…As soon as I envisioned the creation of Memories Anecdotes and Bio- Reflections (if you haven’t already noticed, I’m using my initials MAB!) real life dared to get in the way several times and derailed my journey that I appropriately call Forward to the Past (I stole the idea from the movie “Back to the Future”)…

…The notion of writing about my life, my ancestry and whatever I remember and would find out about Hal’s ancestry and our lives together, came to me at a moment when all of a sudden I realized that there are only one or two wonderful people still alive from the generation before me! Once their lives come to an end on this earth and they cross over, I’ll be “it”—the only one left with the knowledge of all our combined past. So before I would totally forget what I do remember and what I have discovered, I became determined to document everything…

…From previous writing experiences I know that once the creative juices start flowing, they manage to wake up brain cells from a deep sleep state. And sure enough, as soon as these cells—probably billions of them—received the kiss of life, I once again was able to rely on their uniqueness, their productivity and their enlightenment…

…This third book-pregnancy of mine has fertilized my memory, my musing of the past and all the phases in time—I hope it will do the same for you because as soon as the seed was planted, I became extremely excited to share Forward to the Past and my Memories, Anecdotes and Bio-Reflections with you!…

…I hope that all of you, my beloved descendants, welcome my new offspring—after all, this beautiful, bouncy baby is ready to tell you about your ancestry and spin you forward to your past…

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…When Papa returned home from French POW camp, he was in extremely frail condition. “He was like a feather, like an old, old man. He couldn’t even make it up the stairs,” Mutti wrote. Worse than that, during one of the battles, Papa’s left eye was hit by flying shrapnel. Lying injured in the combat zone, he was taken prisoner by the French who were not in a rush to perform the necessary eye surgery on Papa in their field hospital. When the French finally operated on Papa they, unfortunately, didn’t care or try hard enough or they were not capable to repair the damage. (Many years later, Papa was told that immediate surgery by a specialist could have restored more than fifty percent of his vision)…

…Given the fact that he had lost most of his sight in the left eye as well as almost half his former body weight, it was difficult for my father to regain his strength. Besides, there was hardly anything to eat for anyone. At 6.3”, Papa, who prior to the war was known for his healthy appetite and athletic build, could not tolerate any of the available food other than oatmeal during those post-war days. Mutti claimed that the oatmeal diet actually healed and helped him. As soon as he started to gain some weight and was strong enough, Papa, together with some of his friends, started their own business. I should call it “risky business” because it wasn’t exactly legal! Since food was hard to come by and since most of the household goods had already been traded for food, the men became rather resourceful…

…I remember one story in particular because as a child, I heard it over and over again: Papa and his friends made weekly trips from the city to the countryside where, in the darkness of the night, the men sneaked onto farmland and cut off horsetails. From these beautiful long tails, they fabricated brushes and brooms in their city homes. Then, during daytime, they walked back to the countryside and traded these hard-to-come-by magnificent brushes and brooms to the farmers for food—hopefully not the same farmers whose horses were galloping over the meadows in search of their tails…

…Somehow Papa’s entrepreneurial skills must have been quite lucrative and, together with a little financial assistance from each of my parents’ families, Mutti and Papa were able to rent their own apartment at Hildesheimer Strasse 200. Even though I was not quite two years old, I somehow think I remember when we left Oma and Opa’s cozy hospitality…

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…August Daniel Joseph Pallenberg (Opa) was born March 27, 1884 in Koln (Cologne). Being of the catholic faith and deeply religious, my great-grandparents obviously denied themselves any form of birth control. My great-grandmother, lo and behold, was pregnant more than twenty times, of which approximately ten pregnancies ended in miscarriages. Hard to believe? Well, it’s true and in August of 2006 my ninety- three year old uncle confirmed this incredible fact…

…On our walk around the Riesser See in August of 2006, Augie recalled that two of my grandfather’s siblings passed away as toddlers. Two other siblings ran away (or disappeared) from their boarding schools and, according to Opa, no family member heard from them ever again. Even though the memories are vague and I don’t have all the data nor do I have the last names of the majority of Opa’s siblings (eight of them were girls), I learned that some of them made a name for themselves. There was an artist, an actor, a published writer, a successful businessman and a horse breeder whose most famous racehorse was named “Pallenberg”…

