempted to express through the ages? 

Her teachings were a Science indeed. 

Her analysis of words and their meaning to the root-word, and her reasoning 

that God is All in all as basis for her Christian Science was a western form of 

Vedanta to me. Despite that perception, I also realized that her reasoning and 

teaching was unique, because she made it possible, through her scientific 

approach to religion, for anyone who was willing to invest some time into this 

Science, to become attuned to at least a higher understanding of God, Life and 

their own place in the universe. 

I have always seen Christian Science in it's original, pure teaching, as a form 

of western yoga of the mind. The daily study of her Science and Health, 

combined with the study of the Bible, is a constant mental form of 'yoga,' 

which gradually attunes the Christian Scientist into a higher realm of 


Page 9 of 13 

11/5/2011


understanding leading into Gnosis. And why shouldn't Truth also heal the 

body? 

Should not our understanding that what we perceive as being material and 

solid, isn't solid at all, but only appears that way to our 'agreed-upon' common 

understanding prove that disease is first and foremost mental? 

As has been proven, long after her death, that there are no solid, material 

objects anywhere, but only solid seeming ones, her theories have been 

vindicated after years and years of ridicule. 

"God is infinite Spirit and thus His creation can only be spiritual"... "God is 

Good and thus can not know evil"... "The evil we perceive and experience on 

this earth is based on our false perception that matter 

is real -- There is no reality to matter, because God 

being infinite Spirit, could not possibly create gross 

matter". "All evil in this world, and there is a lot of it, is 

based on the false premise 

that matter is real and thus 

has power over us." 

---I have paraphrased her 

teachings and thus am 

probably not quite correct 

with every statement. But, 

nevertheless, I don't think 

that what I stated as coming from Mrs. Eddy is that 

far off... And I can say, in all honesty, that Mrs. 

Eddy, in my opinion, was one of the greatest 

spiritual teachers ever, along with Madame 

Blavatsky. 

What raises Mrs. Eddy above Madame Blavatsky is, in my opinion, that Mrs. 

Eddy was able to convey the mystical teachings of the highest Spiritual 

masters in a concise, structured and rational manner, while Mrs. Blavatsky, 

despite her superb insight, taught an often confusing path which seems to me 

far to broad and all inclusive. 

Mrs. Eddy taught the 'high road,' while HPB taught a more or less elusive goal 

after an occult path fraught with danger to the unwary. 

I have always liked simplicity in all things, spiritual or otherwise. The 'occult,' 

as such, has never appealed to me because I have never cared to attain power 

over others or material things beyond the necessities of life. 

And it is perhaps this attitude which has protected me spiritually as well as 

physically through the course of my life. 

It is abhorrent to me, in a very deep sense, to strive and compete. 


Page 10 of 13 

11/5/2011


Having never had the desire to 'outwit' anybody, or to gain mental control over 

another being, man or animal, I never, ever, cheated somebody knowingly. 

Perhaps it is through having digested the basic teachings of Christian Science, 

that I always feel responsible for 'The Other's' well being, through the deep 

intuitive knowledge that 'the other,' man or animal, is God expressing himself 

to me. 

Could I mislead, cheat, manipulate or exploit God? 

Since God is All in all, isn't God communing with me through 'the other'? 

Of course I have done many things during my life-time of which I'm not 

proud, to say the least. 

I have often, in the spirit of the moment, done things which I have later 

regretted deeply. Sometimes I have hurt people because of my big mouth in 

moments of anger, justified and unjustified. 

At other times, I have been so appalled by people's ignorance and 

unwillingness to open their eyes to facts, that I have resorted to name-calling 

and temper tantrums. 

I have lied to protect myself and lied to get away with something, but I have 

never knowingly done anything to gain an advantage over another, or to profit 

from their ignorance. So I never was, nor will be, a saintly person. 

My quick temper alone, if aroused, would preclude such a possibility. 

Being a very open person, I appreciate openness in others, more than 

anything. Often this openness has brought me into deep trouble. From politics 

to spirituality, I usually say or write what I think, expecting others to be as 

open minded and even forgiving as I am. 

This not being the case, I have made many enemies who were just 'appalled' 

by my perception of things and the bluntness with which I presented my 

views. 

Since most of my views are based first and foremost on intuition, I speak and 

write my 'truth' with passionate conviction and that doesn't seem to appeal to 

many people who can only relate to things by labeling me as 'this or that,' not 

understanding at all that truth and facts are what they are, despite who 

messenger is. 

Since I have, through the course of my life, explored so many ideologies, 

philosophies and religions, there are really very few labels that wouldn't fit me. 

But I think what counts is, that I never 'got stuck' in any particular worldview, 

becoming a fanatic! 

David Icke, a fellow traveler, has said to the same accusations: "I'm me and 

I'm free"! And that goes for me also. 

Please don't put a label on me, even though you might think that you have 


Page 11 of 13 

11/5/2011


'pegged me down' as being 'this or that.' 

Go to Page XIX to continue 



Page 12 of 13 

11/5/2011



Part XIX 

Working as a Fire Fighter Trainee 

7350th Sup Sq, INST ENG, Fire Department Operational Crews, 

Tempelhof Central Airport, Berlin, Germany 

CF-4 

Sommert 

Beyl 

Robert 

Potempu (our 

cook "Walter") 

Gaertner 

1960 - 1962 

This Picture Was Taken On January 16th, 1961 

The Crew 

Names for each truck from right to left. 

CF-3 

Griesman 

Haffke (that's me) 

Henke 

Fiegert 

Water Tanker: 

Gilgenast 

Steffan 

Kurzweg (My 

friend "Shorty") 

Station Chief: 

"Heini" Schulz 

(fourth from 

right) CF-4: 

Daus 

Boelter 


Chief: T/Sgt. 

Quarles 

on far right. 

Fire Prevention: 

Roessigen 

Gueldenpenn 

Page 1 of 7 

11/5/2011


Page 2 of 7 

As time passed, I started to really enjoy my job. One day Herr Gaertner decided that I should learn how 

to drive. With permission of our T/Sgt. Quarles, he took the little VW pick-up bus, seen in the picture 

above on the far right, drove it in 

front of the garage and told me 

that it was time for me to 

practice driving. 

Now, I must point out that I had 

never driven a car before and 

that this red VW bus was 

equipped with a standard four 

speed shift on the floor which 

wasn't synchronized in the first 

gear which meant that one had to 

double-clutch in order to start 

driving.... 

After demonstrating to me what 

needed to be done to drive this 

thing, he stopped the bus, got 

out and told me to get into the 

driver's seat. I was excited and 

apprehensive at the same time. 

What if I screwed up and steered 

the bus into a ditch or whatever? 

The possibilities for failure 

seemed endless. But trusting 

Herrn Gaertner completely and 

feeling very comfortable with his 

kind and understanding manner, 

I climbed in with Herrn Gaertner 

sitting next to me and instructing 

me calmly in what to do. 

-First, go through the gear shift and learn what it feels like with one foot on the clutch and the other foot 

on the brake.... Then, step on the clutch, shift into first gear, and step on the clutch again and let it 

gently come up. Of course, I jerked off my foot too fast and the VW stalled. 

Herr Gaertner laughed at my stunned expression and explained again that I had to let the clutch come 

up easy. 


11/5/2011


Page 3 of 7 

I went though the same procedure again, and lo and behold, we started to take off with only a slight 

jerking. 

Wow, I felt like a pilot having completed his first solo flight.... Herr Gaertner told me to step on the 

clutch again, only once this time, and put the shift into second gear. It worked fine, although it seemed a 

little difficult to just find the right notch for the gear leaver... 

We were driving along the access road which leads around the entire airport. By now I was in fourth 

gear, and driving along like a pro. God, I was so proud of myself! 

Before we came to where one of the runways began, Herr Gaertner told me to come to a complete halt. 

He then used the radio with which every vehicle was equipped, called the tower and asked for permission 

to cross the runway area. Since there was no airplane approaching, he received immediate permission in 

static sounding English, to proceed. 

I did my double clutching again and we took off with a jerking jump, but the bus didn't stall. By this time 

I was sweating nervously, because in my racing mind and excited mental state, I saw myself stalling the 

bus right in the middle of the approaching runway. But we crossed without incident and I began to relax 

again. 

After driving all around the airport from the Tempelhof side to the Neukoelln side and back to Tempelhof, 

we came to an area where the 'Wings Club' and other clubs were located near the Columbiadamm where 

we, for the first time, encountered 'traffic'. There were 'stop signs' and yellow arrows, signs in English and 

German, yellow and white traffic lines and a lot of large American cars. 

...Stop, double-clutch, go, stop again, double-clutch and go... over and over again. 

My shirt was soaked under the arm-pits, my foot trembling and only Herrn Gaertner's calm, re-assuring 

voice made it possible for me to get through this whole mess without a glitch. 

We approached the tarmac area where I could see people embarking and entering planes by the movable 

steps then in use. At a certain point Herr Gaertner had me come to a complete stop again while he asked 

the tower for permission to cross the tarmac area. Permission was granted and I drove, ever so proudly 

by all those planes and people. 

Finally we were back at the fire-station and I parked the VW in front of the garage. Herr Gaertner said 

that we had to move it into the garage which meant that the bus had to be backed into a narrow area 

next to the ambulance. Since it involved having to go in reverse at an angle and then straightening the 

vehicle parallel to the ambulance, Herr Gaertner thought it would be best if he drove it in. 

I, being all fired up and proud of my 'achievement,' begged him to let me do it. Big mistake! 

He relented reluctantly as I backed in. Everything went well, until I had to straighten the VW. Looking into 

my left side mirror and also watching Herrn Gaertner give me signals, I somehow hit the left door against 

the garage gate frame and put a substantial dent into the VW's left door. 

The grating noise coming from the vehicle door being smashed by my ineptitude brought everyone at the 

station running and gawking at me with unbelief and even laughter.... I was so embarrassed. On top of it 

all, this VW bus was used by our American station chief T/Sgt. Quarles for all his airport runs! 

I was in a state of shock. Shaking and probably pale as snow, I stood there and couldn't believe that I 

had done this. T/Sgt. Quarles came running out of his office and just stood there looking at me with, what 

seemed to me at the moment, with total disgust. But I was mistaken about that because, having probably 

sensed my shame and humiliation, he ran up to me, patted me on the back and laughingly told me not to 

worry. 

Had I only listened to Herrn Gaertner's better judgment! 

Natrurally I became the but of many jokes, jibes and a lot of teasing for quite some time to come, but it 

was all good-natured and never malicious. 

Being the youngest by far, I was treated almost like a mascot and could get away with many things 

which might have caused others to loose their job. 


11/5/2011


Some time after I had started at the fire department, I new member to our crew was introduced. He 

was even smaller and lighter built than I but probably five years older. 

His last name was Kurzweg. I can't remember his first name because everybody, right from the start 

called him 'Shorty'. This was not only because he was short, but because of his last name translated into 

English meant 'short-way.' 

