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Bradenhoffers

by Victor R. Braden

         I am part of an American family. I grew up in and immigrant household and sought the American dream. I love America and am glad I lived my life as I did.

         My father, Wilhelm Bradenhoffer, was born in 1903 and my Mother, Anna, in 1908 in Emden, Germany. During WW1 my father’s family relocated to The Netherlands with his father and older brother stayed in Emden to safeguard the family farm and property. In my father’s youth he attended a technical school and apprenticed with a machine shop making other machines and parts for agricultural equipment. The post war economy was not good in Germany but his family was able to survive bartering farm produce and stock. Everyone worked at whatever they could to keep the immediate family and extended family together and alive.

         My father knew of his wife to be, Anna, from a very early age and would say that he always loved her. With both of them being needed in their parents’ households they were not married until 1930. In 1933, their first child, a son, was born… Wilhelm III.

         The politics of Germany had made my father and mother wary and in 1931 they had decided to escape and migrate to America. They began to learn English from an old man in their village and from books and asking questions… very discretely and usually after dark. They kept their plans and new language skills a secret.

         In 1934 they were able to book passage from England to America and arrived in New York City with five bags of luggage and a very rudimentary knowledge of spoken and written English. After the Ellis Island experience they were to be met by Josef Schmitten (?), a distant relative on my mother’s side but he never showed up. Their attempts to contact him in the year following their arrival were unsuccessful.

         A representative of the German-American Friends Society stumbled upon them as they stood somewhat lost at the pier in Manhattan. After some discussion they were given ten one-dollar bills and an address in Brooklyn’s Williamsburg area owned by one of their Society’s members where they could stay temporarily. They were taken to the house and my father forever spoke of that first day in America… the sights, the smells, the traffic, the buildings, and the people.

         Years later Papa, now William having adopted that name in lieu of Wilhelm, described his first day as both welcoming and heart wrenching. He told of the excitement and of the fear that did not allow him to sleep for the first two days in America.

         The house in Williamsburg was a large single family home of three floors and a basement. Papa and his family were allowed the basement with on obligation to pay rent and to maintain the plumbing and heating.

         The first week of looking for work was frustrating with Papa’s limited English speaking skills and a complete absence of colloquialisms and correct pronunciations. The second week brought him success as he happened upon a fellow German émigré, Hunter Miller, who had been in New York for three years who was looking to hire a machinist and mechanical repairman to work on the presses at the New York Journal-American newspaper. Their working relationship was wonderful for each other as they could converse in German and with other employees in English without being belittled for their accents.

         Times were good for the family… they had shelter, food, some money, and finally some security. Their outlook was bright, they were happy, and they were on their way to being Americans in Brooklyn.

         Papa took it upon himself to walk the neighborhood to observe America and aid his acclimation. One thing he noticed was the number of Roman Catholic Churches and schools. Being somewhat flexible in his faith and not overly committed to the Calvinist movement, he declared himself and his family to be Catholics. He liked the idea of strong discipline in school and felt that the nuns and a religious environment were in the best position to administer it.

         Papa put Bill in school where he adapted very quickly though it took some time to learn the language. Papa was not always pleased with what Bill was learning from classmates and on the street but was willing to spend time and effort to understand his lessons and the American experience. Papa was concerned with his children losing their entire heritage and so made it a point to speak only German and of things German while in the house.

         A second son was born in 1938 and while they had always planned to name him Adolph after Anna’s father; the name did not sit well with Papa because of what was happening in Germany. Instead, my parents chose to name the baby Julius. Julius and Bill went through an American Catholic Baptism at the same time.

         Living only in the basement had become intolerable with the addition of Julius. In 1939 they approached the owners, the Voelkers, about additionally renting the first floor of the residence. After some negotiations including that my father would be responsible for all building maintenance, an agreement was made.

         I was born in 1940 and even with the two levels of living things were crowded. My mother and father slept on the first floor and us boys in the basement. Papa had partitioned the basement into a large sleeping area, a sitting area, and a washing and bathing area. The sitting area was used to dry wet washed clothing in inclement and cold times of year. With the furnace in the basement and only four small windows, the room seemed to be perpetually hot and muggy.

