My memory reaches back to the age of three. At that time we lived in Bad Toelz, a health spa located at the portal to the Alpine Mountains. Our two-room apartment was only fifty feet from the bank of the Isar River which parts the town in equal sections. The view from the river valley is breathtaking. High towering mountains dressed in dark green overcoats and silvery shining rocks form the grandiose background. A bridge spanning the river just 300 feet away ties into the main road winding uphill between rows of colorful houses which are painted with oversized saints as it is customary in many Alpine villages. A short distance from the bridge Mount Calvary rises straight out of the water 500 feet high, the top crowned with a baroque chapel from the 18th century. Very early I fell in love with this iridescent scenario and whenever there was a chance, I did not miss enjoying it again and again.
Our neighbor was a blacksmith, a funny guy who liked children. Needless to say, I spent much of my time in his workshop watching him mold horseshoes and farming equipment and listening to his jokes which he bubbled out with great laughter. When I had played enough at the river bank and got tired of the blacksmith’s chatting, I walked over to the shoemaker on the other side of the street. He seemed to be fond of my company and moreover the family had several daughters who were always ready to whirl around with me. The youngest girl, a 17-year-old beauty, came daily over to clean our rooms. In her presence, I became unusually susceptible to the attractions of femininity and my innocent curiosity rose to untimely heights when I discovered that she did not carry any underwear. Maybe it was not fashionable anyway in those days. However, besides being curious I was pretty shy and fragile. My mother often mentioned later the problems I posed for her. For the first two years of my life I could not digest anything except oatmeal and porridge. Eggs, meat and other nutritious delicacies stuffed in my mouth just would not hold. Slowly and carefully I had to be accommodated to normal food. The shyness, however, stayed with me for a long time. No sooner than at my ripe age I was capable to shake off this silly inhibition that caused me so many problems and setbacks.
Before World War I, pregnant women usually did not go to the hospital or maternity for delivery. A midwife was a doctor and nurse in one person. When she arrived, the older children were sent away. One early morning a friendly neighbor picked me up for a long stroll up and down the streets shopping here and there until I was dead tired and wanted to go home. We finally returned and to my big surprise a baby had arrived, my brother Rudi. This was quite a sensation since nobody had prepared me for the event. While I am writing this down, I have a hunch why my mother left Munich, the sparkling city with all its opportunities, and moved to such a provincial spot like Bad Toelz. She wanted to escape the shame and embarrassment of having a second child out of wedlock. Just imagine the whispering and finger-pointing.
Strangely enough, the next four years left no trace in my memory. The recollection takes up again in the fall of 1916 when I entered elementary school actually somewhat too late. Since my birthday is in November, I was too young the year before and almost too old when admitted. Because of my greater maturity, I had only a few problems in school, mainly due to a lack of ambition and diligence. Firm domestic supervision was virtually nonexistent. My mother worked all day long and our maid could care less what I was doing. Thus I roamed through the streets in my spare time and neglected the homework forgetting entirely the disciplinary action which inevitably followed the next day: three strokes over the fingertips, a painful punishment. Nevertheless, my report cards were not bad and showed even good grades in prose writing. Several times I delivered the best essay of the class, an achievement which strengthened my inner security and my mother’s pride. One day I heard somebody playing violin music in the school. It filled my heart with enthusiasm and I begged my mother to buy me an instrument. Unfortunately, she could not afford it and I had to wait six years until this dream could be realized.
All these incidents are mere flashes from the depth of my subconscious region, but one experience is carved into my memory with unextinguishable rills, the food shortage. As you all know, a growing boy is always hungry like a wolf, but food was scarce and became even more scarce toward the end of the great war. Germany, almost completely cut off from imports, was slowly starved to death, because the homemade produce could not suffice the needs even before the war. In school, we received a meal in the afternoon, sauerkraut without meat, turnip soup, or grits cooked from rotten barley. Sometimes the meal tasted so repugnant that I had a hard time to push it down my throat. Once I took the uneatable stuff home for improvement. My mother added margarine, milk, and sugar, valuable nutrients which were unfortunately wasted too. We had to throw away the whole jar. Three weeks before Christmas 1917 my mother asked me what do you want as a present? “A piece of bread with butter,” I replied. Every morning then we skimmed the already thin milk and collected a cup full of cream which we churned on Christmas Eve. My wish, however, did not come true. Thus Momma brewed a substitute coffee from grain and poured the creamy stuff, or whatever it was, over it.
Because of this terrible food shortage, my concerned mother decided in the summer of 1917 to send Rudi and me out to the country where the conditions seemed to be less rough. In Geisenfeld, 50 miles north of Munich, she knew a family who agreed to keep us for a few months. The Koegels, by name, were faithful Christians. Their two sons served in the war, the younger daughter was still at home. I never met the older one, only her illegitimate son who grew up with his grandparents. Eugen, a few years older, witty, and already experienced, had great influence over me. He shook me out of my childish naivety with his fascinating stories about girls and sex, something I had never heard before. Bittermomma, as we called Mrs. Koegel, seemed not to be aware of our secrets; but I knew she could be stem in those matters. Thus I remember her only as a friendly, smiling person. She walked with us through the woods to collect firewood and wild berries. I loved these excursions, the resinous fragrance of the pine cones, the forest flowers and mushrooms scattered around like tiny, yellow dots. Every evening we had to say long prayers which we three boys rattled down routinely and devotionless. Once I became entangled in a heated argument with the Koegel daughter about the daily allowance of bread which was not more than six ounces, actually a thin slice, just enough for the breakfast. I had the wrong notion my share should be considerably bigger and insisted on that. But instead of roughing me up, justifiably so, Hans, the oldest son, incidentally at home on leave, brought a scale and weighed exactly the daily ration. Convinced and deeply ashamed I sneaked out of the room and soon the affair was forgotten.