We became good friends and after a while he told me that he was Jewish and had been born in 

Shanghai, China. 

He was quite a character, eccentric with a 'bohemian bent'... At least, that is how he wanted to be seen. 

Being well read and interested in politics as well as spirituality, we soon found each other because we had 

a lot in common. What we had not in common was his 'Existentialist' perspective and passionate hatred 

for everything military, German or American. 

Nevertheless, despite our differences in that respect, we became good friends.I could never understand 

though how he had ended up working as a fireman for the US Air-force.... To me, and everybody else, he 

was about as unsuited for this kind of a job as a pacifist in the military. 

But, there he was and I never asked him how he had come to this job either. 

He did tell me though that he had previously worked as a guard for the semi-military US-Army German 

Labor Service. This somehow intrigued me and I constantly pursued him to tell me more about this 'Labor 

Service.' 

Since he hated the military so much, he was reluctant to give me much information about it. 

Perhaps he suspected through my relentless questioning that I might join up with them and he would lose 

me as a friend at the fire station. But eventually I did get the picture about what the 'Labor Service' was. 

According to him, it was a job like any other, with the exception that one had to go through four weeks 

of 'basic training' at Andrews Barracks where one would even have a bed and locker assigned and could 

live and eat there also. Most people went home after working hours as a guard, but some actually lived at 

the barracks. 

During basic training one learned to shoot M1 carbines (later M14's), march in formation and was trained 

in all the stuff that goes with a semi-military organization. 

One was also taught 'crowd control with bayonets attached to the carbines and issued gas masks. 

Since I was hell-bent on emigrating to the United States and I could sense that working at the fire 

department wouldn't ever get me there, this 'Labor Service' sounded promising to me. 

Something within me, my sixth sense perhaps, told me that the 'Labor Service' would somehow open 

doors of possibilities for me... 

Which is exactly what was going to happen, eventually..... 

Page 4 of 7 

Without telling Shorty of my plans, I decided to check-out this Labor Service for myself. 

Knowing Andrews Barracks quite well from my work at the laundry there, I went to the main gate on the 

Finkelstein Allee and asked the Labor Service guard there how I could get to the Labor Service 

employment office. He wrote me a pass and gave me directions and I walked to a wooden barracks 

located right next to an office which said CID over it's door. The next door said something like "4078 

Labor Service Company". Stepping in through the door, I found myself in a complete military 

environment. It could have been an US Army office, except that the desk-sergeant and all others there 

wore dark grey uniforms which included 'Eisenhower jackets'.... 

Or it could have been a typical 'Schreibstube' in the former German Wehrmacht. 

Upon telling the sergeant what I wanted, he handed me a form to fill out and pointed to a chair and desk. 

After filling out the form and some time had elapsed, I was shown into another office where a Captain 

Spolert greeted me and asked me to sit down. He interviewed me for some ten minutes and I was 'hired.' 

When could I start? He asked me. 


11/5/2011


Well, things were moving so fast that I never even thought the whole thing out beforehand. He knew 

that I worked for the US Air-force as a fire-fighter and thus told me that it would be best if I gave the 

fire-station one month notice. I agreed and we thus had a date for my start as a 'sentinel' for the Labor 

Service..... 

Walking out of the office and making my way back to the main entrance, I couldn't quite believe that I 

had signed up. What had I done? 

All my good comrades at the fire-department, especially Herr Gaertner and Shorty, what would they 

think? 

What, in God's name, had prompted me to act so quickly and almost irrationally? 

Now, in retrospect, I'm sure that it was the hand of destiny...fate, if you will. 

Page 5 of 7 

I felt like a traitor walking down Finkelstein Allee to the bus stop. And I felt even worse when I told 

Herrn Gaertner what I had done, the next day. Herr Gaertner seemed sad when he heard from me that I 

had signed up for the Labor Service and told me that he thought I had made a big mistake. 

When I explained to him my reasoning for this unexpected move, he somewhat understood but didn't 

see much more of a chance for me to get to the United States working for the Labor Service then for the 

fire-department. 

Of course, objectively, he was more than correct in his reasoning, but I assured him that I somehow knew 

that this was my chance and that I had to take it. Telling him how truly sad I felt having to leave such a 

great crew and especially him, he reassured me that I had to follow my destiny and that we would always 

remain friends. 

He also promised to set the paper work in motion and, upon my insistence, also promised that he would 

not tell the others about my leaving until the last day. 

When I told Shorty about my signing up with the Labor Service, he was outraged. Berating me for 

making 'the biggest mistake of my life,' he took my leaving very personal. I had wished that he would 

understand and give me his best wishes despite his apprehension, but this wasn't to be. 

He just couldn't forgive me and from that point on treated me like a leper.... But, he too, upon my 

begging him, didn't tell the others about my resignation. 


11/5/2011


Go To Page XX - Working for the US Army's Labor Service 



Page 6 of 7 

11/5/2011



Part XX 

4078 Labor Service Company 


I reported to the LSC 

barracks within Andrews 

Barracks on June 1, 1961. 

It was one of the old core 

brick buildings stemming 

from the Kaiser's time 

before World War I. 

Unfortunately I can not 

remember much about my 

first three weeks of 'basic 

training' there. This might 

be because nothing stood 

out or because the people 

with whom I inter-acted, 

the Sergeants, Corporals 

and fellow Privates didn't 

leave a lasting impression 

with me. 

Of course, I'm not talking 

about the guys with whom 

I stood guard later, after 

the basic training was over. 

They were, for the most 

part, good people. 

At that time the Labor 

Service Company had even 

it's own barber shop run by 

a dwarfish character who 

sold 'rubbers' and porn 

pictures on the side. 

There was also a club 

Page 1 of 12 

11/5/2011


which seemed always busy with after duty rounds of beer and coke with rum.... with 

American rock and roll music blaring from a juke-box. 

Our laundry was taken care of by the same US-Army laundry facility where I had, 

not too long ago, worked as a 'tumbler operator.' 

And there was even an "infirmary" where one could see a doctor and receive APC' 

for headaches... 

Thus, I don't think it is an over-statement to say that this 'Labor Service' was 

almost an army within the US-Army. 

Actually, the whole thing, in retrospect, was a curious affair and I look back upon 

my limited involvement in it with some pride and fond memories. 

Having also served in the US-Army, the 'real' US-Army, and gone through it's real 

basic training at Ford Gordon, Georgia later in 1964, I can only laugh at the ease of 

the basic training we went through working for the Labor Service. 

There is actually no comparison. 

Nevertheless, at the time I thought that it was very much like the real thing and 

was even somewhat proud to have gone through my three or four weeks of Labor 

Service basic training thinking of it as a real accomplishment. 

Only a few things remain in my memory relating to our training there. I remember 

learning to 'fall in' into formations, marching endlessly, training with bayonets drawn 

upon our M1 carbines for crowd control, such as riots, and shooting our M1 carbines 

in an underground type of bunker-shooting-gallery, which was once used to execute 

Hitler's former comrades and 'enemies of the state' during the 'Night of the long 

knives' in June 1934.... 

Yes, 'Andrews Barracks' had a long and checkered history and, of course, I was 

quite excited to have become privy to some of it's secrets and historical facts. 

I loved the M1 carbines because they were light, easy to use and easy to carry over 

one's shoulder on guard duty... 

Our LSC compound was fenced in and thus separated us from the compound of the 

US-Army's Andrews barracks. 

We could not access this part of Andrews barracks and were thus segregated from 

American G.I's. 

Only later, during guard duty there were we able to talk to and interact with them. 


Page 2 of 12 

11/5/2011


After finishing our basic training, we were assigned to various companies and 

'Zuege' or units. I don't 

remember many names, 

but I know that my unit 

Sergeant, was Sgt. 

Behrmann (or Beerman) 

and that one of my most 

frequent 'checkers' was 

Lieutenant Bartels, and 

that our commander was 

Captain Spolert. 

I must interject here 

that a 'checker' was 

usually a Lieutenant who, 

with a driver, came 

around to the many 

guard posts to 'check' 

upon the alertness of the 

guards there. 

He would walk around 

and we as guards, upon 

spotting him, had to call out in English: "Halt, who goes there"! Upon which 

command the checker would stand still and than the guard would have to call out: 

"Advance to be recognized"! When the checker had advanced enough to really be 

recognized, the guard would salute and say something like: "Private Haffke on duty, 

Sir"! And the checker would say: "At ease"! And then come closer to make sure the 

guard looked presentable, wasn't intoxicated or unfit for duty. 

After thus checking the guard, he would continue his rounds to the next guard and 

so on. 

Some posts were quite large, like 'Ammo-Depot', and he would have to go through 

this routine perhaps six to ten times. 

Other posts were singular and only had one guard on duty. 


Page 3 of 12 

11/5/2011


Lieutenant Bartels was a tough character, but ultimately a nice guy off duty. Since 

we did carry live ammunition in our magazine pouches, I don't think that being a 

checker was all that good of a job, due to the sometimes weird and unstable 

characters standing guard for the US-Army. 

Most of us were regular 'Deutsche Jungens' (German boys), but some of 'us' struck 

me as quite shady characters who had come to Berlin to escape the emerging draft 

into the new German Army, the 'Bundeswehr.' 

Berlin was exempted from the draft due to it's special status and location in the 

middle of East Germany like an island. 

I personally knew a few men, who had been members of the Waffen SS, captured 

at the end of the war and 'convinced' 

that it would be to their advantage to join the French Foreign Legion where they had 

served with distinction for many years in Algeria, Indochina (Vietnam) and other 

volatile places. Upon eventual discharge, they had been given honorary French 

citizenship but chosen to return to Germany instead. 

One comrade even showed me his discharge and French citizenship certificates, 

which looked quite impressive. 

In regards to checkers coming to check these old warriors, I can only imagine if they 

would push their buttons just a little bit too much and what would happen.... 

So, no, a checkers job wasn't all that easy. 

We stood guard for eight hours with fifteen minute breaks every two hours and a 

half an hour for 'lunch' or whatever, depending which shift we were on at the time. 

Shifts rotated and thus we had, let's say, one week of day shift, the next week of 

afternoon shift and the next week of night shift. I can't remember the details, but 

believe that this is just about correct. 

There was also an 'unreine Schicht,' which means 'unclean shift' during which one 

would work a couple of days on the afternoon shift, followed by a couple days on the 

night shift. The 'shopping center' near Clayallee was one such place. It was a post 

which I loved, despite the punishing 'unreine' shift. 

I loved it, because I could walk around throughout the shopping center, freely 

amongst the G.I's and their dependants and glance admiringly at the various goods 

displayed in some shop windows. Somehow it gave me the illusion that I was 

already in America, and being who I am, a romantic idealist, this gave me a deep 

sense of happiness. 

There seemed to be nobody else in our unit who liked the shopping center, because 

of it's 'unreine' shift but me and I thus often volunteered for assignment there. 

This love for 'my' shopping center would eventually get me into deep trouble. 