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…Amongst Mutti’s records, I found an old family tree from the Pallenberg side, going back to Valentin Pallenberg, born in 1684. It was done in the German language and from what I can see, most of our ancestors had many children and they were quite a “colorful” bunch, ranging from blue-collar workers to highly successful businessmen and artists…

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…Writing this chapter about my grandparents, looking at them in photographs, reading about them on pages, hand-written in beautiful old German script, brings cherished glimmerings of thpe ast back to the forefront of my brain. At the same time, my memory awakens the pain I felt when they left this world. Only a child then, I realized I would never be able to see their faces, hear their voices, touch their hands and be hugged by these wonderful human beings again…

…It was all so long ago but writing about my roots now, makes me realize who left impressionable imprints forever on my brain, heart and soul. My ancestors’ influence will always be part of me; their bloodline is still flowing through my veins, nurturing and cultivating me with values that, hopefully, I continue to transfer to my children and grandchildren…

…Genetic studies have shown that traits can be passed from one generation to another. But influences and impressions from our ancestral lineage don’t miraculously replicate themselves. How awesome though, that we are blessed with the ability to remember! If we concentrate, we are able to recall every cherished point in time. Some of us may be hesitant to do so because memories also store painful periods…

…One of Mutti’s wisdoms came from her mother and was passed on to me: “One might always remember mental or physical pain. However, in order to move on with a smile, the ‘bad’ should never be allowed to overshadow all the ‘good’ that life offers”…

…Mutti, as did her mother, compared it with a birth. “Going through hours of labor can be a very painful experience. Yet, the second you hold that beautiful new life in your arms, you are able to disregard what you just went through. If you choose to remind yourself of the pain, you probably never want to go through labor again. Obviously we are able to move past the memory of pain and discomfort because we know that the miracle and beauty of life will reward and surprise us again and again and again…

…in 1910

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…This large, four-story apartment building was built in 1898. Opi had purchased the land a few years prior and tore down the existing smaller structure. As I mentioned before, he and Omi occupied the entire first floor and rented out six apartments of the two stories above…

…Years later, while my parents lived in Nurnberg, Omi and three of her children (Elisabeth, Dorchen and Karl), together with their families, lived in three separate apartments in the same family-owned building. WWII already had destroyed most sections of Hannover and on March 25, 1945, in the second to last big bombardment attacks on Hannover by the Americans, a Phosphorbrandbombe (a certain phosphoric bomb) hit the family owned building on Gustav Adolf Strasse and immediately destroyed one half. (By the way, in April 1945 Hannover became occupied by the U.S.)…

…Within minutes, the remaining other half of the building was engulfed in flames. Usch told me that during the attack, as with every attack, the family had taken shelter in a bunker across the street. As soon as the sirens signaled the attack was over, Usch stuck her head out of the bunker and was the first one to see that their home had been hit. She and her twin sister Hannelore were sixteen years old. They ran across the street to see if they could salvage some of their belongings but by then the fire was spreading fiercely and Usch barely made it through the flames into the street again…

…To make a long story short, everything the three Schroder families owned was gone, as was true for the other tenants in the building. All the parties were “ausgebombt,” (bombed out), a term used for those who lost their entire personal effects…

…Uncle Karl, who held a degree in building engineering and city planning, was employed by the City of Hannover and became very instrumental in rebuilding the city in the two decades that followed the war. During the chaotic days, immediately after WWII ended, Uncle Karl managed to prove that the building in Gustav Adolf Strasse rightfully belonged to the Schroder family (many people who didn’t have proof, permanently lost the right to their properties or had to wait for many years to re-establish ownership— often times it was too late because the land was sold and new buildings had already been erected). Anyway, Uncle Karl, together with an old friend, re-built the building on Gustav Adolf Strasse. In 1948, three years after WWII ended, Omi and her daughter Elisabeth as well as Uncle Karl, his wife Gretel and their twin daughters were able to move back into their new dwellings…

…Today, the space where the family grocery store once prospered has been turned into various office spaces that are being rented out. Hannelore’s oldest daughter Susanne remodeled the entire attic of the building, creating a spacious fabulous penthouse; on any of the three terraces one has a spectacular birds-eye view over the red tiled roofs of Hannover…

…At the age of four, I have a vague memory of Omi Schroder lifting me into her lap and telling me that she liked my dress and that I looked beautiful while I studied her old wrinkled face and the protruding veins on her hands. Mutti told me, that the family was rather amused when I asked Omi how come she had so many blue worms under the skin of her hands…

