Exchange-Rate Reunion

Lugano, Switzerland, July 1971. We'll stop here before we shop.

Dirndl

Salzburg, Austria, July 1971. It wasn't folksy then to wear a dirndl (or lederhosen).

Residenzplatz Reunion

Salzburg, Austria, July 1971. It's a Baroque spot.

That Schatz Shop

Salzburg, Austria, July 1971. We've already shopped here.

Identification

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Near Schweinfurt, Germany, February 26, 1949. Dad received this card shortly before he emigrated to the United States.

The waiting began.

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Seligenstadt, Germany, August 15, 1945. This is the card with which my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, registered her intent to emigrate from postwar Germany. She sailed to New York three years later.

(Note that Tatjana recorded Lithuanian as her dominant language.)

Translations

This is the Lithuanian-German dictionary my Dad used when he was a Displaced Person in Schweinfurt.

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It's in rough shape.

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Dad lived in the American-occupied zone of postwar Germany, and the U.S. Army authorized publication of this dictionary.

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The dictionary is pretty basic.

This spot was so nice that we stayed there twice.

Mayrhofen, Austria, July 1971. It's a nice place; most of the guests were German tourists.

What's new about language-immersion schools?

Today's edition of the Wisconsin State Journal features a story about language-immersion schools in Madison. I chuckled when I saw the heading, "The kids just love it," because there was little I liked about going to school on a Saturday.

I didn't see, at first, what was "new" about these schools; I had been familiar with them since the early 1960s. So: what's different about the Madisonian, language-immersion schools? They're not focused on keeping a threatened culture alive; they're "raising global citizens."

The Second Update

Recently I posted a postcard my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, had sent to her daughter, Jonė. Here is s second postcard Tatjana wrote before she, Jonė, and my Dad reunited in Schweinfurt.

The card is addressed to Jonė at the "Litauischer Lager"—that is, the "Lithuanian [DP] camp."

Tatjana wrote:

My most treasured Jonė, Yesterday I mailed a letter to you. I want you always to know where I am, and how I am doing. I'm already writing for the fourth time fromm Oberstdorf. I am living and eating at the home of a local cobbler, whose wife looks after me as though I were her relative. I've given her everything she'll need for meal preparations through August 16. In the mornings (and in the evenings) she makes a delicious "malzkafé" with very good, real milk. But by now, I have absolutely no bread. It turns out the bread that Casey's mother gave me was from one of the local [DP] camps, and it came from a "swindler." When we sliced the bread, its inside was filled with a stringy dough. I think it's a particular type of bread made with a large quantity of potatoes. So we dried that bread thoroughly in the sun, and we made crackers. Your aunt left today. Although I truly love her a great deal, I am happy she is gone because she was starting to get on my nerves. She worries way too much about food. Now I won't have to think about food. I am sitting outside, the sun is setting but still high at the top of the mountains. The light continues to sparkle on the peaks, and the blue fades to gray as the light meets the snowcaps. (I'll finish this in the next postcard.)

Thanks to my Toronto Cousin for making this photo available to us. 

The DP Camp, Today

I wrote earlier that Commenter Di had sent current photos of the Seligenstadt Displaced Persons camp. Here are those images, with Commenter Di's descriptions:

 
This photo "shows the orange sign erected by the company which now uses the farm. It is called KWS, short for Kleinwanzlebener Saatzucht, a plant breeding and seed producing company based in Einbeck, Germany. At Seligenstadt it has run a Breeding Station since 1946 (according to what I have read)."
 

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This image "shows the entrance pillars to the farm."
 

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"The building straight ahead on the left-hand side contains the office where visitors are greeted."
 

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"Opposite the building with the office you see this view. There are buildings on all four sides of a kind of yard with these lovely chestnut trees in the centre." (Here's Mom standing outside of that building.)
 

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"Turning left after the gates you get the view with the car parked on the left."

 

Thanks to Commenter Di for making these photos available to us.

Listen carefully.

Oberammergau, Germany, 1971. Most buildings depict the town's draw: its Passionplay. During our European vacation, our visit here was memorable because a restaurant server tried to shortchange us. She claimed our bill was "Zweiundsiebzig" (72) Deutschmarks; when we sat down to eat, she had said the meal would cost "Siebenundzwanzig" (27) Deutschmarks. Fortunately, my Parents were fluent in German.

"Pfui!"

"Pfui," a word of German origin, is what we said at our house to express disgust. I don't know whether my Parents incorporated it into their vocabulary when they were Displaced Persons or whether Mom learned it from the time she spent in the German-speaking part of Lithuania.

We said "pfui" often around here when the dogs were puppies.

In America we say "phooey." But "pfui" sounds stronger to me.

Morton Arboretum, Lisle, Illinois, May 1961. This is the facial expression that accompanies "pfui."

Pavillon Reunion

Stuttgart, West Germany, August 1985. Things are blooming around the Neues Schloss Pavillon.

"Staatsgrenze"

"Staatsgrenze" is the German word for "border:"

Austria, July 1971. We stop at the Hungarian border during our Austrian vacation. I recall feeling daring when Dad took this snapshot. There were guards in lookout towers above us, and it all seemed quite Cold Warish.

Gemütlichkeit

Mayrhofen, Austria, July 1971. We're at the Gasthof Kramerwirt, where the Gemütlichkeit glows, and the rooms are clean.

Schatz

Salzburg, Austria, July 1971. While we tour the city, my Dad makes a point of photographing my Mom under the sign that reads "Schatz."

"From now on, we have 'full' beer."

Würzburg, Germany, about 1946. Three Displaced Persons react to the announcement that Vollbier will be available at the DP camp. The fellow on the far right is my friend Kris's Uncle Al.

Thanks to my friend Kris for making this photo available to us.

A New Start

After my Parents settled in Suburban Chicago, Dad returned to school and earned his undergraduate degree. He had studied at Hohenheim University in post-war Germany, but he decided to change fields once he was in the States.

Dad joked about how the university required him to study a foreign language as part of the school's "breadth requirements" for the B.S. degree; Dad was already was fluent in five languages. When Dad dutifully enrolled in a German-language course, the professor pulled him aside and told him to drop the class. Dad's German was better than the professor's.

Chicago, Illinois, August 1958. Dad graduates from college.

This can't be a good idea.

We spent two summers vacationing at Samoset Lodge on the shores of Lake Nipissing, Ontario. It was a great place: the fishing was wonderful, the cottage was clean, and we rented a nice little boat to zip around the big lake. A delightful, German couple owned the lodge; they'd speak to my Parents in German.

There was no television, and there was no radio. There was a peculiar source of entertainment at the cottage: a gregarious ground squirrel who visited every day, begged for peanuts, and sat on our laps. The ground squirrel (or its progeny) reappeared each year that we were at the cottage. Our family albums for those two years are filled with photos of the ground squirrels.

We named all of the visitors "Čipūlis," a Lithuanian word that I made up to mean "little chipmunk."

Lake Nipissing, Ontario, Canada, July 1964. Mom knits in front of our cottage, unfazed by Čipūlis.

 Lake Nipissing, Ontario, Canada, July 1964. My instincts are good, and they tell me that this situation requires cautions. This is a rodent.