What happened was that somebody during the night shift had climbed over a 


Page 4 of 12 

11/5/2011


wooden balustrade which was placed around a kiosk selling news-papers, magazines 

and trinkets and stolen some 

magazines there. Of course, 

I would never even think of 

doing such a thing, nor 

would I have had the guts to 

do such a crazy stunt. But, 

because of my eagerness to 

work the shopping center, I 

came under serious 

suspicion. 

Nobody in the 'higher 

echelons' of the company 

could possibly understand 

why anybody would be so 

'stupid' and volunteer for this place wanting to work this crazy shift. 

I had to have some ulterior motive, in their perception of things. And that motive 

would have to be that I was 'cleaning the place out.' Hell, I must have had a regular 

racket going to always want to be assigned there.... 

Of course I had no idea of what was going on. I knew nothing about the stolen 

magazines nor any other thefts there until one day, on one of my days off, 

Lieutenant Bartels pulled up in front of our apartment house in Mariendorf and rang 

the door-bell. 

It was around 11 am and I answered the door. He was very polite but grim looking 

and asked me if he could come in. "Of course", I said, and led him into our living 

room. We sat down and he explained that there had been thefts of magazines at the 

shopping center and that I, due to my volunteering for the post, had come under 

serious suspicion..... 

Shocked, first of all by his 'visit,' and then by this terrible accusation, I proclaimed 

my innocence and explained to him in detail why I liked the shopping center post so 

much. I told him of my plans to emigrate to the United States and about my feelings 

of happiness when patrolling the center. 

....Yes, I made myself vulnerable by telling him my inner secrets, but I also 

convinced him on the spot that I couldn't possibly be the culprit who had stolen 

magazines there. I showed him around, voluntarily opening desk-drawers, closets 

and my book-case in my room. Yes, there were many books and magazines in 

English, but they were old, years old, but no recent magazines like 'Look, Time, Life,' 

or 'The Saturday Evening Post'.... 

The more I showed him around and the more he saw the books that I had, relating 

to the United States, the more he must have realized that the story of my 'emotional 

involvement' with the shopping center was true. 

In the meantime my mother, who had been speechless throughout the whole thing, 

put on a pot of good German coffee and so we all ended up sitting around our living- 


Page 5 of 12 

11/5/2011


room table drinking coffee, smoking American Marlboro's and talking about how 

crazy the whole thing regarding those missing magazines was....And this was when I 

saw the "real" Lieutenant Bartels, not the 'checker,' but the real man, the World War 

II veteran and human being. 

He apologized more than once and told me that I had been completely cleared. 

To this day, I can not understand how anybody could be so stupid to risk his job 

and reputation for a bunch of magazines. 

To stand guard, or walk a post with a rifle over one shoulder, is strenuous, to say 

the least. 

...And doing this for eight hours with only three short breaks is close to torture. 

We were allowed to shift the rifle (or carbine) from one shoulder to the other, but 

eventually even that temporary relief didn't help much either. 

Thus, one term, used by all of us, was 'Gammeln.' This meant to 'goof off.' 

We even called each other 'Gammlers' and exchanged stories about how we had 

'beat the system' by finding ways and means to goof off on duty. 

One instance, which I shall never forget, was at 'Ammo' (Ammunition Depot), a 

huge installation with countless ammunition bunkers located in dune like hills. There 

were many posts all around the depot and in the middle of it was a large enclosed 

watch-tower which could be accessed by climbing up a long ladder. 

The watch-tower had a huge, movable flood-light which was indeed blindingly 

strong if focused on a person. 

Sergeant Polk was our leader at the compound and he usually stayed at the 

entrance building, only to make about three or four rounds during the night checking 

on his crew. 

Of course on top of that there was still the 'checker' who could come any night. 

One night, we all decided to 'hang-out' in the watch tower's comfort. 

To get to it one had to hike through the hilly bunker area in the dark and then climb 

up the ladder. 

The post assigned to the tower had the hatch door open and we gradually poured 

in. 

There were probably six or seven of us up on the tower. Sergeant Polk had just 

made his rounds, so we felt that we had only to worry about the 'checker' whom we 

could easily spot by the headlights of his approaching jeep. 

So, for a while, we had a great time, feeling on top of the world, because we were 

not only all together, bullshitting and joking around, but this was the ultimate 

'Gammel.' 

....All of a sudden somebody spotted a figure approaching the tower about 200 feet 

away. 

We were in a state of panic... How would we all be able to get down the ladder and 

not be seen by whoever was approaching the tower? 

The guy who was assigned to the tower told us not to worry because he would shine 


Page 6 of 12 

11/5/2011


the powerful spotlight right at the person and blinded by the intense light, he would 

not be able to see us... 

...Well, that sounded good, but, nevertheless, wasn't all that certain to work as we 

imagined. 

What if he saw us anyways??? 

Having no other choice, this guard quickly grabbed the handle of the spot-light, 

turned it on and shone it right at... Sergeant Polk. 

Sgt. Polk stopped and looked dazed. 

The post challenged him with the usual "Halt who goes there", and Sgt. Polk, 

annoyed, hollered that he just wanted the tower post to sign a vacation request 

paper.... 

As all this took place we were climbing down the ladder, one by one, stumbling in 

the deep darkness of the night thinking that Sgt. Polk just had to see us because we 

could see him as clear as day... 

But, no, he was completely blinded and thus saw nothing. 

What a surrealistic experience! 

Running back to our posts, the tower guard eventually took the light off Sgt. Polk 

and he climbed up to the guard to have his request signed. 

Of course, there were many of those 'Gammeling' experiences, but this one stands 

out in my memory because of the daring surrealism of the whole experience. 

Most of the time I brought vocabulary index-cards with me and memorized lots and 

lots of English words as I marched up and down on my various posts... 

...And that is really how I learned most of my English, by speaking the words out 

loud with their equivalent German meaning, over and over again. Since I didn't 

know for sure how these words were to be pronounced, I can't say that I learned 

how to speak correctly, but I definitely established a good foundation which would 

eventually, in the United States, help me immensely. 

I can honestly say that I memorized at least twenty new words every shift, besides 

going through previous words to make sure I had them down pat. 

I am entirely 'self-taught,' be it in English or any other subject, because I hated 

'institutional' learning since first grade. 


Page 7 of 12 

11/5/2011


Many solitary posts, like 'Quartermaster Ordnance' which had a lot of junked 

American cars parked right next to the railroad track in back of the large building, 

excited my imagination. 

I just loved to look at the cars and day-dream about where they originated from 

and who had driven them. 

Repeating the endless mantra of my vocabulary words, I would walk up to them 

and inspect their dilapidated interiors. 

Some of them were really old, from the forties. 

There were lots of Chevrolets, Fords Chryslers and even Hudsons. 

Some were Plymouth's that looked in shape like the car Donald Duck was driving in 

Mickey Mouse cartoons. 

My favorite days to stand guard there were Saturday afternoon's and Sunday's. I 

was the only person there and I could explore and dream at my heart's content 

without being interrupted. 

Meeting Mormon Missionaries 

Being transported to various guard-posts and installations, I saw a small older 

church building in Dahlem with a sign over it's door which said: 'Kirche Jesus Kristus 

der Heiligen der letsten Tage.' 

Being who I am, I was naturally intrigued. I had read about the Mormons and their 

trek to Utah, but had never thought that they had a church in Berlin. 

Looking through the phone book, located in a phone-booth across the street from 

our apartment, I found out that they had a mission in Berlin and wrote down their 

address. It was located in Dahlem, in an exclusive looking villa. There I spoke to an 

American woman in German and she sold me a German translation of the 'Book of 


Page 8 of 12 

11/5/2011


Mormon.' She also told me to leave my address and that missionaries would contact 

me soon. 

The Book of Mormon I had bought was bound in beautiful leather with overlapping 

cover edges. With the book, she had also given me a few 'Era' magazines in English. 

Thanking her, I left with my new 'treasures' and began reading the book on the bus 

trip home. Actually, I was less than impressed, because the whole thing sounded 

phony and convoluted to me from the outset. Having read so many books dealing 

with spiritual matters and religion, I wasn't easy prey to the claims of this book and 

to Joseph Smith as a 'prophet.' 

Attempting to read it with more attention and an open mind at home later, I soon 

came to the conclusion that the church itself and it's people were honest and sincere, 

good people, but that the Book of Mormon and their belief system was nothing but 

the self-delusional babblings of a false prophet. 

The library across the street from my home carried a few books on the Mormon 

religion, most of them critical and I had to agree with their conclusions wholeheartedly. 

Despite my wanting to, at least, find something truthful in this 

'Mormonism,' because of the hope that I could somehow be 'sponsored' by this 

church to immigrate to the United States, I just couldn't warm up to their teachings. 

And no, I didn't know much about them, besides of what I had read in the 'Book of 

Mormon' and the mostly critical books from the library, but somehow I sensed that 

this stuff just wasn't for me. 


A few days 

later, our 

door-bell 

rang and 

two young 

men 

speaking 

fluent 

German 

with an 

American 

accent 

introduced 

themselves 

to me as 

'Brothers' 

Christiansen 

and 

Anderson. 

They 

Page 9 of 12 

11/5/2011


looked very clean-cut and were dressed in suits and ties. I was impressed, to say 

the least and asked them to come in. We sat down in my room and began talking 

about various subjects which soon led to, of course, religion and Mormonism. 

They both struck me as very likable fellows, the type of personalities I liked and 

appreciated. Not wanting to hurt their feelings, I didn't tell them what I honestly 

thought about 'Mormonism,' but, instead, lead the conversation to their personal 

lives and what had made them to become 'missionaries.' 

I was interested in America, be it Utah, Salt Lake City, or Kalamazoo, Michigan.... 

And they were willing to talk about their schooling, their wards and stakes, their 

families back home and anything else I asked them about. Of course, they always 

tried to lead the subject to church doctrine, Joseph Smith and what Mormonism was 

all about. 

They seemed very impressed by my knowledge of some of their doctrines and my 

questions about them. 

Knowing that they neither smoked nor drank coffee, I didn't know what to offer 

them. 

We had no 'Postum' nor any kind of soda, so I offered them some apple-juice which 

they gladly accepted. 

After talking for a couple of hours, they asked me if I would like to continue our 

'instructions' and go to church with them on Sunday. I accepted their returning but 

explained that I worked most Sundays and therefore couldn't attend church at the 

moment. 

We agreed to meet again, next week, at the same time and they both left handing 

me their 'business cards' with a picture of the Salt Lake Temple and with both of 

their names and Berlin addresses on it. 

Needless to say, we, the missionaries and I, became very friendly...almost like old 

friends. 

I liked them very much because they resembled to me everything good and 

wholesome about America and it's people. 

My tacit explorations into a church-sponsored immigration into the USA seemed to 

fall on 'deaf ears' though. 

I was told by them, in so many words, that the church wasn't interested in 

sponsoring people to come to America because they needed to expand into 

European countries which required for members to live there and form 'stakes'.... 

Despite the bad news, I liked those two missionaries so much that I eventually 

'converted' through complete water-immersion into a special tub-like contraption at 

their mission, by brother Andrews. 