…I remember that Omi always wore dark long skirts with either white or black blouses. Her snow-white hair was neatly pulled back into a low bun and she always had a smile on her lips. I remember her reading me stories while I was sucking on my lollipop and I remember her shaky hands and fingers when she turned the pages…

…Omi died in 1949 at the age of eighty-five; the day after her death, I turned five years old…

…in 1894

…house with delicatessen business at Gustav…(ca. 1914)

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…I remember laughing each time I heard the story that Opa, during the reception festivities, snuck out and shocked the bride, groom and guests when he re-entered the hall, unrecognized at first because he had transformed himself into a tribal African. His face and entire body was painted black, he had donned a grass skirt, head ornaments and native beads and bangles on his wrists and ankles while holding an original spear in his hand. My grandfather, known for his comedic interpretations of various foreign characters (male or female), pretended to be left behind by his tribe and was looking for anyone (preferably a female) who could give him shelter. After he delivered his perfectly African accented plea for help, he performed a tribal dance. Mutti told me there wasn’t a dry eye in the house as the hall exploded from laughter, When Opa tried to cozy up to the ladies, trying to steal kisses, he purposely left black make-up on their cheeks. Soon hilarious hysteria took over. But that wasn’t all. After having washed off his African tribal colors, Opa, dressed again in his tuxedo, joined the festivities to mix and mingle, eat and drink with the guests. Then, he snuck out once again only to re-appear a short time later as a ballerina to perform his rendition of “the dying swan” from “Swan Lake.” Needless to say, Opa’s performance had his audience rolling on the floor once again. “It was such a beautiful and happy wedding—and I was in seventh heaven,” Mutti said…

…Opa definitely started a family tradition because the costumed surprise appearances later were carried on by my mother, her siblings and in the third generation, my cousin Horst!…

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…During the first decade after the war, it was customary for many small merchants and peddlers to travel through the streets on their horse-pulled wagons. Some of them were shouting out their goods, others hollered that they were buying scrap metals. And then there were the horse-pulled carts, delivering heavy merchandise. One of those latter merchants was a particularly friendly man who allowed the children to feed his horse and, with the parents’ permission, gave us a ride around the block. One sunny day, while neither of our mothers or fathers were nearby, he gave into our pleas and allowed Helga and myself to sit next to him on his way to make another delivery a few blocks away from Karl-Peters-Platz. While he was busy carrying the merchandise into the house, Helga and I took the long whip out of its holder and playfully swung it through the air. With that, the horse whinnied loudly, jerked its head against the reins and reared up on its hind legs. Before we knew what was happening, the horse started to gallop and we started to shriek with fear. We heard car brakes screeching and people screaming as we were holding onto the bar, trying not to get thrown off the wagon. As the horse raced across another intersection, a road construction worker, who saw the galloping horse and wagon coming toward him, managed to grab the side of the wagon, heaved himself onto the vehicle and got hold of the reins. When he finally got the horse under control we were fifteen blocks away from our homes. Our guardian angels were with us that day and the story had more than one happy ending: Helga and I didn’t get punished because our parents were so happy that we were alive! Also, the construction worker received a monetary reward from both sets of our parents and the friendly merchant didn’t get mad at us—he remained friendly whenever he came through our neighborhood. But… because of Helga and my escapade, the merchant never allowed another child to ride on his wagon again. But the best of it was that, for a short period of time, Helga and I were the talk of the town—we had indeed become famous!…

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“…Vladimirets! The first time I heard the name of that little Russian or Polish town was in 1971—shortly after I got married. Over the years I not only heard Hal talk about the shetl where his ancestors came from but I also listened to stories about Vladimirets as they were told by Mary, Sam and Sidney. Had I known then that one day in the future I would write a family history book, I certainly would have asked many more questions about their families, their friends, their lives. Instead, all these years later, I had to do my questioning the hard way…

…When I began my research about Vladimirets in 2007, I almost got discouraged, learning that no records of birth, marriage or death had survived for that town. The Nazis during WWII had destroyed every precious single document! Needless to say, I didn’t give up. I knew that within the internet world of google searches and other engines, I would find traces and, voilà… I did locate stories from survivors of Vladimirets. While reading their accounts, I heard Sidney and Sam’s voices in my head, sharing their tales with me. And as I continued absorbing the statements of sad events, written by these survivors, I also heard Hal’s voice as he remembered many stories he heard from his mother…