         My father and mother were in the process of becoming US citizens when war with Germany and the Axis finally exploded. Citizenship was put on hold by the Government and Papa made it a point to not speak German outside of the house and at work with Mr. Miller so as not to bring attention to himself. Even the clothes he wore began to purposefully look more “American”. Papa never felt that he had any accent and insisted that he sounded just like every other man in Brooklyn. While there were some catcalls and heckles directed at Papa from time to time, there were no real incidents and discrimination that he spoke of.

         During WWII, with working men serving in the military, Papa took a second job at the New York Times as a mechanic and engineer. The presses there were bigger and more sophisticated but they were not optimized for efficiency. Papa made some changes and others he just recommended. Few of these were acted upon and only a very few were implemented. Papa was sometimes disappointed but believed it was his obligation to make the recommendations and for others to decide to implement them or not.

         With Papa working two jobs, Mama was in charge and with three boys to contend with she was a strong disciplinarian and taskmaster. She ran the house with “German” precision and control. Everything was always clean, neat and orderly, the food was traditional German in style and the radio station played classical music softly. Mama tried to do everything to keep control and to allow Papa to rest when he was at home.

         Even with rationing Mama seemed to be able to acquire and use substitutes that were every bit as good … given the slightest bit of leeway.

         Papa was still the true “master” of the house and while he wasn’t around all the time he did have set rules. Primary among them was that the evening meal was always at 7:00 pm and no one was to be late for the family meal. If you were you were sent to your room without food to help you remember to be on time.

         Even with two jobs and overtime there were no extras in the house. My parents were very frugal and every piece of boys clothing was handed down and then passed on. Sometimes new clothes were simply new to us having already passed through two or more households.

         When the war ended Papa was offered a position at the Times which he declined based of his fond relationship and commitment to Mr. Miller. Times management took this into consideration and then offered Mr. Miller a peer position to Papa’s. The two of them talked it over and then accepted. True, there would no longer be two sets of wages coming in but the salary, benefits and security at the Times were significantly better. Beside, one job would allow Papa more rest, time to play handball in Brighton Beach, and time with his children.

         In 1946, my sister Anna was born. The pregnancy and deliver were very hard on Mama and after the deliver Papa sought a housekeeper to help with Mama, the baby and the house. The second person to apply was an Irish woman and she was hired by Mama.

         Papa didn’t particularly like the “Irisher”. She was new to America herself, spoke with a heavy brogue, and was able to ruin every attempt at German cooking. Mary was her name and we all came to like her and her ways. She sang or hummed as she worked, knew some childish jokes, and was able to recite limericks. But most of all, she cared totally attentively to baby Anna and Mama. She took to calling the baby Angel and we all picked up on it except when Papa was around.

         If she knew Papa was not going to be home for dinner she always made a non-German meal. A favorite was a meatloaf made with anything left in the ice box or on sale at the butcher’s. The meatloaf included onions, green peppers, sometimes celery, and always heavy seasonings. It was always served with a tomato sauce or mustard on it and an ample serving of buttered noodles and lima beans.

         We all loved it and the dinner table with Mary became a discussion event about what we were learning and what we thought about current events. It was so different and so much fun.

         After about four months there was the day the world crashed down for my mother. Mary had been told that Papa was going to be home late and so she decided to make eye-tal-yon food for us. All she did was take what would gave been her meatloaf, mixed in tomato sauce with some garlic and served it over spaghetti noodles they seemed like regular noodles in long strips.

         As we were all eating and talking, Papa walked in and came to the table and asked what in God’s name were we doing and what in the world we were eating. Mama and Bill tried to explain but I don’t think Papa even heard them. He looked at baby Anna, in Mary’s arms, with a small piece of bread in each hand. He took the baby from Mary and then told her she was fired and to leave.

         Mary got up with tears now streaming down face and rushed from the room to get her coat and leave.

         There was total silence as we all looked at him in shock. Finally Mama said, in front of all of us, that she wanted Mary to stay and to continue to work. She said she had become almost family.

         This challenge to authority did not please Papa. He looked directly at Mama and iterated that Mary was not doing the things that she was hired to do. As Mama was about to say that Mary was doing those things, Papa continued and said how what she was doing was being done poorly and slovenly.