We were both dressed in white pants and a white shirt which was given to me 

before the baptism took place. 


Page 10 of 12 

11/5/2011


My reason for this conversion was not belief in Joseph Smith's prophecies and 

teachings, but my wanting to please both missionaries who had become like friends 

to me.... Having almost finished their two years (I think it was two years) of 

voluntary missionary work, they were scheduled to leave Germany and Berlin within 

a few weeks and I wanted to do something positive for them. 

I'm sure that this is a very poor reason to convert to any faith, but being the 

sentimental fool that I am, I felt that I 'owed' both of them this much.... 

Not being a 'joiner' and 'churchgoer' by nature, I went only once to their services 

held at a school in Alt-Tempelhof. 

Finding the service about as exciting and enlightening as a class in school, I never 

went back and thus became what is called a 'Jack-knife Mormon.' 

Go to Page XXI 

How I Managed to Find a Sponsor 

To Emigrate to the United States. 



Page 11 of 12 

11/5/2011



Part XXI 

More Labor Service 

After working for the Labor Service for 

one year, I received the certificate 

pictured on the left and a quite large pin 

like the one shown pictured on the 

certificate.... The pin looked great on my 

uniform and even though I knew that it 

meant very little, I was, nevertheless, 

somewhat proud of it. 

It made me a full fledged 'member' of 

the Service. 

Of course, just about everybody got this 

after one year of service. But it made 

one look 'important' to new recruits and 

established a certain sense of having 

rank. 

And I did earn it, not through any 


Page 1 of 11 

11/5/2011


heroic deeds or other accomplishments, but through being able to stand 

guard exposed to the bitter cold of German winters and the heat of it's 

summers. 

I have been so cold, on some windy posts, that I literally had to run for a 

while, up and down my area, in order to be able to continue. Sure, we had 

winter-caps with ear-warmers attached, but even that and long warm 

underwear, did very little to keep one going after an hour or so of total 

exposure in wind ice and snow. 

Two hours without a warm up in a heated guard-house is a very long time 

in the biting cold and we often swore to each other that we wouldn't take 

another winter. 

But most of us did anyways. 

The summers, and especially the summer nights, though humid, were 

usually quite nice. 

One time, I remember, when I was posted at HQ on Clayallee, along a long 

high fence, walking up and down, a narrow wooded path, I suddenly felt 

watched and looking up discovered a large owl sitting on top of the fence 

looking down on me. 

This was quite an eerie experience. 

Just imagine, it's the middle of the night, you are all alone, and you have 

this unusually large owl, sitting only about five feet above you, watching 

you... And then you have to keep on passing by this weird bird every five 

or so minutes.... 

Plus, the bird didn't move at all, but like a sinister spirit messenger seemed 

quite comfortable in my frightened presence. 

This experience might seem comical today, but at the moment, it was 

very, very disturbing. 

There were also stories about a woman undressing herself nightly in front 

of an open window in a villa next door. Thinking that it might be something 

of an 'urban legend' among guards, I eventually did see her and she did 

exactly what was told about her. Why would she do such a thing, if not to 

tease the guards whom she must have known were watching her? 


Page 2 of 11 

11/5/2011


Destiny Unfolds 

One day, on my day off, I had a brilliant idea: -What if I went to see the 

American Chaplain at the little white church on the left of the entrance to 

Andrews Barracks and asked him for help in finding a sponsor? 

It felt like a good idea, so I dressed properly in sports-jacket and tie and 

took the bus to the Finkelsteinallee. 

Driven by destiny I didn't even think this idea through. It felt like was given 

an inner command: Do it 'now or never!' 

Walking up to the American guard, and purposely avoiding the Labor 

Service German guard who was posted there also, I told him in English that 

I needed to see the chaplain and showed him my Labor Service picture 

I.D.... 

...And to this day, I'm still amazed that he let me go in and even told me 

to use the side door because that's where the chaplain's office was located. 

Knocking on the side door, I heard a kind sounding voice calling "Come on 

in!" 

Stepping inside, I saw an officer with the two silver Captain's bars and 

silver crosses attached to his uniform. 

Not knowing which faith he represented, Catholic or Protestant, I 

nevertheless felt very comfortable in his presence. 

Despite of his officer's uniform and his military bearing, he spoke gently 

and reassuringly. In short, he liked me and I liked him immediately, and 

thus I opened up completely and told him, in my best English, that I just 


Page 3 of 11 

11/5/2011


had to live in the United States and that I had made countless attempts to 

find a sponsor, but been, thus far, unsuccessful. 

He, looking intensely into my eyes while I poured my heart out to him. 

Reassuring me, after I had finished, that I had come to the right place and 

that he could steer me in the right direction. 

He explained that being a Lutheran pastor, he had strong connections to 

an organization called 'Lutheran Immigration Service' and knew their 

American representative in Berlin, a Dr. Otto, very well. 

Writing down Dr. Otto's name and address, located on Clayallee, for me, 

he handed me Dr. Otto's address and told me that he admired my courage 

and drive and that this man, the head of the Berlin branch of the 'Lutheran 

Immigration Service', could not only help me, but circumvent a lot of 

bureaucracy which I would have to encounter if I just went to the regular 

office of the LIS in Berlin. 

The address was Dr. Otto's private residence.... He also promised me that 

he would personally call Dr. Otto and give him my story and his 

recommendation before my arrival there. 

Not being able to thank this wonderful, kindhearted human being in an 

officer's uniform enough, I had tears of joy forming in my eyes. 

He patted me on the back and told me again how much he admired my 

'guts' and resourcefulness. 

Saying my final "Good bye, Sir!", I walked towards the main gate of 

Andrews Barracks as if floating on a cloud. 

Of course, I went immediately to catch a bus and then the subway to 

'Onkel Toms Huette' station on Clayallee. 

Through my service in the Labor Service, this was by now very familiar 

territory. 

There was the 'Shopping Center' and 'Outpost Theater' on the left as I kept 

on walking and looking for numbers at the gates of the many stately homes 

and villas which I passed. 

Finally, after walking down Clayallee for about thirty minutes, I found Dr. 

Otto's residence. 

Dr. Otto, a somewhat rotund man in his late fifties answered the door bell 

immediately and after I told him my name, asked me to come in while 

telling me that he had just come off the phone talking to the Army 

Chaplain. 

Happy that I didn't have to go through the whole story over again, I was 

asked by Dr. Otto to sit down. 

Dr. Otto then told me that he was impressed by the Lutheran Army 


Page 4 of 11 

11/5/2011


Chaplain's recommendation and that, indeed, he would be able to help me. 

He had me fill out some papers and told me that the whole process would 

take from six month to a year and that there was no absolute guarantee of 

a sponsorship, but that he thought my chances were excellent. 

Urging me kindly not to give up while waiting and not to loose hope, he 

rose from his chair, taking my filled out papers and led me gently to the 

door. 

Again, tears were welling up in my eyes as I thanked him for his kindness 

by seeing me and helping me. Shaking his hand many times, I said "Auf 

Wiedersehen!" and went back to the subway station. 

The ball had been set in motion and I just knew, that destiny had lead me 

to both men. 

After a couple of weeks I received a letter from the offices of the Lutheran 

Immigration Service in Berlin-Steglitz to please come there for further 

instructions.... Yes, Dr. Otto had done as promised....and had worked his 

influence for me. 

At the offices of the Lutheran Immigration Service, I received all kinds of 

papers to fill out and a list of documents which I had to bring in for 

verification. I didn't need to get a German Passport because I had already 

received one in 1962. 

After having taken care of all the paperwork, I was told to be patient and 

wait for a sponsor in the United States to send me a personal letter to my 

home address. 

And sure enough, after about six month, I received a warm letter from an 

'Evangelical Lutheran Church' in Arlington, Virginia in which the Pastor, Dr. 

Schumann congratulated me and told me that he had picked me out of a 

list because I was a 'refugee' working for the US-Army and thus being able 

to at least speak and understand some English. 

I couldn't believe it and neither could my mother, who had probably hoped 

that this immigration thing was just a passing and impossible pipe-dream of 

mine. 

Pastor Schumann told me that he and his congregation were my official 

sponsors and that I should report as soon as possible to the Immigration 

Service office to receive the notarized certificate and further instructions. 

When I received this letter, it was the middle of March. And, of course, I 

went immediately to the Immigration Service office. 


Page 5 of 11 

11/5/2011


They told me that I would receive details of my departure date in the mail 

within a few days and that I was to go to the American Consulate and 

present my notarized certificate of sponsorship there in order to obtain an 

immigration visa. 

I also had to get a lot of 'shots,' -vaccinations, which were to be marked in 

a little booklet like folder and presented to the Consulate. The shots were 

given at a special office and I also had to bring proof of vaccinations I had 

received as a child. 

Leaving the Immigration Service office, I immediately went to the Labor 

Service and filled out my resignation. 

Everybody was impressed that I had managed to accomplish what very 

few had been able to... 

And there were many young men working at the Labor Service who 

wanted to immigrate. 

Taking a couple days off in order to go to get my shots and go to the 

consulate, I would still work there until April the seventh, 1963. 

Word of my upcoming immigration went around our company quickly and 

one day Pete Wagner, whom I had only seen around, up till then because 

he belonged to a different platoon, approached me and told me that he too 

was going to America in May and that his sponsor was a distant nice living 

in Danbury, Connecticut. 

We agreed to definitely meet at his apartment in Berlin-Wedding and in 

America, no matter what. 

After going through my vaccinations and presenting my childhood shot 

record, I went to the Consulate at Headquarters Building where I had stood 

guard countless times and where this owl had harassed me one entire 

night... 

Presenting my sponsorship certificate to a secretary, I was asked to wait. 

Then the Consul called me into his office where he gave me a little speech 

about immigration and eventual citizenship in the USA. 

Finishing his lecture, he also told me that as soon as I arrived in the USA, I 

would be subject to being drafted into the US Army. He also explained to 

me that I could refuse to be drafted but that upon this refusal I would 

never, ever be able to receive my citizenship. Then he handed me a waver 

and I had to sign with my name that he had made me aware of these facts. 


Page 6 of 11 

11/5/2011


He then signed a formal visa and I was ready to go.... If only I had a 

definitive date. 


Page 7 of 11 

11/5/2011


Clayallee HQ's 

When I arrived back home, I had a letter from the Immigration Service 

waiting for me. 

It contained all the specifics I needed. 

I was to fly from Berlin-Tempelhof airport on Pan Am to Hamburg on the 

16th of April, stay overnight at the 'Turm-Hotel' and my propeller plane, a 

'Super-Constellation' operated by Capitol Airways was leaving for New York 

Idlewild-Airport on the 17th. 

The letter also told me that we would stop at Brussels - Shannon, Ireland - 

Gander, New-Foundland, Canada - and from there we would arrive at 10 

am at Idlewild-Airport, New York City. 

The 'countdown' had begun and my time in Berlin was running out. 