Bittermomma had to carry a big cross and her faith had been tested to the ultimate. Her husband’s eyesight faded gradually away and nothing could be done to stop that disease. Eye surgery was too risky in those days. The terrible aspect of having a blind husband without a job must have haunted her continuously. The cup of her suffering was already filled to the brim when she was dealt another blow. Her beloved son Landolin was killed in action. It was a heartbreaking experience to see her sinking slowly down on her knees like a deadly wounded animal, weeping, her painful cries echoing through the whole house.
When the leaves began falling, we returned to Munich to the crowded multistory apartment house near the center of the city. Back we were also to the populous streets where early in the morning long columns of soldiers marched to the training field, often followed by Army trucks whose tires consisting of steel springs jumped and danced on the cobblestones and produced an ear-deafening noise. The days were grey and cold, and the people complained aloud in the grocery stores about the senseless war and the Kaiser who needlessly carried on his imperial ambitions. Two years later, then completely bogged down by hunger, the sentiments exploded in a full-fledged rebellion sweeping away more than just the Kaiser and his government. The entire hierarchy of rich noblemen, who for centuries had ruled Germany, was deprived of its privileges and degraded to political impotency.
“In the fall my whole body became covered with blisters. They developed even on the soles of my feet.”
In the spring of 1918 my mother luckily found a job with the state office which procured rationing cards. That position not only helped us a little bit in the food sector but also provided an excellent relationship with the boss, Mr. Schneebauer. He owned a sizable tract of land including a farmhouse near Bad Toelz where his wife and daughter lived in almost total isolation. The presence of two boys certainly would stimulate life at this lonely place, he figured, and, of course, my mother happily agreed. In May we packed and moved to Sonnenried as the estate was called. The location is unique. The Isar River surrounds the property on three sides. A small creek separates the peninsula from the neighboring forest. A frail, wooden bridge and a narrow trail lead to the two-story house in the center of the farm, where the Alpine world opens up to a strikingly picturesque panorama. The creek once served to operate a sawmill which then lay there deserted, but fully equipped. The ghostly place naturally attracted our curiosity, although we hardly dared to catch a glimpse of the interior. A large forest covering the ascending hills nearby abounded with mushrooms of such delicious kinds as to satisfy even the taste of a gourmet. A veil of pleasant quietness hung over the scene. Only the wind swishing through the pines and the gracious murmur of the river added a lovely theme to the melodic stillness.
Mrs. Schneebauer and her somewhat naughty daughter, ten years older than me, welcomed us sincerely and soon we developed a close relationship. Every Saturday afternoon Mr. Schneebauer arrived with a barrel of beer which he emptied over the weekend. He definitely had a drinking problem. Later I heard my parents say his five children were produced in a state of intoxication. How irresponsible an alcohol addict can be. But Mother Nature is wise and cannot be deceived. None of his descendants was capable of creating an offspring. Otherwise, he was a generous, good-hearted man with a great love for music and more so for musical instruments which he collected with understanding and zeal. The upper room of his farmhouse was filled with violins, cellos, and flutes. His particular pride belonged to the grand piano on which he skillfully improvised Wagner music as soon as his mood had become sufficiently stimulated by several jars of beer. For me, his playing was a stirring excitement not often experienced. The enticing harmonies he produced awakened in me a dreamland of whirling sounds that penetrated my whole being. For the first time, I became aware of the mysterious power of music, a power that leads through the full scale of human affections and fills us with divine contentment.
This music heard for the first time, the joyful playing along the riverbanks, the frightening sawmill, and a bundle of other entertainments which we never ran out of, made us forget how fast the summer passed by. Only the hunger was permanently reminding me. In the fall my whole body became covered with blisters. They developed even on the soles of my feet. Unable to walk, my brother Rudi pulled me on a handcart to school for a while. And this is the last impression my memory recorded in Sonnenried.
From here to the next episode there exists a considerable time lapse. The war had come to an end. Influenza, an epidemic disease, raced through Europe and America afflicting millions and killing hundreds of thousands alone in Germany. Weak and bearing already the signs of long-lasting malnutrition, I fell prey to this murderous illness also. Within my inner eyes, I still can see myself laying in the bed, my body boiling and blood running continuously from the nose which the doctor in vain tried to stop. He was virtually helpless and gave me little chance to survive. My mother sat on my side for hours holding my hands and praying. Thus I made it through the critical phase and recovered. Somewhere at the cosmic plane, it was decided that I should stay on the planet earth much longer and play the role I was selected for; even so, I did not comprehend for a long time what this role might be.