…Following is a record of the early days of Vladimirets, life in a shtetl as Mary, Sam and their families enjoyed it and reports of what happened when all Jewish life in Vladimirets was taken and the town was destroyed…

…The first Jews in Vladimirets came in the late 17th to early 18th Century. For more than one hundred and fifty years, the Jews built and grew that little town where they traded and mingled with Poles and Russians. On August 28th, 1942, all Jews in Vladimirets were exterminated and the entire town was erased. After the war, a few survivors drifted back, but left again quickly…

…Vladimirets was a bit larger than other shtetls in the region because the railroad stopped there—but in most ways, it was a typical shtetl: not a city, not rural and deeply connected to other Jewish communities in the area…

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…Whenever Sam allowed himself some free time, he mingled with the other Vladimiretsans. Among his friends from the shtetl were the two Melamed girls and it was obvious to everybody that Sam had his eyes on the younger sister, Mariasa, who by then was known as Mary…

…Sam knew that Mary was about to become engaged to another young man from Vladimirets but it did not matter to him; he had fallen in love and his mind was made up. The courtship didn’t take long and according to the story from some of our relatives, Sam literally “swept Mary off her feet.” Soon after they became engaged in Michigan. Their engagement was rather short because on October 12, 1920 Mary and Sam were officially married…

“…ca.1918…”

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…Whereas three of the Melamed siblings had escaped the pogroms during the early 1900s and the youngest, Sidney, was lucky enough to flee the holocaust of WWII, the rest of their family became victim to the massacre of the Nazis and the Ukrainians. In 1943, Vladimirets was totally destroyed and, except for a few Jews who were able to escape Hitler’s butchers, the majority of Jews from that shtetl was murdered. As I mentioned before, all the records of Vladimirets were destroyed in 1943; nothing remained that could prove the existence of the Jewish population there—the actuality of their lives only was brought forth by memories of the few survivors…

…”Who has inflicted this upon us? Who has made us Jews different from all other people? Who has allowed us to suffer so terribly up till now? It is God that has made us as we are, but it will be God, too, who will raise us up again. If we bear all this suffering and if there are still Jews left, when it is over, then Jews, instead of being doomed, will be held up as an example.” Anne Frank, “Diary of a Young Girl” (1947), entry dated April 1946…

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…Bella’s past had been quite tragic, as it was for so many other Jews during WWII. Born on April 6, 1924 in Lodz, Poland, Bella enjoyed a fine upbringing until the war started. Her mother and father were both very educated and lived in a lovely apartment with their three children: Ròża was the oldest daughter, followed by son Heniek and daughter Bella…

…Lodz, located in central Poland, held the second largest Jewish community in Europe with Warsaw holding the largest. When the Nazis attacked, Poles and Jews worked frantically to dig ditches to defend their city. Only seven days after the attack on Poland started, Lodz was occupied. Within four days of Lodz’s occupation, Jews became targets for beatings, robberies and seizure of property. September 14, 1939, only six days after the occupation of Lodz, was Rosh Hashanah when the Nazis ordered the Jews on this Highest of Holy Days to keep their businesses open and ordered all the synagogues to be closed…

…While Warsaw was still fighting off the Germans (Warsaw finally surrendered on September 27), the 230,000 Jews in Lodz were already feeling the beginnings of Nazi persecution. On November 7, 1939, Lodz was incorporated into the Third Reich and the Nazi’s changed its name to Litzmannstadt…

…As living conditions were deteriorating in the ghetto, Bella’s family, the Tenenbaums, managed to keep together in cramped living quarters. But one day, when eighteen-year old Bella returned home from school, her family’s apartment was empty. Bella told me that dishes with food were left sitting on the table and that the curtains were softly blowing in the wind through the open window—apparently the family had sat down for lunch when the Nazis stormed in and took them and neighbors away. Bella never saw her mother, father, sister or brother again…

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…went to Senn High School for two years and then transferred to Tuley High but his attendance remained sporadic—probably more so than in grammar school. In later years, after becoming a successful businessman, Hal almost prided himself with the fact that he never graduated high school. On the other hand he wanted more for his own children. He regretted making the mistake of not seeing the full benefits of a good education when he was young and later he envisioned much more for his own children, namely to experience college life and getting wisdom from books and pedagogues instead of seeking a shrewd awareness on how to survive in an urban environment like he did…