I still had to visit Pete Wagner, my new friend, at his apartment and also 

say "good bye" to my grandparents in Berlin-Spandau and my aunt Gerda 

in Berlin-Tempelhof. 

There was also Peter Haller and his mother as well as my old friend 

Joachim Bandmann in Berlin-Britz to say "good bye" to. 

Just one day before my departure I went to say "good bye" to my friends 

at the Tempelhof Airport fire department, especially Herrn Gaertner and 

Shorty, who both couldn't believe that I had really managed to accomplish 

what I had said I would. 

Pete introduced me to his sister Ingrid, her three year old daughter Pia 

and his brother Klaus at his apartment. We had coffee, beer and lots of 

cigarettes while sitting in his living room discussing my upcoming 


Page 8 of 11 

11/5/2011


adventure which would, almost an exact month later, be also Pete's 

adventure. 

Giving Pete Pastor Schumann's address in Arlington, VA, he promised to 

bring it with him to Danbury and write me a post card as soon as he could. 

We all were instant friends, real friends, a friendship which would last for 

more than forty years.....to this day. 


Page 9 of 11 

11/5/2011


Go to Page XXII to continue the story 



Page 10 of 11 

11/5/2011



Part XXII 

The Time Has Come.. 

My Departure For The New World 

The day of my departure by plane to Hamburg had arrived. My 

mother had packed my suitcase and hand-carry bag the day before. 

The 16th of April, 1963 was a cold and drizzly day. 

I was nervous and began to question my sanity. Why was I so 

determined to leave my 'safe' existence and security in Berlin for a 

totally uncertain future in a strange land with strange customs and a 

different language? 

What if things didn't work out and I couldn't find a job? 

I knew nobody in America... Not one soul could or would care 

whether I lived or died there. 

What if I got sick and couldn't care for myself? 

I had no health-insurance and didn't even know how I would be able 

to find health insurance. 

Was I completely insane to take such a chance? Did I not have a 


Page 1 of 17 

11/5/2011


relatively good life in Berlin? 

All these thoughts were suddenly arising from a deep well within. I 

was no 'refugee' in the strict sense of the word. 

My life was good in Berlin. I wasn't hungry and on the verge of 

political persecution.... 

Why then, in God's name, was I so driven to risk all for a dream? 

And really, what was that dream? 

Why not cancel the whole thing? There was still time, although it 

would be embarrassing, it could, nevertheless, still be done.... 

... I could just simply call the Immigration Service and tell them that 

my mother had fallen ill and I needed to stay with her, or something 

like that. 

My stomach, always sensitive, was in knots and I couldn't even eat 

breakfast. What had I gotten myself into? 

Those were some of the doubts that plagued me on this dreary, 

cold and decisive morning. 

My mother immediately caught on to my doubts and fears and 

assured me that, if things didn't work out, she and Tante Gerda 

would raise the money for my return. 

She was kind and calm, which also calmed me. 

Of course, I could just take the whole thing like I was going on a 

vacation trip! Yes, that was the solution! 

Nothing was ever final and most things could be undone in one way 

or another. 

Plus, I had saved some $200, which was quite a bit of money in 

those days. Having read so many books and magazine articles about 

America, I knew that this was enough money to last me at least a 

couple of month.... 

Yes, I was okay and would just look at it all as an adventure from 

which I could always return to the safety of the 'Fatherland'... 

My plane was to take off from Tempelhof-Airport at 10 am. 

So at about nine o'clock I went over to a taxi stand and asked the 

taxi driver to come to our house and take us to the airport. This was 

only a 15 minute ride and we had plenty of time. Packing my 

baggage into the car, my mother and I got into the taxi and had a 

'last' look at our apartment-house and neighborhood as we drove 

down the 'Mariendorfer-Damm'. 

At the Airport Terminal we met up with my aunt Gerda, Peter Haller 


Page 2 of 17 

11/5/2011


and his mother and some other friends of the family. Since I had 

never flown before, despite working for the airport fire-department, I 

had the additional apprehension of how the flight would affect me. - 

Would I get sick and throw up, with everybody looking at me with 

disdain? 

Or would I feel panicky, like a caged animal? 

But now it was too late to worry. My luggage was already checked 

in and after saying a last good bye to my mother, aunt and friends, I 

had to leave the waiting area to go onto the tarmac and walk up the 

stairs to the Pan Am DC-6. 

Luckily I found myself directed to a window seat. Watching the 

engines being started up and the arising smoke coming from them, I 

began to actually feel calm and surrendered to my fate. 

Yes, this was THE Adventure of my life and I might just as well 

enjoy it....! 

The take-off was smooth and I watched with detached amazement 

my Berlin gradually fading from sight. 

I really enjoyed flying! 

The friendly stewardesses brought us coffee or tea and some snack 

foods. 

I ate with a feeling of deep joy and sipped my coffee while smoking 

a Marlboro. 

This was the life! 

I already felt like a seasoned world-traveler.... And I was on my 

way to AMERICA! 

Hamburg 

The flight to Hamburg is only a short 'hop'. Perhaps 90 minutes in 

the air and we were already told by the pilot that we were 

approaching Hamburg Airport. 

After experiencing some air-pockets and wild rocking of the plane as 

we descended, the plane landed smoothly. 

At the Airport luggage area, after having picked up my suitcase, I 

saw a sign that said 'Lutheran Immigration Service'. Checking in 

there, I was told that a bus would take me and a couple more people 

from my flight to the Turm Hotel. 


Page 3 of 17 

11/5/2011


The Turm Hotel was just what the name indicated, a Turm (tower) 

which seemed to have been converted into a Hotel. That it was not a 

first rate hotel was apparent as we approached the huge round 

building. 

Somehow it reminded me of a World War II bunker. 

Nevertheless, it was clean and the people working there were 

friendly. 

Being shown to my room, I found that it had no shower or even 

bathroom. The bathroom and shower was shared with many other 

rooms and one had to be almost 'lucky' in order to find an 'opening' 

for a toilet-stall. 

Listening and overhearing conversations of other guests, I became 

aware that the whole place was almost like a refugee camp. 

There were lots of Hungarians, Poles and many other nationalities 

from all over Europe staying there and they all seemed to be going 

to either Canada or America. 

After settling in at the Turm Hotel, I left the building and took a bus 

downtown. Having visited Hamburg before, I was somewhat familiar 

with the city and had no trouble getting around. 

Finding a cheap but clean looking restaurant, I ate a dish of pasta 

with some kind of white sauce. 

It wasn't exactly good tasting, but it did fill me up, especially since I 

had not eaten anything besides the snacks on board the plane. 

The weather was the same as it had been in Berlin, cold and drizzly. 

After walking around for a while, I stopped at an Espresso-Bar and 

sat there smoking and sipping the strong, thick coffee. 

Then I walked down to the harbor area and watched ships from all 

over the world being guided into the harbor by tugboats. 

I had always enjoyed this area and even taken a harbor cruise on a 

small boat once. But now it all seemed like a dream. I was detached 

already from Germany, Berlin and Hamburg... 

My mind was far away in America. 

Returning to the hotel in the late afternoon, I went to my room and 

watched some television program on a beat up looking old set. 

The picture was grainy and I couldn't concentrate, so I turned it off 

again. 

Then I went downstairs to sit in the lobby and watch an endless 

variety of mostly east-European people coming and going. 


Page 4 of 17 

11/5/2011


According to the Immigration Service, our plane was leaving 

Hamburg at nine am the next morning, April the 17th and we were 

admonished to be ready for pick-up by seven am. 

Breakfast would be served on the flight to Brussels. 

Being bored I bought a newspaper and a 'Spiegel' magazine and 

went back to my room. After reading for a couple hours, I went to 

the bathroom and also took a shower, because I figured that the 

place would be extremely busy in the morning and that thus taking a 

shower in the morning would hardly be possible. 

Falling asleep around 10 pm, I awoke at four am, the next 

day....Again, doubts were plaguing me. 

I was excited and apprehensive at the same time, feeling so alone 

and vulnerable.... 

At seven am I was more then ready to get out of there and face my 

destiny, no matter what the outcome might be. 

Arriving in the hotel lobby shortly before seven, I could see a crowd 

of about fifty people gathered already. 

Joining the group I heard an Immigration Service representative 

announce that our bus was waiting outside and that we were to 

enter the bus and tell the representative our name and destination. 

Seated on the bus, after going through the name-check, we 

eventually took off for Hamburg airport. 

At the airport we were assembled together in a special area and 

Immigration Service people checked our passports, visas and 

vaccination records. Then we were told that we would fly on a 'Super 

Constellation' owned and operated by Capitol Airways, a charter 

airline, to Brussels where we would pick up more passengers and 

then fly to Shannon, Ireland to refuel for the trans-Atlantic flight to 

Gander, New Foundland in North-Eastern Canada. There we would 

re-fuel again and then fly-on to our destination in the USA, New 

York's Idlewild airport. 


Page 5 of 17 

11/5/2011


Flight On Board The Superconstellation To 

New York, 

Meeting and Falling In Love With Julia 

After checking-in our luggage, only keeping handbags, we were 

marched out onto the 

airfield where we, for 

the first time, saw 

our beautiful, sleeklooking'Superconstellation' 

waiting 

for us. 

Climbing up the 

portable stairway, we 

were greeted in 

English by the pilot 

and stewardesses. 

There were two rows 

consisting of two seats on each side of the isle. We picked our seats 

according to the 'first come' principle and I had a great window seat 

behind the wings. 

Anxious about who would be my travel companion, I anticipated the 

worst. Perhaps a mother with a crying baby, or a restless, babbling 

child? 

We were to be more than 20 hours on that plane and the thought 

worried me very much. 

Then, suddenly, coming out of nowhere, I heard a young, pretty girl 

dressed in a grey suit (a 'costume' as it was then fashionable) asked 

me in broken English if the seat next to me was 'free'. 

Looking up at her, I said "Yes", that it was free and she, happily 

smiling, sat down next to me. 

Introducing myself to her, she said her name was 'Julia' and that 

she was with her parents, seated in the row behind us. She also told 

me that they were from Hungary and that they were refugees from 

the Hungarian Revolution since 1956. 

We communicated with each other like old friends...because she 

was very open, bouncy and unpretentious.... 


Page 6 of 17 

11/5/2011


She was 18 years old and would grab my left hand during take-offs 

and landings as well as to make an emphatic point during our long 

journey together and our endless conversations. 

Sometimes, later on, during our trans-Atlantic crossing she would 

innocently rest her head on my lap and sleep like a baby. 

Her parents, sitting right behind us, seemed to sometimes chide her 

in Hungarian, for being so 'forward' with me, a complete stranger.... 

But she just laughed them off and sometimes even demonstratively 

kissed me on the cheek. 

To say that she was a 'dream come true' would be an 

understatement. 

In Brussels we were allowed to leave the plane and visit the airport. 

Julia hanging on to my right arm stayed with me to the obvious 

consternation of her parents... What did these fools think? Did they 

think that I would run away with her from a secured airport? 