         We could hear the door close behind Mary as she left.

         Mama was now openly crying, the first time I’d ever seen that, and tried to arise and leave the table. Bill took her arm and helped her into their bedroom.

         Papa spoke directly to Julius and me and told us to clean up the mess and to wash and put away the plates and silver.

         In the next three months we would have a procession of housekeepers of every age and nationality, including German, but none could please Papa. Few were able to last even a week.

         After a total of six months, Mama told him not to bring any other candidates into the house and that she was able to now do it all.

         One day, shortly thereafter, Mama sat us down after school and told us that Papa loved us so dearly and that he was just handling things and his children in the only way he knew how… the way he was raised. We talked for about for an hour and I came to realize that Bill was the most bitter. There wasn’t much that could be done so we adopted the habit of openly calling baby Anna, Angel. It was a code for us.

         With more reflection over the years, I’ve come to understand that my mother was about love of children, her husband, her neighbors and her faith. She took them all seriously and did what was right… what God wanted her to do.

         In 1947 Mister Voelker spoke with Papa that there would be leaving Rheingold, moving to Milwaukee to work as a Master Brewer, and was about to sell the house as a single residence. This meant that the Bradenhoffers should prepare to move.

         Papa was very nonchalant and continued the conversation speaking of changes in the neighborhood, rents and prices, the age of the facilities, and the shame of letting the house go to a stranger.

         After about an hour Papa came in and told us that the Voelkers would be moving to Milwaukee and that the house already had new owners… the Bradenhoffer family!

         Papa did not trust banks and didn’t particularly have a use for lawyers, accountants, and bureaucrats… but he did this time. We went to the local bank and deposited $500. He then told them that he needed help with a transaction and that if they allowed him to access the bank’s lawyers he would do a mortgage through them. They expressed that it was a bit unusual but that he could talk with the lawyers but that they couldn’t do the actual paperwork.

         Papa talked and talked with them for five days in a row. Finally they gave him a copy of what they considered to be an excellent contract for a real estate buyer.

         He took that document to a Law School professor at St. John’s University who was a first generation German-American. After greeting him in German they had a conversation wherein the professor reviewed the contract and proclaimed it to be definitely a strong buyer’s contract.

         That evening Papa met with Mr. Voelker and they both executed Papa’s contract.

         Papa kept depositing money in the bank account and filled out some mortgage papers to keep the bank happy. On the day prior to the day the bank thought it had a closing, Papa and Mr. Voelker went to the bank and finalized the sale with the transfer of funds and the execution of the sale… right there in the bank with the bank’s lawyers looking on. There was no mortgage, no realty, and the fewest of ancillary expenses for Papa and for Mr. Voelker. The Voelkers moved out that weekend.

         Papa was proud of how far he and his family had come. From living in the basement to owning and living the entire building was quite an accomplishment for an immigrant family.

         While the family never went without the necessities of life, there was seldom money for “extras”. If my brothers and I earned or saved some money and wanted to go to Ebbet’s Field for a Dodger game we always invited Papa. He would almost always dismiss the thought as foolishness and a waste of money… particularly when he could listen to the game on the radio in the comfort of his own chair even if he didn't fully understand the nuances of the gane. One thing that was annoying to us boys was that there was no money for comics or candy. We could buy them with what we earned but Papa made us give him half of our earnings to be saved.

         One day when we were all in the kitchen, Julius referred to him as cheap and “da Fuhrer”. Mama turned from the stove and smacked Julius hard across his face and told him to go to the basement and to think about what he had said, about what his father had done for him, and about what his life would be without his father.

         She left him down there for two hours and then told him that his father loved him unconditionally and that he should confess to Papa what he had said and that he was sorry for even thinking it.

         It took an hour before Julius went to Papa and they spoke in low tones. I couldn’t make out what was said but I could hear muffled sobbing as my brother spoke. After listening carefully, Papa got up and engulfed Julius in his arms and told him, “I love our family and I love you. You are young, strong and smart. The world needs more like you. You were smart to speak to me of your feelings. I only want what is best for our family.”