…Not being interested in school books and attending classes, didn’t help Hal from having to study for his Bar Mitzvah; both, his mother and his father, were very firm about getting their son prepared for the ceremony that would admit a boy of the age thirteen as an adult member of their Jewish community…

…Two other boys from the neighborhood were preparing at the same time for their Bar Mitzvah and the lifelong friendship of Hal Beider, Art Petacque and Louis Wolff intensified during those days when the three boys walked to Rabbi Elkan’s apartment building on Division and Kedzie. There, on the second floor in his kitchen, Rabbi Elkan tutored the three Jewish musketeers so they would be able to chant their Torah portions…

…Bar Mitzvah in 1931

…Desperate to hear stories about their youth, I was lucky to locate Louis Wolff in January of 2009. Lou told me over the phone that basically Hal and he lived different lives. Louis recalled that Hal was busy running with the kids on the streets and in his spare time seemed to be “apprenticing” in his father’s business; during those days, Sam was running rooming houses and small transient hotels. Louis said, while Hal still had a lot of freedom, Louis already was made the breadwinner for his family at the age of fourteen. Because Louis’ father was only a small peddler and his mother was deaf, Louis needed to work so the family could survive…

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…Speaking of television, Art Petacque (who gave the eulogy at Hal’s funeral), went to seek higher education at universities and became a columnist for the Chicago SunTimes. When he got his own regular television spot on one of the local channels, Hal always watched his famous buddy Art. Hal was very proud of his life-long friend who had become the recipient of the prestigious Pulitzer Prize!…

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…“Harold didn’t come to dances as regular as Freddie but he loved music and always thought like a businessman,” Dan Bellack said. “Somehow Hal hooked up with Buddy Arvey, one of Chicago’s biggest playboys! Buddy Arvey’s father was Jake Arvey, a big political figure and very rich. Anyway, Hal and Buddy became co-producers of ‘Star Night’. I think it was either in 1953 or 1954. My orchestra, the Dan Bellack Orchestra, was not even big enough—I had to hire more violinists and other musicians for this venue at Soldier’s Field. This was a huge event with many popular singers, like Eddie Fisher, Patty Page, June Valli, Julius deRosa etc. But….the whole thing became a bust because it started to rain cats and dogs soon after the show started. It was a big disappointment for all of us plus we had to pay the orchestra, the stars etc. Fortunately Buddy Arvey had the foresight and taken weather insurance with Lloyd of London. He collected $27,000.00—a lot of money during those days—but it still didn’t pay all the expenses”…

…I remember Hal telling me how excited he was to put this event together and how devastated he became when the whole thing fell apart because of the weather. As a matter of fact, in our home in Wilmette we had pictures on the walls in our bar-restaurant- basement, some portraying the Dan Bellack Orchestra, and others portraying Hal with Patty Page and different celebrities. In another photograph Hal was holding the umbrella over one or more of the famous singers on this ill-fated night…

…Even though this big event turned into a flop, Hal must have enjoyed his producer-status because he tried one more time to make it big with Dan Bellack and his orchestra…

…“Hal financed a big recording session,” Dan told me. “This time he had hooked up with MGM and had high hopes of making all of us famous. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out and the whole thing ended up being a loser. That was Hal’s first and last venture into the recording business,” Dan said….

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…I am not certain the fog ever lifted after the ceremony but certainly the shiver- fever-combo had stopped and was replaced by a big happy smile—perfect for the photographer who kept snapping away as Hal and I posed with “our” children, my in- laws, the extended family and later with the many friends who had been invited for a dinner reception to the home in Lincolnwood…

…Since our wedding was held in the middle of the week, rather than a traditional Saturday, the fête was more on the casual side but not at all less festive. I certainly didn’t regret that I had opted to wear a peach Pierre Cardin (copy) wedding dress instead of a white fairy-tale gown. I loved my ensemble and became more comfortable and felt more beautiful by the minute as Hal, my (new!) family and our friends extended their warmth, love and compliments to me throughout the evening…

…After the intoxicating festivities of our wedding came to an end, I was awed and adrenalized to be spending my first night in my new home as a new bride and new mother to two teenage children and ten-year old…”