Or did they think that I would 'take advantage' of her in an airport 

lounge? 

They definitely had a problem, because their 

suspicion bordered on paranoia. But Julia 

didn't care one bit and just waved to them 

whenever we crossed their path and they 

looked at us with hostility. 

At the book and newspaper kiosk I saw 

Hitler's 'Mein Kampf' prominently displayed 

and couldn't believe my eyes. 

Having always thought that this book was 

outlawed everywhere, I was simply amazed to 

see it sitting there for sale. My first thought 

was to buy it while I had this chance, but 

after thinking for a moment I decided against 

it. Did I want to go through customs in New York with 'Mein Kampf' 

in my bag? 

And what would the good Pastor Schumann think seeing me arrive 

with that book! 

No, as much as I was tempted to, I simply couldn't do it. 

We re-boarded the plane after about an hour and I noticed that the 

plane was full to capacity now. Fortunately our seats had been 

reserved by card-board signs and so we continued 'together' almost 


Page 7 of 17 

11/5/2011


like a married couple on a vacation trip. 

Again, my destiny had shown me that I was guided and protected! 

When we flew, quite low, over the Southern parts of Ireland, the 

view was breathtakingly beautiful. 

Never had I seen anything like it. 

The grass was so green and the rolling hills and fields separated by 

fieldstone fencing were like a vision of 'Summerland'. 

Shannon airport was nothing more than a large wooden building 

with a canteen which served thick black tea and various kinds of 

snack-food. 

There were rows upon rows of seats, many of them taken by 

American GI's on their way to God knows where. 

Waiting for connecting flights, they were sitting with their duffelbags 

in front of their feet sleeping. 

Julia and I had some hot tea and smoked cigarettes while waiting 

for our flight to continue. 

I almost wished that we could have continued this flight forever, 

because I had truly fallen in love with her and dreaded the time of 

our arrival in New York and subsequent separation... 

Back on the plane and leaving this beautiful Ireland, we prepared 

emotionally for the long trans-Atlantic flight. 

Our next stop would be Gander, Canada and we had a long way to 

go. 

Julia and her parents were going to Cleveland, Ohio, but she didn't 

have the address to give me. 

I gave her the address of Pastor Schumann in Arlington, Virginia, but 

she never wrote to me. 

My suspicion is that her ever watchful parents stole my address 

from her and destroyed it. 

To me she was an angel, a God-sent messenger and protector to 

get me started joyfully on this significant journey into the New 

World, which was my 'Promised Land'. 

I only hope that this young woman, this beautiful, joyful soul, had a 

good life in America. 

She was so vulnerable and open that I sometimes worry, even to 

this day, about her well being... 


Page 8 of 17 

11/5/2011


The flight to Gander was long and arduous. After eating supper, 

drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes, we talked and talked. 

Sometimes in German and sometimes in English. 

Then we slept for a while. 

Actually I couldn't sleep much at all, because I was much to excited 

and nerved-up. 

But Julia slept like a baby, her head sometimes in my lap and other 

times on my shoulder. 

I watched the night sky hoping for a UFO or something like that. 

The droning of the engines was re-assuring and somewhat 

intoxicating... 

I just felt like holding and kissing this wonderful girl sleeping on my 

lap. 

I think that the flight from Shannon to Gander took about 12 hours, 

but I could be mistaken. 

Be that as it may, although getting uncomfortable in my seat and 

wanting to stretch out, I didn't move much to keep 'my' Julia asleep. 

Watching her breathe rhythmically, I felt like a father guarding his 

daughter... She looked so incredibly innocent and beautiful. 

Finally, after being served breakfast and coffee, the pilot 

announced that we would soon land at Gander, New Foundland. 

Looking out the window, I noticed that indeed we had reached land 

and that it was all white. 

New Foundland was still covered with snow and ice. 

Julia was well rested and I felt good despite not having been able to 

sleep at all. 

As we descended to land at Gander airport we could see more 

clearly that, besides the cleared runways, everything was covered 

with snow. 

So this was Canada, I thought to myself. We had reached the 

American continent.... 

The airport itself, looked like a replica of Shannon airport. Wooden 

barracks-like buildings in a forsaken looking landscape. Only that the 

country surrounding Shannon airport was extremely beautiful, while 

Gander was desolate looking, all covered in snow. 

Inside the terminal building were again lots of American GI's 

waiting and sleeping in their seats. 


Page 9 of 17 

11/5/2011


Julia and I, followed by her ever-watchful parents, had some strong 

coffee at the 'snack bar' while waiting for the plane to re-fuel. 

We were walking around the waiting area, Julia still hooked under 

my right arm like a wife would in those days... And I couldn't help 

but feel like I was her husband. 

After thus wandering around for an hour or so, we heard the 

announcement that our flight was ready to board for New York. 

Back on the plane she again held on tightly to my hand while the 

plane took off. 

Flying over Canada and then along the East coast of the United 

States, we could make out ships in the ocean and even cities and 

towns. The sun was shining and the weather was brilliantly clear. 

Despite all of this excitement and discovery a deep sadness began to 

take hold of us. 

We realized, suddenly, that soon, all too soon, we would have to go 

our separate ways and probably never see each other again. 


Page 10 of 17 

11/5/2011


Arrival at Idlewild Airport, New York City 

Our landing at Idlewild airport seemed to come out of nowhere. 

The pilot's announcement and our gradual descend over New York 

Cite was a visual delight which was only overshadowed, if not 

ruined, by the awareness of our emerging separation. 

Her hand and my hand felt sweaty as we tightly held on to each 

other while watching the teeming city below. 

We knew that a new life in a new world was waiting for us, as we 

desperately held on to each other trying to stop the inevitable. 

Suddenly kissing me on the cheek, she promised that we would be 

together again. 

Kissing her back and trembling with emotion, I could only nod in 

agreement. 


Page 11 of 17 

11/5/2011


We landed at Idlewild at close to 

11 am. 

The turmoil of all the passengers 

grabbing their belongings and 

pushing for the plane's exit 

separated Julia from me. 

Making my way down the stairs 

I looked for her desperately, but 

couldn't see her anywhere. 

At the terminal Immigration 

Service people were calling out 

to us what to do. 

There was a lot of confusion and 

I still didn't see Julia or her 

parents. 

Waiting for our baggage to 

come through to be inspected by 

customs, I saw her suddenly at 

another area, way in back. 

Having to wait for my luggage, I 

just couldn't leave and run after her. 

She was gone forever... 

Going through immigration and customs was an frightening ordeal. 

The American immigration-agents were rattling off questions in 

English which I could barely make out. But somehow I managed. 

There were people and more people everywhere and only the 

shouting voices of the Lutheran Immigration people managed to 

keep us somewhat anchored. 

No, the American immigration agents and the customs people 

weren't friendly or understanding at all. 

Actually they were bastards who seemed to take pleasure in 

confusing us new arrivals to the point of desperation. 

Eventually coming through it all and reaching the other side of the 

barrier, the wonderful people of the Lutheran Immigration Service 

were waiting to give us further instructions. 

I ended up on a chartered bus to take me and many others to 


Page 12 of 17 

11/5/2011


'Pennsylvania Railroad Station' in Manhattan. 

From there I would have to catch a train to Washington, DC. 

When our 'Pennsylvania Station' group left the air-conditioned 

terminal to walk with our luggage to the waiting bus, we realized 

that it was beastly hot and humid in New York. 

We were told that a heat-wave reaching from New England to 

Florida had brought temperatures close to 98 degrees to New York 

City and that we should be careful and not waste any energy and 

drink plenty of water... 

Riding the bus through New York City, I realized that this city 

looked exactly like I had imagined it from pictures. 

I loved it and would have liked to stay in New York, but the 

Lutheran Immigration Service woman on the bus told me, when we 

had reached our destination, that that would be impossible since I 

had to stay, at least for a while, with my sponsor in Arlington, 

Virginia. 

Pennsylvania Railroad Ride To Washington, 

DC 

Pennsylvania Station was a beautiful edifice. What an impressive 

building! 

I loved the architecture and the huge waiting areas. 

The Immigration Service woman had told me which gate I had to go 

to and which train to take. 

Nevertheless, this busy station with it's constant ebb and flow of 

people, made this whole experience quite frightening. 

I could not understand what the booming loudspeakers were 

announcing, but I did find the correct gate, making sure by asking a 

railroad employee if this was the gate for Washington. 

The train was already there waiting. 

I had received a train ticket from the immigration service lady and 

thus just entered one of the train's compartment. Thank God, the 

train wasn't crowded. 

Sitting down in a comfortable double seat, I again asked a passing 

through conductor whether this was the right train to Washington. 


Page 13 of 17 

11/5/2011


He said: "Yes, Sir" and I was somewhat reassured. 

After about fifteen minutes, the train took off and we left New York 

City. 

The conductor came around again and asked me for my ticket which 

he clipped and handed back to me. 

I asked him if he would please be so kind and make sure that I 

would get off at the Washington station. 

He promised me that he would and this gave me great comfort. 

As the train moved slowly through Manhattan, I shall never forget 

the sights of the slum-like areas we passed through. Never in my 

life, in any city, had I seen such filth and squalid living conditions... 

And then, riding through the industrial wasteland of New Jersey, with 

endless seeming views of junk-yards and the stench of chemical 

factories, oil refineries and swampland, I felt like I had ended up in 

hell. 

The sights from the train became a little more pleasant as we left 

New Jersey and Delaware and approached Washington, DC. 

The conductor didn't forget me and told me that the next station 

would be my destination. 

Meeting Pastor Schumann and His Family 

Pastor Schumann was at the station waiting for me. A pleasant, 

slim, intellectual looking man in his early fifties, he looked just like I 

had expected him to look. Dressed in suit and wearing a hat, he 

greeted me warmly and welcomed me to the United States and to 

my new home in Arlington, Virginia. 

His large Buick was parked outside. When we took off, he had 

classical music playing on his radio. 

I was pleased to hear Mozart after my long journey and told him so. 

He answered by telling me that there was a classical music station in 

Washington and that he listened to it most of the time. 

When I told him that I loved classical music, he seemed very 

pleased. 

A large bridge crossing the Potomac river lead us into Arlington. 

In those days, Arlington was a sleepy seeming suburb of Washington 

and was most famous for it's National Cemetery. 


Page 14 of 17 

11/5/2011


Driving by his church, we came to his typical modern suburban 

American home next door to his church. 

He told me as we left the car that I would be boarding with a couple 

ladies from his church, the Grey's. But first, he said, that he wanted 

me to have supper at his home, with his wife and two daughters. 

As we walked in, one of the daughters was playing the piano and I 

supposed that it was in my honor. 

After introducing me to his family, his wife, who had the dinner table 

already set up, asked us to come to the dining room and eat. 

Despite not having eaten much during the day, I wasn't really 

hungry and had to force myself in order not to leave a bad 

impression with them. 

Having finally reached my destination, I felt spacey, almost to the 

point of incoherence. 

I was nervous and yet too tired to really feel nervous. 