         Papa didn’t have true hobbies. The handball was simply a diversion from the house and as he got older he played less and less. What he did enjoy was reading non-fiction both in English and German. He enjoyed news magazines and newspapers though he couldn’t easily fathom how two reporters and newspapers could see the same incident so differently. He used to shake his head and say, “If you can’t tell a book by its cover, then you can’t know the truth from the newspapers.”

         Another thing that Papa did enjoy was old hand tools. Being a machinist he had come to be able to discriminate between true craftsmanship and what he had come to call “junk yard tools”. Papa would forage through pawn shops, antique stores, house sales and newspapers looking for old and rare tools that he could acquire inexpensively. Sometimes he would buy a beat-up tool for the identification plate or markings on it. If necessary, he would remanufacture the tool in his basement workshop to make it better than when it was first manufactured. His joy was to admire the item and to think about the minds and dreams that may have led to its design and manufacture. That he, with his limited formal training, could improve the engineering of what was successful pleased him.

         Every once in awhile he would craft a one-of-a-kind tool to use for work on the Times equipment. He didn’t make them for sale but he would allow a select few co-workers to use them.

         His knowledge of tools and the presses led him to continue to make process or product change recommendations. The company that manufactured the presses, a German corporation, invited Papa, at their expense, to come to Germany to meet with their engineers to exchange ideas. Papa declined but said he would be pleased to meet with them in New York where he could show his recommendations on actual production presses.

         It took awhile to actually happen but the German visitors where highly pleased and seemingly amazed at Papa insights. They were also surprised at some of the tools he had made to make his job more efficient. At the end of the year Papa was awarded a bonus and a framed commendation from the German corporation. He was so very proud.

         Papa wasn’t a particularly religious man but he insisted that we attend parochial school and mass on Sunday. Walking there on Sunday seemed to have an ironclad sequence… Papa, then Bill, then Julius, then me and finally Mama and Angel. We always sat in the same pew as if it had been paid for. The pew was right beside the stained glass window of St. Christopher that was dedicated to Anna’s parents. They never saw it and probably don’t know that it exists.

         If any one of us who was of age did not receive Communion we would have to meet with Papa to explain why. This raised a number of conflicts in us. Papa asserted that it was his right to know since he was responsible for the religious and moral state of his family. It was hard to argue with.

         After elementary school, Bill went on a scholarship to St. Michael’s Diocesan High School where he did well and excelled in literature and Religion. When it came his time, Julius went to Brooklyn Prep where he seemed to major in debate… on any subject, with anyone, at any time, taking any position. I think this trait was imparted to all who attended Brooklyn Prep.

         Papa wasn’t pleased that Julius wanted to be a Lawyer so he convinced him to commit two years to studying industrial design at Pratt Institute. The deal was that if we still wanted to be a lawyer after two years at Pratt, Papa would pay for it if he were accepted as a student.

         I attended St. John’s Prep where I tried everything and excelled at nothing but was still able to graduate and go on to Manhattan College. One of the things I particularly remember about high school was that each one of us was required (by Papa) to take 3 years of German, 2 years of Latin and 2 years of French along with the regular class load. What it meant for us was that we had no P.E. nor any fluff courses like Library Science or an extra Social Studies course. It wasn’t the normal course load but it was what Papa required and the schools went along with it.

         Papa’s language requirements combined with the required math and science courses assured us of good educations. Papa wanted to make sure he got his money’s worth.

         When Bill graduated in 1952 he announced that he had a vocation to the priesthood. We were all surprised. We knew he was the “serious” one and as the first born male he was the one that was more likely supposed to become a priest. In September he went off to a seminary near Pittsburgh, PA.

         We didn’t see him till the beginning of the next year when we were allowed to come for a day visit, four hours actually. Bill, looking thinner and paler, seemed to say all the right things and we were told to be encouraging to him. I asked him if he had seen the letters and articles I had sent him and he had received nothing from anyone. We all looked at one another almost aghast.

         When we were leaving Bill held onto Angel and had tears in his eyes. On the ride home Papa’s anger seemed to keep rising. Three times, even before we reached the middle of the state did Mama insist that they stop at a service area so that she could make a “visit.” The real reason was to get Papa from behind the wheel and to calm him down.

