Dearest grandchildren,
In this excerpt, Thomas describes what schooling and education was like for him as he grew up in Chemnitz. When I read this, I was astounded at the vast difference between his school experiences in 1930s Germany and mine in 1970s America - and if I wrote about my own school experiences, you might be astounded at how different they are from yours.
I can only hope that, by the time you're all in (and through?) school, you don't relate to some of my father's experiences in school as the Nazis rose to power. I am terrified that this might be the case, that we are losing our democracy in America - and that is why I'm trying hard to get us German citizenship. (Since I was born to German citizens before they naturalized as US citizens, I - and your parent, and YOU - are German citizens; we just need to go through the process of affirming it! I'll write more about this later.)
His is my father's description of his school days in Chemnitz:
Public Kindergarten didn’t exist in Germany in those days. I entered first grade at the Heinrich Beck Schule, our local elementary school, probably in Spring of 1934 at the age of 5½. Like all first-graders, I got a "Zuckertüte”, (literally "sugar bag", a long, pointed, colorful cardboard cone filled with candy, cookies and party favors) a bribe to make us believe that it was a preview of things to come! Far from it!
A school child (not my father) with a Zuckertüte.
School was strictly separated - girls in the building on the left, boys in the building on the right. The gym buildings and even the play yards were separate. We sat at desks made for two that were neatly arranged in rows, screwed to the floor and unmovable. When the teacher entered the room, we were all required to stand at the side of his desk bench until the teacher said, “Heil Hitler!” and “setzen[1]!"
When Carl’s and Thomas’ heirs visited Chemnitz in 2018, we visited the Heinrich-Beck-Schule where Thomas went to grade school. You can read details about our “field trip” HERE. I first read Dad’s words about his grade school experience before I visited Chemnitz, but I heard his words again in my mind on the day we actually stood in the classroom (with newer desks, of course) that he describes. It was a profoundly emotional experience!
(These heirs visited the Heinrich Beck Schule in Chemnitz in 2018: left to right – my daughter, Kat, my son, Peter, my aunt, Ulli (Carl’s daughter, Thomas’ sister), me, Ulli’s son (my cousin), Marcus, Ulli’s daughter (my cousin), Claudia, and Ulli’s husband, Michael Hanley.)
Dad continues:
I don't think we knew any letters or numbers before we entered First Grade -- no “Sesame Street” yet! We learned reading with boxes of cardboard letters, the printed letter on one side, the cursive on the other (but that side was not to be used until we were bigger, in second or third grade). To learn writing, we had black slates with a moistened sponge hanging on a string. I was naturally right-handed, but others had to become right-handed. Being left-handed was simply not allowed.
Several school incidents stick in my memory, none having anything to do with reading or writing!
Living in a Protestant-Lutheran area, religion was an important subject in school. We heard stories from the New Testament exclusively, many centered on the crucifixion. I remember distinctly that one kid fainted every time that story was told, without fail. He fell off his bench, landing on the floor with a loud thud, It’s the kind of sound one doesn't forget. Then the custodian had to come in and clean up the vomit. I was impressed, but I could never really relate to the overwhelming impact the story had on that boy. It was my first exposure to the power religious intensity has for people who are deeply exposed to it from childhood.
My other persistent memory took place in gym class. I told my brother Rainer about it: "Der Sohre hat einen wie du![2]“ I had no idea at the time what it meant in Germany at the time to not to be circumcised; I only knew that Sohre was the only boy in our class who was circumcised. If Rainer knew what it meant, he did not tell me. The only other thing I remember from gym class was this: I was rather fat at the time, and thus hugely embarrassed about having boy breasts larger than anybody else, so my greatest challenge was to spit into my hands to moisten my underarms so I could flatten my chest. Not easy when you have to let go to catch or throw a ball!
Every teacher had a cane stick. If you misbehaved, or scribbled on your slate, or tried to write with your left hand, you’d be called to the front of the class where you’d get a slap on the hand with the stick - on the palm for minor infractions and on the knuckles for more serious offenses. It happened to me only once (I can’t remember the nature of my infraction), and then only on my palm. It didn't hurt much, but it was most embarrassing.
The educational philosophy in Germany was very different from the educational philosophy in America. In 1930s Germany, the only time a student would stand at front of the class was for punishment, when the teacher would humiliate the student with a sharp whack with the cane. Only much later, in high school, would students appear in the front of the class for real educational purposes, such as reciting a poem by Goethe or Schiller. Contrast that with America in the 1960s when my children were in school: in kindergarten, kids were encouraged to bring something from home and share it with the class by telling all about it. No wonder Americans seem to have a knack for public speaking!
One day when I was six, the teacher told us to stand up, one row at a time, and tell what our fathers did. I wasn’t used to questions like that - and I sat in the first row!
“My father… he… he works in the bank”, I stammered timidly.
Zschorn, a popular student who sat two rows behind me, stood up and said loudly, with great confidence, “He’s a banker!” Ah so. Now here was somebody who must know a lot. A hero was born.
The first time I made any friends was in grade school. One was Zschorn, admirably streetwise, the son of a pharmacist in town. To me, "der Zschorn hat gesagt...[3]" became the ultimate proof of anything, an expression that was often (and cynically!) quoted by Rainer.
Zschorn was good at school; I was good at home. I even got a medal to prove it. Father had seen to it that I was always obedient and eager to please. So eager, that it became my job to do little valet jobs for him - bring his cigar box, get the newspaper, sharpen his pencil… whatever. One day, upon returning from a trip to Leipzig, Vati gave me a small button to wear on my lapel. He called it a Kammerdiener-Orden[4]! I proudly wore it to school, showing it off to the other kids - much to Rainer’s amusement, of course.
We often vacationed in Bansin, a resort on the Baltic Sea. This picture was probably taken in 1935 or ’36. At the left is our cousin Hans-Helmut, much envied by us because he was much less pampered than we were. At that time, the old black, white, and red flag, just before it was completely outlawed, still served as an open symbol of an attitude which said “We are good German-Nationals -- no Swastika for us!”
I somehow had a very vague feeling that there was something I didn’t know about my place in the world. I knew something was different, something related to the propaganda about the Jews being our doom. Once, when I was still in early grade school, I showed my father something I had picked up when learning numbers. “My teacher says that the number 6 looked like a Jew’s nose!” I explained to him when I came home. Father said simply, “That’s a really stupid thing to say,” and left it at that.
And left me with a big question in my own mind.
(Image credit: United States Holocaust Memorial Museum)
[1] “sit down!”
[2] “Sohre has one like you”.
[3] “Zschorn said…”
[4] “Medal for a Personal Vallet”
So interesting. When I was in school, we also sat in rows at separate desks, though otherwise the rules were not as rigid.
ReplyDeleteI've been on the road so need to catch up with the last few posts.