In short, I had reached my limit and was ready to drop from lack of 

sleep and nervous exhaustion. 

The good Pastor must have realized what was happening with me 

and soon after supper asked me if I would like to go and meet the 

Grey's. 

I was more than happy to oblige, said good bye and "thank very 

much" to the three ladies and left with Pastor Schumann to, 

hopefully, go to sleep at the Grey's. 

Mama Grey and Her Daughter 

The Grey's turned out to be a mother and daughter. The older lady 

was probably in her early seventies and the 'younger' lady, her 

daughter, was probably in her forties. 

After introducing us to each other, the older lady told me just to call 

her 'Mama Grey' and that her daughter's name was Martha. 

Mama Grey looked like one of those tough old women from Western 

movies... 

She was thin and wiry, smoking her 'Raleigh' cigarettes every minute 

of the day. 

I loved her the minute we met. 

She was outspoken, tough and yet radiated a certain kind of 'toughlove' 

kindness. 


Page 15 of 17 

11/5/2011


Her daughter, Martha, was the total opposite in all but disposition. 

She was much taller than her mother and much, much heavier. And 

she too was outspoken and un-complicated in personality. 

I immediately felt comfortable with those two ladies and happy that 

Pastor Schumann had chosen them to be my hosts. 

Mama Grey, looking at me and realizing how tired I was, told me to 

come on upstairs where she would show me my bedroom and the 

bathroom. 

We went upstairs a narrow stairway and there was a wonderful 

queen size bed waiting for me.... 

Barely managing to say "good night" to them both and to Pastor 

Schumann, I closed the door, undressed and passed out to sleep 

uninterruptedly for more then ten hours..... 

Go to Page XXIII 

Arlington, Virginia, Marriott's 'Hot Shoppe', Pete's Postcard 



Page 16 of 17 

11/5/2011



Part XXIII 

Arlington, Virginia - Marriott's "Hot Shoppe"- Pete's 

Postcard 

Upon awaking the next morning after having slept almost ten hours, I felt like 

I had slept on a ship in stormy sea. 

What was going on? Every time I moved, the super-thick mattress moved with 

me it seemed. 

The bed was exceedingly comfortable, but why all that movement? 

Sitting up and moving my legs over the edge, I realized, with amazement, that 

my feet didn't even touch the floor. 

God, this bed was high off the ground! 

I must have been too tired to become aware of that when I almost literally had 

passed out on it the night before. 

Sliding down from the high mattress to stand up, I looked at the bed and 

indeed, it was about three feet off the ground. Having never seen such a high 

bed, I investigated further after coming back from the bathroom. 

So that's what it was....I found out, this bed's mattress was sitting on a frame 

attached to soft springs. 


Page 1 of 13 

11/5/2011


That's why the mattress moved with my body-every movement! 

How astonishing, I thought, to make a bed so high that one had to literally 

crawl into it. 

In Germany and I believe all over Europe, beds were low on the ground and 

mattresses were much firmer, if not downright hard. 

But this, my first American bed, was to me like something out of a fairy tale. 

Coming down the stairs, I saw mama Grey moving about busily in the 

kitchen. 

When she heard my steps on the carpeted stairway, she looked up and came 

running over to me and hugged me with a tight grip. Telling me over and over 

how happy she was to have me living with her, she asked me what I would 

like for breakfast. 

Did I want cereal or bacon and eggs? And how about orange juice or 

grapefruit with sugar sprinkled on it? 

Not wanting her to have to mess around too much on my behalf, I opted for 

cereal and grapefruit. 

Mama Grey was almost a clone of the 'grandma' in the 'Beverly Hillbillies' 

television series which I had sometimes watched in Germany. She was tough, 

wiry and had a heart of gold. 

Sitting at the kitchen table eating my Kellogg's corn-flakes, she sat across 

from me cutting into my grapefruit so I could just eat it with a tea-spoon. 

She told me that she was a 'country girl' from the hills of Virginia, a southern 

girl..... and that her daughter, Martha, was at work as a secretary in one of 

the many government building in Washington. 

Mama Grey said that she worked for the Navy and was a federal employee, 

whatever that meant I wasn't quite sure of. 

After eating my tasty, sweet and refreshing breakfast, she showed me 

around the modest house telling me about her long deceased husband and 

how they had bought the house 'dirt cheap' in the forties and added on to it 

gradually, with her husband doing most of the work himself. 

She had a strong southern accent and I had a hard time understanding her, 

but somehow we communicated just fine. 

She showed me the 'backyard' with freshly cut lawn and lots of flowers. 

It was hot outside and for the first time I got a real 'feel' for what America was 

like. 

Not the big and mostly ugly cities with slums and poverty, but 'real' suburban, 

lower middle-class America. 

Going around to the front yard which was enclosed by a white picket fence, I 


Page 2 of 13 

11/5/2011


saw her ancient looking Plymouth sitting in the driveway. 

Amazed, I realized that this old, dark green car from the late thirties or early 

forties looked exactly like one of the junked cars I had reflected upon standing 

guard the at 'Quartermaster Depot' in Berlin.... 

Again, I instantly thought of Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse. 

This car, a two-seater, looked just like Donald Duck's car in cartoons! 

Well, actually, upon inspecting it closer, I saw that it wasn't just a two-seater, 

but had a small bench seat behind the front seats. 

The phone rang, and mama Grey ran inside to get it, while I still admired her 

antique car. Coming back out, she told me that that had been Pastor 

Schumann and that he was coming over to drive me around for a while... 

Soon Pastor Schumann drove up and we took off for the Social Security office 

in Arlington, which was 

just a place that looked 

like a small store. 

He had told me, when we 

were ready to go, to bring 

all my papers and 

documents with me. So I 

carried my papers and 

passport with me as we 

went inside. 

Within minutes, I had a 

Social Security number 

issued, which the clerk 

wrote down for me on a 

piece of paper while telling 

me that I would receive 

the card in the mail. 

Next we went to another little office not far from the Social Security office 

which was called something like the 'draft board' office. 

Bringing my papers inside again, Pastor Schumann explained that I was 

required, by law, to immediately sign up at the local 'draft board' office to get 

my 'Selective Service' classification. 

Wow, I thought, that Consul in Berlin wasn't kidding when he told me that I 

was eligible to be drafted upon arrival in the United States! 

Here too, I was told by an old man, a veteran I presumed, that I would receive 

my 'classification' in the mail. 

Having thus taken care of 'official business,' Pastor Schumann then took me 


Page 3 of 13 

11/5/2011


to the local bakery while explaining to me that I might be able to get a job 

there as a baker..... I wanted to scream: "Hell no, I won't go!" 

How could he know how I hated everything and anything related to baking. 

But instead just went along with him, pretending that I was interested. 

When we walked in, the bakery looked and smelled just like thousands of 

bakeries in Germany. 

It gave me the creeps and when the owner, a middle aged Italian looking man 

came out from the back, I prayed silently that he wouldn't have an opening.... 

And he didn't. 

Looking at us, he told us that he had just hired a baker and thus didn't need 

any help. 

"Thank you God", I thought... 

While driving me around Arlington, I suddenly couldn't believe my eyes! 

There, next to a door, stood a young man, about my own age, dressed in a 

khaki uniform with a swastika armband on his left arm.... 

Had I not seen the same thing, many years ago, with the 'Scharnhorst Jugend' 

in Berlin-Kreutzberg? 

This guy was for real! This was the procedure for 'Hitler Youth' and later the 

various other right-wing youth organizations! 

Pointing to the uniformed man and expressing my astonishment to Pastor 

Schumann, he explained to me that this was the headquarters for the 

American Nazi Party, lead by a guy named Lincoln Rockwell. 

Seeing my excitement and interest, Pastor Schumann warned 

me sternly that I should never get involved with any kind of 

political movement and never, ever sign any petitions 

because this could jeopardize my citizenship. 

He further elaborated that there were many communist front 

groups who tried to come across as just citizen action groups 

who sometimes collected signatures for various petitions. If I 

signed anything, I could be suspected of being a communist 

and thus could be deported back to Germany. 

Wow, I thought, this is scary stuff, but I would surely like to go to those Nazi 

party headquarters to talk with this Lincoln Rockwell... 

Pastor Schumann also pointed out that those Nazis were watched by the FBI 

and that I should never even go near their office... Well, I didn't, but I 

certainly regret having missed this opportunity, because Lincoln Rockwell was 

shot and killed later by one of his own people. 

Continuing our ride, Pastor Schumann took me to Washington and showed 

me the White House and Capitol. 


Page 4 of 13 

11/5/2011


It was cherry-blossom season, and all the beautiful parks seemed to radiate 

with cherry-blossom trees. 

The sky was blue and the sun shining which seemed to give those majestic 

looking government building a special beauty. 

"Yes, this was America", I thought to myself, and I am right here where I 

belong....I am at home, finally! 

On the way back towards Arlington, Pastor Schumann drove to one of the 

many Pentagon entrances. 

It must have been the main entrance, if there is such a thing. 

The place was absolutely unimaginably huge, reminding me somewhat of the 

Tempelhof Airport complex, but much, much bigger, of course. 

Parking his car in a large parking lot, he told me that he was going to show 

me the inside. 

Walking in together, I was just about speechless. This place was even larger 

and more complex than I had imagined. 

And it was busy.... Employees or soldiers, I didn't know what they were, were 

riding tricycles which had baskets attached to them in the hallways. 

Pastor Schumann explained to me that this was how they got around to 

deliver papers, mail and messages. 

Since we were only allowed in a small part of this unimaginably huge complex, 

I got only a slight idea how big and busy the Pentagon really was. 

But it was enough to leave me with a life-long impression... 


Page 5 of 13 

11/5/2011


'Hot Shoppes' 

Our next stop was across the highway where a place called 'Hot Shoppes' 

was located. 

Pastor Schumann parked his car in a large parking area which had metal poles 

with loudspeakers and microphones attached to them. 

Shortly after we had pulled in, a young man came up to the car and handed 

us two menus. Since I didn't know what most of those meals listed were, 

Pastor Schumann chose a hamburger 'with everything' on it for me. 

After we had made our selection, Pastor Schumann used the microphone to 

call-in his order. 

Looking around while waiting for the food, I noticed that the parking lot was 

loaded with uniformed military men, in private cars. Asking Pastor Schumann 

about that, he told me that most of them worked at the Pentagon, across the 

street, who came to the Hot Shoppe for lunch. 

Soon the same young guy came back with a large tray, carrying our food. He 

wore long black trousers, a white shirt with black bow-tie and a coin-changing 

device attached to his belt. ....A device I had seen in Berlin countless times, 

worn by bus and street-car conductors. 

Upon attaching our tray to the partially rolled-down car window, Pastor 

Schuman paid the young man and he left. 

The hamburger was delicious with onion, tomato and catsup on it. We each 

had also a large cup of Coca Cola. 

After finishing our meal Pastor Schumann took the tray off the car widow and 

put it onto a tray-holder attached to the pole with the loudspeaker and mike. 