         On the following Tuesday Papa stayed home from work for the sole purpose of speaking to the Rector of Bill’s seminary. On the first three calls he was told that everyone was very busy and that the Rector didn’t have time right then. The fourth call was made by Mama and she was coached to not identify herself but to state that the call concerned a possible police matter. The Rector was on the phone in 10 seconds.

         Papa took the phone and was pointed and almost hostile in expressing his concerns for the well being of Bill and for the monthly contributions Papa made to the seminary for Bill’s upkeep.

         It all came down to the now very agitated Rector telling Papa that he didn’t tell him how to raise children and that Papa shouldn’t tell him how to make priests.

         The call ended immediately with nobody in a good mood.

         Papa’s boasting that his son was going to be a priest declined to almost nil. In May, Papa and Mama made an unannounced trip to Pennsylvania and the seminary.

         After waiting in an ante room for four hours, they were allowed to meet with Bill in a conference room. They were joined by the Director of Vocations who was there if anything was needed. As Papa began to speak with Bill they all saw the Director making notes. Mama reacted quickly and asked the Director to get her a non-cola soda since she was faint and needed to raise her sugar levels. Though he probably thought the request was a ruse, he went to get the soda.

         As the door closed Papa asked Bill directly if he was okay and if he wanted to come home. Bill quickly looked around and said the seminary was much more physically demanding and mentally draining than he ever imagined. He continued and said that he had a self obligation to stay at least one year to give the seminary a fair chance.

         Mama spoke up, certainly out of character for the situation, and said that priest or no priest he would always be their son and that they loved him more than he could ever possibly know.

         Bill smiled and said that he knew that and that he was okay. He said he still believed he had a vocation and that the seminary was to screen young men out as well as in.

         Mama and Papa were more at ease though they still had some misgivings. If they had their way they would whisk Bill away for three months to have him regain his spirit and bodily well being.

         When the Director returned with a 7-Up and a glass of ice, Mama took it and poured half a glass and took one small sip. She then looked at the Director and expressed sincere thanks and announced that they would be leaving. After hugs all around, the Director ushered Bill from the room and Papa and Mama headed home.

         Bill stayed at the seminary for a total of two and a half years. Two weeks before Christmas in 1956, he showed up at the front door with two small suitcases of belongings and nearly frozen to death. He had hitch-hiked across Pennsylvania and New Jersey into New York and Brooklyn with only a sweater and corduroy jacket covering his slight frame.

         Bill didn’t talk much but did say that he realized he didn’t have a vocation and that he simply wanted some soup and to sleep. As Mama heated some of her homemade soup no one spoke. We didn’t know what to say. We all just stood there and watched Bill in silence as he sat stoop shouldered and sipped the soup. Halfway though the soup he stood up slowly but was still looking at the soup bowl. As he raised his face we could see tears just streaming down his face. He turned to Papa and simply said “I’m so sorry. I’m ashamed. Please forgive me. I’m so sorry to disappoint you.”

         Papa came around the table and wrapped him with his arms and held him and rocked him. They both cried. Mama started to leave and signaled us to join her and to give them privacy.

         We didn’t see much of Bill for the next two months. He chose to live in the basement with a folding bed, an old wing chair, a floor lamp, and a clock radio.

         Mama and Angel would bring him his meals as well as newspapers and magazines they thought he might like.

         We would each visit him every few days but there wasn’t much to say or anything for a conversation. If he wasn’t reading, he was writing. We didn’t want to disturb him. No one ever asked him about his experience and he spoke about his time he was “out west”, as we all came to call it.

         In late February, Julius came home from Pratt one day and announced that he had caught a cold. By mid-March he had died… one of the 70,000 Americans to die in the 1956-57 Flu pandemic.

         The wake and funeral were so very sad. No one wants to ever bury their child but this time Papa had to do it.

         At the wake, Bill, in his first public appearance, sat by the coffin and seemed at times to lean over and talk to Julius.

         Following the Rosary on the last night, Papa got up and spoke of Julius and the apparent inequity of God in our lives. He wasn’t able to get too far and Mama could see he was struggling. She got up and took his arm and walked him to his chair.

         Bill then got up and thanked everyone for coming.

         He paused and announced, “I’m mad at God for this. Our God is not fair and He is not just. All you who say that he is can not show me proof other than words on paper and palliatives that say that in the next world we will understand all. Again we come down to solely words on paper. What makes it all difficult is that the more we study the words the more confused and unsure we become.”