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…“I’m getting really pissed off at Billy,” Rene said one morning on our beach hike. “How dare he leave me alone all day? And Hal…well he’s even worse. You guys are still newlyweds and he behaves like an old married fart”…

…It was obvious that Rene was angry and for some reason I only became irritated after she pointed out to me that the “boat” had become obviously more important to the husbands/fathers than any of us. I suggested a reverse psychology plot and after we had lunch with the kids, Rene and I walked to a nearby flower shop and chose two lovely arrangements to be delivered to us. We asked the florist to hand- write two notes that said something like, “To the gorgeous bathing beauty whom I’d like to meet,” and we had it signed, “An Admirer!”…

…Rene and I nervously giggled all the way back to the hotel and couldn’t wait for the late afternoon—by then our husbands would have returned, showered and would get ready for dinner. Sure enough, around 5:30…

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…Mutti turned out to be the quintessential yodeling Heidi as I had talked her into wearing my “Dirndl” outfit (a Bavarian costume) with my braided long blonde wig. After I applied rosy cheeks and tons of freckles on her nose, she laughed and assumed her role to perfection…

…Jackie appeared as a close to unrivaled copy of Marilyn Monroe, looking glamorous and sexy in her black satin dress and hairstyle from the fifties…

…There were many awesome other costume ideas, such as our heavy-set neighbor from across the street, Donald…, who was gutbusting as Batman when he showed up with his slender wife Bonna, dressed as Robin. Diane D… (who, in real life, always dressed picture perfect and never had a hair out of place) came as Phyllis Diller, totally disheveled, with a half unrolled curler sticking in her unruly hair. Her then husband… came as the “gun-slinging” John Wayne in a cowboy outfit. Oy… just as I typed “gun slinging,” I had a shiver run down my spine but I will later write about the… tragedy that occurred years later!…

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…As life had shown many times before, happiness and sadness walk a tightrope together and soon after Hal’s cousin Avrom and his wife Tova visited Chicago for the first time. It also was the first time that Sam embraced Avrom, a son of his brother Israel (Sam and Israel never saw each other after Sam left Vladimirets in 1912).

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…In early February Kenny, together with fellow actors, first appeared at the “Prop” on Clybourn and then at the “Chicago Actor’s Project” on Halstead in Eugene O’Neill’s “Long Day’s Journey Into Night,” directed again by Liz Sipes. The following article appeared in the Chicago Sun-Times on February 10, 1989…

_______________________________________

Troupe plumbs O’Neill depths

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THEATER

By Julie Jacob Inn Town Theatre Company’s production of “Long Day’s Journey into

Night,” Eugene O’ Neill’s brilliant autobiographical play, is so well done it’s difficult to sit through.

The love-hate bonds in the “haunted” Tyrone family recall those of O’Neill’s own. Mother Mary, like O’Neill’s mother, is a dope fiend, addicted to morphine since the difficult birth of son Edmund (O’Neill’s version of himself). She can’t break the habit, partly because her stingy, alcoholic husband, actor James, never allows her a nest for her family. His dissolute, alcoholic older son, Jamie, tries both to protect and to defile beloved kid brother Edmund, who tries escape, hope and confrontation to reach out to the others.

Ultimately, Mary concludes that her big mistake in life was falling in love, thus engaging in the world rather than escaping into a convent. Even her once-beloved wedding dress, like the treasured scrap of paper on which James carried praise from a noted actor, can only be remembered in pain.

Each performance is exceptional. Everett F. Smith’s James perhaps defines the family, with his irrational temper and occasional flickers of tenderness toward the woman and sons he loves. Mary, played by Mary Ann Flynn, delicately hovers near madness as she goes back on morphine after a “cure.” The drug allows her both to escape her pain and to lash out openly at the others, an intricacy Flynn handles well. Jamie, played by Ken Beider, is beautifully balanced on equal parts slovenliness, despair, devotion and hatred. Scott McWilliams, playing Edmund, perhaps articulates his character the least, but convincingly portrays a man who, although overwhelmed by circumstance, still tries to stand upright.