Then, he asked me what I thought about working at this place, doing the same 

thing this young guy who had served our food was doing. 

I didn't know what to say, but knew that he expected me to be affirmative. 

Thus, although scared to death, I said "sure, why not." 

I could tell that he was hell bent on getting me a job as soon as possible and 

thus surrendered to my fate. 

Getting out of the car, he told me that we would go and talk to the manager 

and see if they had any openings. 

The manager, dressed like the server, but wearing a tan jacket, was a cleancut 

looking young man in his late twenties, I presumed. 

After Pastor Schumann had introduced me to him, he proceeded to tell him 

my situation and then asked him if he had a job opening for me. The manager, 

who seemed to like me, asked me what I thought... Would I be able to do the 

job? 


Page 6 of 13 

11/5/2011


I answered that I would give it my best and that I was sure I could learn the 

routine quickly. 

He seemed to like my answer, took me into his closet-sized office and had me 

fill out a form. And that was it. I was hired on the spot as a 'car-hop'..... 

His next question was when I could start working and brave as a trooper I 

said "right now." 

Oh God, what had I done, I thought after a few minutes... 

The manager lead me around the place which was part inside restaurant and 

part outside 'car hop' service. 

There was a large counter where 'car hops' picked up their food to bring out 

to the waiting cars. 

On the other side of the counter I could see a large kitchen area where 

'colored' cooks were busy preparing the food. 

They all seemed angry, bitter and downright nasty when they threw the food 

on paper plates and onto the counter. 

The servers, about five of them, were all clean-cut looking young white men 

and women. 

The manager had told me that I would only get 35 cents pay per hour, but 

that I would receive plenty of 'tips' to make up for the low pay. I didn't even 

know what 'tips' were and didn't care much about the money either. 

Somehow, I had my first job and I was happy to be working.... 

We, the car hops, 

had to add all the 

dressings and stuff, 

like mustard, 

ketchup, tomatoes 

and onions... to the 

food thrown on the 

counter by the 

cooks. 

We were assigned 

service areas by 

numbers on the 

poles outside. I 

can't remember 

every detail, but I 

think that I had 

about ten or so 

numbers in my area. 

When orders were thrown on the counter, there was a bill, a slip of paper with 


Page 7 of 13 

11/5/2011


the items and details of the order and a number on it. That number indicated 

where the order belonged. If it was one of my numbers, I had to arrange 

everything on a serving tray, add the trimmings and fill huge paper cups with 

ice and whatever kind of soda was ordered. 

It was all rush, rush and I had to be quick and precise in every move I made,especially 

during breakfast and lunch times. 

Often the black cooks, with strong southern accents, would shout something 

to me and I couldn't understand a word they said. 

This made them furious and they would scream at me like I was an idiot. 

Since most employees knew quickly that I was a very recent arrival in this 

country, I am quite sure that the colored cooks knew this also, but just didn't 

give a hoot and were just out to make my life as miserable as possible... 

Those were certainly not the same 'Colored' people whom I had come to love 

and respect after the war in Borken and Berlin!!! 

To be fair, I must mention that later on, after working there for a while, I 

learned that those black cooks were angry because they had to sweat for low 

wages in the hot kitchen and weren't allowed to work as 'car hops' and earn 

good tips. And they were especially angry that I, a recent white immigrant, 

was hired for that job while they had no chance whatsoever to get in on the 

'tips' and out of the kitchen. 

How could I have known? 

Nevertheless, despite this obvious injustice, I can't see myself treating 

anybody, no matter what the circumstances are, like they treated me. This 

experience served as my introduction to 'Race 101' in America, and strongly 

contributed to my move, when the chance came, away from the South, to 

Danbury, Connecticut. 

Upon leaving me at the 'Hot Shoppe,' Pastor Schumann had told me that I 

could easily walk home to mama Grey's by following an industrial kind of road 

which cut right through to my new home. 

So at five, when the other shift came in and I was told by the manager that 

he was very happy with me and to be back for 8 am the next day, I made my 

way 'home.' 

I had already made five dollars in change for tips and was very happy about 

that. In today's money this would probably be about 40 to 50 dollars.... 

Sweating profusely in the hot evening sun and humidity, wearing the long 

black pants and white shirt which I had been given at the Hot Shoppe, I must 

have been a sight to behold. 

There was nobody else walking and, thank God, there was very little traffic on 

that industrial road, so only a few people would gawk at me in my 'overdressed' 

looking clothes. 


Page 8 of 13 

11/5/2011


It took me about thirty minutes to find mama Grey's house and I was happy 

to cool down in her air-conditioned kitchen. Pastor Schumann had already 

called her and told her about my new job and she was happy that I had an 

income. 

After supper, which was pork-chops, potatoes and broccoli, she said that we 

would drive to the Government Department store in Alexandria, which was 

strictly for government employees. 

I needed more black pants and white shirts, she said, because I had only 

received one set from the 'Hot-Shoppes.' 

So we went. 

I had to squeeze into the tiny back seat of her Plymouth and she and Martha 

were up in front with mama Grey driving the ancient vehicle. 

What a sight we must have been! Embarassed I noticed people passing us 

and laughing as we drove to Alexandria. 

The Government store was a huge department store, bigger even then 

Karstadt or KaDeWe in Berlin. 

Martha had to show her ID at the entrance and mama Grey and I were 

admitted as her guests. 

Mama Grey and Martha both helped me pick some black pants which might fit 

me and I tried them on in the dressing room. My American size turned out to 

be a 27 inch waist and 30 inch inseam. 

The pants and shirts were cheap, like three dollars a pair of pants and two 

dollars per shirt. 

I paid from my savings which I carried with me in my wallet. 

After looking around the store for a while I ended up in the book-section and 

bought a book which promised to teach high-school subjects so one could pass 

the 'G.E.D', whatever that was.... 

Postcard from Pete 

I had worked at the 'hot shoppes,' which was a Marriott owned operation, for 

about one month, when, after returning from work, mama Grey handed me a 

postcard from Danbury, Connecticut. 

Of course I knew immediately that it had come from Pete Wagner. 

He wrote me that he had just arrived in Danbury and that, so far, he loved 

America. 

At the end of his note, he wrote, "hope to meet up with you soon".... 


Page 9 of 13 

11/5/2011


If it hadn't been for the downright nasty acting colored cooks, I would have 

liked my job at the 'Hot Shoppes.' 

The tips, I sure learned quickly what that meant, were incredible. Some days I 

made as much as $30 in tips and hardly ever less then ten. 

Thirty dollars was a lot of money in those days and I would probably have 

worked there for many years, if Pete hadn't sent me his postcard. But due to 

the racial tension I felt all around me, I was more than ready to get away from 

it all by visiting Pete in Danbury. 

Knowing that Pastor Schuman and mama Grey wouldn't approve, I 

approached the subject cautiously. 

Asking mama Grey about how far it was to get to Danbury if I would want to 

visit Pete, she told me that it was probably about six to eight hours by bus.... 

Asking her how much it would cost to go there, she told me that it wouldn't 

be all that much and that perhaps going to the 'Trailways' bus terminal in 

downtown Washington and getting the correct amount quoted, would be my 

best bet. 

This sounded to me like mama Grey had given me her 'blessing' to visit 

Pete.... And that was what I had really wanted to hear... 

So on my next day off I took the city bus from Arlington to Washington DC... 

A trip which I had taken many times before on previous day's off. 

In fact I had gotten to know Washington quite well, by walking all over this 

city from downtown to Georgetown and even to the National Cathedral... I had 

visited the Smithsonian, the National Arts Museum and all the well known 

places of interest, like the Lincoln Memorial... 

The 'Trailways' bus station was a shabby looking, seedy place in downtown 

Washington. 

I had seen it before many times, as it was close to the place from where I had 

caught the bus to return to Arlington. 

At the desk, a friendly male clerk told me that in order to get to Danbury I had 

to catch a bus to New York City, change buses there and continue on the 

'Providence Arrow Line' to Danbury. 

The cost of all this was around $30 round-trip (I believe) and the time it 

would take to get to Danbury was about six hours.... 

Buying a round-trip ticket for the coming week on my next day off, I only 

hoped that my boss would grant me the time-off necessary to visit Pete for a 

few days. 

Back at work, the next day, I asked the manager for a week off, explaining 

that a friend from Germany had just arrived in Danbury, Connecticut and that 

I would really like to visit him there. He graciously gave me the time off as 


Page 10 of 13 

11/5/2011


'unpaid emergency leave' and I was happy. 

Having still a few more days to work, I would make some more money to save. 

As I mentioned before, many of the my customers were soldiers working at the 

Pentagon who ranked from Sergeants to Colonels. 

Most of them had served some time in Germany and some of them had even 

been stationed in Berlin. 

Immediately recognizing my German accent, they inevitably would ask me where 

I was from. 

When I said Berlin, Germany, most of them would smile happily and tell me how 

much they had enjoyed their time there. Sometimes they would ask me how I 

had ended up at the 'Hot Shoppes' and I would quickly tell them my story... 

Wishing me all the best in America and welcoming me here, they would often 

reach 'deep down' into their wallet's interior and hand me a ten or even twenty 

dollar bill as tip and 'welcome gift.' 

What wonderful people these American soldiers were in those days! 

Reciprocating to me, for what they had experienced in Germany during their often 

extensive tours of duty, was more than anybody could even dream of... 

But they did, not only once, but many times over.... 

I have stolen this picture and article below from the internet: 

http://www.bronxace.homestead.com/ArlingtonMemories2.html 

Please visit this wonderful website of Arlington memories 

and view many more pictures there. 


Page 11 of 13 

11/5/2011


1957 - Easter Sunday at the new 14th Street Bridge Marriott hotel -- a big, sprawling complex. 

It was very nice place -- we saw it being constructed. 

It looked a little like a control tower of an airport, 

which may have been the architect's intention, as it was so close to National Airport. 

Crystal City had NOT been developed yet. 

The 14th Street Bridge Marriott hotel had a good restaurant and good conference facilities back then. 

In this photo, we are standing with my beloved Nonna (that's Italian for "Grandma") Lucia, 

who paid us a visit from her home in the Bronx. 

To get to this hotel, the #16 bus (which in those days ran from Annandale or Culmore to 12th and 

Pennsylvania Avenue and back) 

would stop near the 14th street Bridge. 

After getting off the bus, you could walk along the grass or under a tunnel to get to the hotel. 

This hotel was torn down around 1994. 

There was also a Hot Shoppes restaurant in a grassy lot in between the areas leading to 

the Northbound and Southbound 14th Street bridges. 

This restaurant was very popular too, but was also torn down around 1994. 

There used to be lots of wild rosesbushes growing in that area too. 

Now there is nothing but grass and weeds there, 

and a sidewalk leading to nowhere but......... 

Hot Shoppes Memory Lane. 

Continue the Journey: 


Page 12 of 13 

11/5/2011

A Gnostic Childhood - Gnostic Liberation Front

You also want an ePaper? Increase the reach of your titles

Delete template?

Save as template?