         The people in the parlor were uncomfortable.

         “We don’t know when we will die but each of us knows that everyone here will die. What we can do is to simply follow the direction to love one another and to show that love. If the only thing you come away with from this funeral for Julius is that we must tell people we love them and then show that love with action; then Julius’s death will not have been for naught.”

         People slowly left the parlor and I wasn’t sure I understood Bill or that anyone did.

         His message was straight from his heart. Today it might require an army of theologians and psychologists to understand but at that exact point Bill understood… and today I think I understand.

         The funeral brought Bill out of his self imposed exile and a week later he got a job as a reference aide for the editorial staff at the Herald Tribune and stayed there for a year. One day he came home and announced that he would be moving to Los Angeles to restart his life, to pursue an education, and make something of himself.

         Papa thought it would be good and offered him some seed money but Bill explained that he had some savings and that would be enough to tide him over. Mama was upset that he was going so far away. She tried to argue that New York was a big city and that he could have all that he wanted as well as family nearby. Bill didn’t argue but simply said, “I just need to move on, I need the change… I just have to go.”

         In 1958 I graduated from Manhattan College and started at NYU law. Papa was not overly pleased with my decision but since the passing of Julius had become a little more flexible. Actually, much more flexible.

         The biggest beneficiary of a changing Papa was little Anna. While it could be considered for Anna to be a helper to Mama in the house, she was able to charm Papa and everyone into her getting her way. Mama became the biggest supporters of Anna and lived vicariously through Anna as she learned dance, dramatics, puppet crafts and basketball. Anna also did volunteer work with small kids at an orphanage near St. John’s Prep and loved helping and listening to their dreams.

         In Anna’s junior year at All Saints she spoke to Papa about going to college at NYU to study drama and dance but he would have none of it. He said that he would pay for her to go to St. Joseph’s to study to be a teacher or a nurse… practical skills for a woman.

         By the time she graduated from All Saints, she and Mama had convinced Papa that it would be okay for her to go to Hunter College to study English Literature …and drama… on the condition that she reside at home.

         In 1965, Bill, after graduating from UCLA, married Maureen Schmidt, RN, of Los Angeles who he had met at his parish’s Lenten mission. Their courtship and engagement was short but intense. Bill brought Maureen to Brooklyn to meet Papa and Mama only once before the wedding. Mama was totally enamored with her but Papa at first had mixed emotions. He said he liked the idea that Bill was marrying a Catholic girl named Schmidt but he wasn’t sure what kind of German girl had freckles and a name of Maureen; he said with almost a wink.

         Papa had all of us go out to California for the wedding and it was a wonderful affair. After three days Papa was becoming agitated with all the bustle and excitement and the absence of his own bed. We left to return to Brooklyn one day earlier than plan… at Papa’s insistence.

         Just after Papa retired from the Times in 1968, Mama got cancer and died in 1970. Papa was lost. He just seemed to drift around the house looking at things and speaking, to no one in particular, of how the item was connected to Mama. He really loved her and missed her… he seemed to be just wandering.

         Anna took a break from her work at Columbia to care for Papa. While she tried everything to please him she wasn’t her mother but she reminded Papa of her. Over time he came to be more of his old self but he would have vacant, clouded, and flash-back moments that both pleased and upset him. In time Anna was able to resume her studies.

         In 1971, at age 25 Anna took a position with a London based mission and relief service working in Nigeria bringing basic medical care to infants, mothers, and young children. Though the location and culture was foreign to her, she was happy and felt she was doing good. I tried to support her work by doing fund raising and trying to raise the awareness of the need and of what she was doing.

         My own life was in turmoil in the seventies. I met a beautiful and charming woman, Tina, who seemed to have the same interests as me. We dated and after four months married on a weekend in the Hamptons. Tina came from a very well-to-do background and never seemed to have wanted for anything. While I believe she loved me at first I soon found that she was drifting away from me. She didn’t care for my “class” and felt that I put too much emphasis and importance on my family in my life. My career was going well in M&A on Wall Street but not particularly sky-rocketing.