Edmund finds peace in alcohol and in the sea; when he can lose himself, “for a second, there is meaning. Then the hand lets the veil fall and you’re alone, lost in the fog again…

…Despite the agony of watching this play done well, the playgoer leaves tiny Prop Theater knowing O’Neill understood the dynamics of the pain he couldn’t erase…

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…“It was only a sunny smile and little it cost in the giving. But like morning light it scattered the night and made the day worth living”

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…At this point I have to mention that somewhere between 1990 and 1993 Danny and his musician friends had formed the group “Spot and Billy.” For years Danny had written many songs with impressive lyrics. The other young musicians were equally talented and it did not take long for me to make the decision to ‘finance’ another set of sessions in a professional recording studio. Whenever I could, I would pop by and kwell! Watching the boys in action at the studio, listening to their music, observing the process of creating a new recording and hearing Danny sing was definitely one of my favorite pastimes. I thought that everyone in “Spot and Billy” was fabulously talented and I couldn’t help but share their dream of fame. I eagerly helped the boys with the PR and put together packets and sample tapes that we sent to agents, radio stations and whatever else seemed appropriate…

…I don’t know which trip we were returning from (again, I don’t have an ongoing up-to-date calendar programmed in my head!) but while we were waiting at the Miami airport for our connecting flight to Chicago, I called home to check for messages. Lo and behold, there was a message from an agent, representing a well-known record company, saying they were interested in “Spot and Billy.” I got enormously excited (I’m sure Danny even more so!) and the minute we returned home, we contacted the agent and during several discussions found out about the essential requirements to get started. One of the biggest necessities would be for “Spot and Billy” to play small gigs in…

…Over the Christmas break I invited my family to the Grand Geneva Resort and Spa in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. Once again, it was wonderful being together and Mutti kept telling me how much she enjoyed the nearness of her big family and how much she cherished observing and holding her great grandchildren. Fortunately, and due to the kindness of nature, none of us knew it would be Mutti’s last Christmas with us….

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…I heard Danny coughing as I recited…“Y’hay sh’may raba me’varach le’alam uleh-almay alma-ya”…

…While I bravely kept reciting, I suddenly understood why Shay, Jackie and Kelly behind me kept making noises and Danny on my left side kept coughing and why Kenny kept muttering something in front of me as he still stood dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, waving the plastic bag through the air. With every inhalation for air, I unexpectedly comprehended that a coat of dust had been forming on my lips and tongue and while I was determined to finish reciting the Kaddish, I knew we all were inhaling and ingesting parts of Mutti…

…“O’seh shalom beem-romav, hoo’ya’she shalom aleynu v’al kol Yisrael, ve’imru, Amen.” I closed the little book and turned around to look at my daughters—all three were clinging to each other crying but definitely laughing as well. Kenny turned and as he walked away from the cliff’s edge, he said, “Oma, I always knew I carried you in my soul but little did I know I would carry you under my sole”…

…Needless to say, Kenny’s wit broke the spell and knowing that besides having parts of Mutti inside of us, we also noticed other parts of her ashes were in our hair, on our clothes, on our faces and everywhere on the rocks and the rest of nature around us. As we brushed our hair and clothes and wiped our faces, we swallowed between coughs and allowed ourselves to dissolve into laughter. It was an incredible and unforgettable moment. My children and I agreed how special and cherished this point in time was and that it would be forever carved into our hearts. It was then decided to eternalize this day by carving. “Mutti/Ellen/Oma…March 25, 1997” on one of the big boulders and to claim this part of the mountain as our very own as we appropriately named Mutti’s final resting place “Oma’s Dusty Point”…

…While my children were busy carving the inscription into the rock, I watched over this awesome scene in this spectacular setting of nature and experienced a warm feeling of immeasurable gratitude; there was so much love all around us and the past few days had created a new strong bond between all of us…

…The clouds were growing heavier and darker and even though we did not want to leave, we realized it would be wise to start our descent before the ominous clouds would get a chance to release their own heavy tears on us. As we prepared to leave “Oma’s Dusty Point,” we stopped dead in our tracks as our attention was drawn to a powerful song coming from a small bird that sat perched on a cactus very close to us. I only can recognize a few of our feathered friends and I believe this songbird with its long tail and white patches on its wings was a mockingbird. Conscious that Mutti’s love for birds was unique, my children and I grew very still and allowed our own individual beliefs to take flight as we watched the bird and listened to his song…