         After fourteen months of marriage, I was greeted by an envelope taped to our condo door announcing that she no longer wished to be married and that she had gone to Europe to clear her head.

         That evening her father’s family lawyer called and said that the family was prepared to make a significant and generous settlement for the termination of the marriage, an uncontested divorce, and support for an annulment on the basis of deception. In 25 days it was all completed but I was pretty devastated. We ran into each other later that year in Bloomingdale’s and she greeted me pleasantly but with an aire as if I was just an almost forgotten classmate from college. In all of maybe 45 seconds, it was truly over. Maybe I’m better for it but it still hurts.

         In 1977 Papa had a stroke that left him a mere shell of his former self. I had a difficult time looking at him and seeing what he had become. I loved him but was ill at ease with the situation. I moved in to care for him along with a full-time nurse. Anna came home to help and was much more at ease with working with Papa.

         Bill and Maureen came to live with Papa in late 1978 to care for him. Maureen was wonderful to him. She would listen to him retell fragments of his life stories over and over. She went as far as to brush up on her knowledge of German and would read him stories and the newspaper. Papa would sometimes correct her pronunciations but loved her for her efforts.

         All of us did everything in our power, along with the people from Hospice, to make Papa comfortable and at ease.

         Papa died quietly in his sleep with the entire family nearby.

         The funeral mass drew a big crowd and four priests co-presided over the service. The two current parish priests, one from Honduras and one from Vietnam were joined by two of the retired priests from the parish… one German and the other Irish.

         In the evening of the Funeral there was a dinner gathering of about forty people who knew Papa throughout his life in America.

         Mr. Miller, though tired and weak, told the story of Papa knowledge of machinery and how the German press company had come to give him the commendation on display on the wall.

         Fr. Gearhardt related that Papa, each year, rented a large cottage on Greenwood Lake for the priests to use for vacations and R and R. None of the family really knew this. We all knew that other than the trip to California for Bill’s wedding we had never had a true stay-away vacation.

         Fr. Tam told how Papa had stepped up, without fanfare, to lead the fundraising among the more well-to-do parishioners when the church needed some long overdue renovations. Fr. Tam told of the dedication and effectiveness that Papa brought to the task. Papa evidently undertook fundraising to the people who had moved from the parish but who still had friendship ties to the neighborhood. His efforts with this group made the fund drive a huge success.

         The most captivating and wrenching Papa story was told by Bill about his father’s strict discipline and deep love. He told of Papa’s upbringing and journey to America. He spoke of Papa’s rules and told of the dinner at 7pm and how if you weren’t there on time you went to your room without dinner but with an opportunity to be more committed to coming to dinner on time. What Bill added was that on the nights that one of the children missed dinner for tardiness were the only evenings when Papa took a nap in his chair after reading the evening paper. What this allowed was for Mama to sneak a dinner plate of food to the child sent to their room. Bill looked to me and then to Anna.

         I was surprised that Papa was actually part of sneaking the food in. Anna was blushing as I looked over at her. Papa’s standing in my heart, while always very high, elevated again.

         In the two months following the funeral, Bill and Maureen went through the house in preparation for the sale of many of the household belongings and of the house itself. Among the things they found were:

• Papa’s precision tools, all well oiled and wrapped in linen. Some included histories and use instructions. Bill kept these.


• Files of all paperwork documenting the trip to America, hospital and school records, receipts for almost everything he ever bought and an unorganized envelopes of photographs from Germany and our life in Brooklyn. Anna took these.


• Letters he and Mama had exchanged during their courtship telling of their love and plans to marry and come to America. I have these.


• Tucked away in the back of Papa’s closet were seven wooden Kraft cheese boxes containing gold coins and bullion and a number of bank passbooks. With them was an accounting of the additions and withdrawals. Bill and I agreed the money should go to Anna who had returned to Africa to provide health care and missionary work.

         As the years have passed, I seem to admire more the lives of my parents and family. They were good people and I would want to be more like them.

         My prime regret is having changed my surname to Braden and losing some of the link to the past though it is still in my heart.

         Whenever I get back to Brooklyn I drive through the old neighborhood and see that it’s changing. My thoughts wander back to my youth and my family and I smile with joy, wonder and love.


[end] © Copyright by Ken Thompson - 2006.