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…After we enjoyed a morning tour of the Victoria Falls with our guide, Fran and I decided to walk back to the Falls during the afternoon by ourselves—we wanted to stroll through the Mosi-Oa-Tunya National Wildlife Park and enjoy the peaceful grazing zebras and other game in their natural habitat. Once we arrived at the entrance to the Falls, we were greeted by a congress of baboons, resting in the shade of the trees. I recognized one of the guests from our hotel; she seemed to be fearless while crouching quietly near the baboons…

…Eventually the woman slowly rose and came walking toward us and I found out that she and her husband were enthusiastic safari goers and had lots of experience with the wildlife of the African bush, especially with the mountain gorillas in Central Africa; the woman told me that Dian Fossey was her idol. Before Fran and I descended on the hundreds of wet steps alongside the Falls, she gave us some useful tips in the event we’d encounter some of the animals…

…Long story short, after Fran had taken enough photos from every angle of Victoria Falls, we decided to climb up the narrow steps and return via the park to our hotel. I was in front of Fran when suddenly I saw a flange of baboons in single file descending on the steps in front of me—the leader of the pack was in front and looked like a primate on steroids; even though on all fours, he was at least four feet tall with bulging muscles! Panic surged through me like fire would through straw! “O-m-i-g-a- w-d, look, Fran!” I muttered under my breath and then I froze, remembering the warnings the “Dian Fossey groupie” had given me just an hour previously. “Don’t make eye contact, don’t move—any sudden activity or noise may irritate them and they can become quite aggressive,” she had said…

…While I stood motionless with downcast eyes, I could not believe Fran exclaiming loudly, “Wow…what a great shot,” as I heard the whirring sounds from his camera. Out of the corner of my downcast eyes, I saw Fran take another step back and then, with a loud thud, he was gone!…

…Alerted and probably ready to attack, the tribe of baboons stopped dead in their track and all their eyes followed the direction from where the jerky movement of Fran falling off the “steps” plus his ear-splitting “Oooooh…” had come from. I’ll never forget the onset of tachycardia (my heartbeats were faster than drum rolls) as my body’s sympathetic network system went into full action; I felt the sweat running down my spine, experienced difficulty in breathing and became lightheaded from anxiety. Faintly, I heard Fran’s voice somewhere below me and gratefully realized he did not crash into the very depth of the Victoria Falls way down below…

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…Trying not to wake Fran, I quietly left the bedroom, walked into our living room and raised the electric rolling shutters on the balcony door and windows, replacing the darkness of the rooms with the natural early morning light. I stepped onto the balcony and what I saw literally took my breath away. Whereas I could still faintly hear the raging weather from the Tasman Sea in the distance, inside Mildford Sound our beautiful white ship was gliding on water that was as smooth as silk and glistened like ice. Patches of blue sky and early morning sunlight peeked through a mysterious fog that cloaked part of the mountains. I had never seen fjord land where mountains seemed to grow perfectly straight out of the sea with such majestic height (4,000 ft plus) and where such luscious rainforest clung to sheer rock walls. Because I stood in the bow of the ship, I could see waterfalls left and right tumbling hundreds and hundreds of feet into the water below and to top of this magnificent display of nature, albatrosses with their greater than ten feet wingspan were gliding through the air, so close that I could see their eyes! I honestly had goose bumps all over my body and I knew I had to wake Fran so he could share with me this particular generous gift from our planet. When he stepped onto the balcony, he gasped and kept repeating “O my God,” over and over again. Clad in our robes we sat down and just marveled at this incredible masterpiece of creation. In this pristine quietude and beauty of nature, we sailed approximately nine miles through Milford Sound before entering Doubtful Sound, the second largest of the fourteen fjords in New Zealand’s “Fjordland National Park.”

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…safari and visited another elephant sanctuary where I made friends with a young female elephant (cow) that was abandoned by her herd in Kruger Park. I spent thirty minutes with this beautiful animal with its shredded ears (from the abuse by other elephants) during which she let me come really close, touch her tongue, feel her teeth and stroke her head and body. At one point she put her trunk over my shoulder and we looked into each other’s eyes. When the time came to leave, I had tears in my eyes and I could have sworn my new friend’s eyes looked damp, too, as she followed me all the way to the exit”…

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…“I do have plenty of time to wait until… …points of view as time marches on. Their deep thoughts, growing knowledge and enthusiasm for life will give plenty of reason to keep filling many more pages but those will have…

…to be continued by the next generation!

“We are, each of us angels with only one wing; and we can only fly by embracing one another.” Luciano de Crescenzo