A Gnostic Childhood
Part XII
Berlin 1953-54
My mother, grandparents and friends were happy to see me and I was glad to see them. The only bothersome thing was that I had to go back to school for about one more week until our school-vacation started in the middle of July.
Problems In School
The class-room, teachers and other kids seemed more oppressive to me than ever before and I knew right then, my first day back, that I could never catch up, especially in math, but also with the other school work. I didn't understand one thing in math and had no clue as to what I could possibly do to improve this situation. The teacher and other kids might as well have talked Chinese, because that is what the symbols and letters of Geometry and Algebra looked like to me. When I returned home from school depressed and disgusted, I begged my mother to get me out of that school or I would run away from home and become a "Gypsy." She knew that I was quite serious about running away, as I explained to her, almost hysterical, what I had experienced in school and how I would never be able to understand math. We agreed that I would stick it out for the rest of the week and that perhaps a tutor could bring me up to "standard." I wasn't sure at all that this was a solution, but figured that six weeks of school-vacation would give me plenty of time to work things out.
Even A Tutor Couldn't Do It
Across the street from us, in Axel's apartment house, lived a young man, probably seventeen years old, who went to the Gymnasium and was purported to be a real math whiz. My mother asked him if he would work with me and teach me math for some pocket money, and he agreed. So I started to meet with him in his apartment, and he went through the beginnings of Algebra and Geometry with me. Hating both, Algebra and Geometry, I felt completely frazzled trying to remember what he told me and to memorize the key rules which are absolutely necessary to know if one wanted to get anywhere in either subject. Daydreaming about what I could be doing instead of studying something for which I had absolutely no use, nothing seemed to "sink in." After about a week of trying to comprehend something which I really didn't want to comprehend, I told my mother and my tutor that it was all of no use. I just wasn't going to do it anymore and waste my energy on something that had no place in my future. Telling my mother that I wanted to go to the other school, the "Practical Zweig," or "Pantoffel-Schule," my mother must have realized that I wasn't cut out for the "Technical Zweig," the school that I was in now, and reluctantly agreed that she would try to get me into the "Practical Zweig," but only after telling me all the woe's and regrets I would have later in life (which I never did) about this decision.
School or any other form of "organized" learning was never right for me, as I needed to study and explore freely wherever my "spirit" led me. Thus I thought it quite reasonable to choose the school with the least demands and "intellectual" confinement. And I still think, even today, that it was a good and right decision for me.
But since it was school-vacation time, I didn't have to worry about my new school which would be the "Zwillinge Schule" (Gemini School, a name deriving from the astrological sign because it was located in an area of streets with astronomical and astrological names). The school was located in a nice section of Neukoelln, down the "Sonnenallee," past the "unemployment office building complex," across from the S-Bahn station "Koellnische Heide."
Time Flies During Vacation
Spending the school-vacation with my friends, playing in the streets and experimenting with my movie projector and phonograph, the weeks went by much too fast. Carmen told me how bad she felt that I had "dropped-out" from the "Technical Zweig" after she had heard about my dilemma. I explained to her my reasons but she still wasn't convinced. Being very scholastically inclined by nature, she couldn't understand how others, especially me, could have a difficult time with school. Thinking that I was just "brilliant," because of my wide ranging interests and fascinating stories, she almost cried trying to make me understand what I was "throwing away."
Living in one room was awful, especially since I was going to be twelve years old in five month. But apartments were very hard to find unless one had connections. The city-government waiting list was endless and there was very little hope for my mother to find an apartment for us. One day my grandparents told my mother about a small apartment which actually was the living quarters attached to a shoemaker's store. The owner, Herr Diekmann, lived somewhere else and was willing to sub-let the apartment to my mother. He was a customer of my grandfather's bicycle shop and in conversation heard about our need. Talking to my mother later, he told her that the apartment was in terrible shape and needed painting and other repairs, as well as cleaning. Besides that he had his leather sheets, some of which were something like six by four feet, stored there and needed to find room for them. Thus they agreed that my mother would have it painted and fixed up in November of that year.
Prospects For Our Own Apartment
The apartment was located in the "Sonnenallee" again, I think the number was 184, right across from a soccer-field, close to the "Thiemann Strasse." It was a small apartment as I already mentioned, consisting of a large kitchen, a bathroom which would have to be shared with Herrn Diekmann and his two employees, and a large living-room. Since it was located on the ground floor, "Parterre," it was cold and damp just as my grandparent's apartment. Still it was better than renting just a room. Therefore we were quite happy to have found it. What made these apartments in old apartment buildings so cold was because the ceilings were so high up and all the heat from the customary coal oven made of tiles, called: "Kachelofen," would rise to the ceiling and leave the lower part of the room cold. Plus coal was expensive and we had to be careful as to how much we used.
Needless to say, I had mixed emotions about the move because of having to leave behind my wonderful friends in the Schwartza Strasse. The distance between the two places was considerable but one could walk or ride one's bike there without much trouble. Still, despite this reasoning, I just knew that things wouldn't be the same after our move. My friends too were troubled by the prospect of my moving away.
Fun - Mischief - Danger
We enjoyed our summer vacation, going swimming in the "Teltow Kanal" which was nearby and getting into other mischief. The canal was dangerous and dirty, as the water was deep right off the edge. We had inflatable tubes, tire-tubes, which helped, but I knew that there was real danger and never told my mother about swimming there.
Stealing Coal (Kohlenklauen)
We also used to steal coal which had fallen off the railroad trains or which was still in open wagons parked on side-tracks. Walking the tracks and carrying old potato sacks, we used to pick up every piece of coal from the ground or what we could reach from the wagons and stash it into the potato sacks. Actually there was quite a bit of coal to be found and we would bring it home like proud pirates carrying their bootie. The only real problem, beside the danger of getting run over by a train, was that it was against the law. It was considered stealing as the coal belonged to the government railroad which was owned by East-Germany. All tracks and the land on which these tracks were located belonged to East-Germany through some kind of an agreement by the allied occupation government. There used to be a special "railroad police force," who worked for and were paid by East-Germany. They wore black uniforms and were usually quite nasty if they caught somebody stealing coal or even just walking on the tracks. And they certainly didn't like kids fooling around on 'their' tracks. We were never caught, but came close a few times. One time we were walking along the tracks with our eyes focused on the ground, when we suddenly heard somebody calling out to us. Startled, but knowing instantly who it was, we started to look for an escape route. Seeing that we could only run forwards, we started to run as quickly as we could with our half filled bags. The track came to a bridge which went over the canal. Unfortunately the bridge was only built as a means for the train to get over the canal below and not for pedestrian or other traffic. Thus there was a wide gap between the wooden boards or planks (I don't know what they are called correctly) underneath the the steel rails, and a child our age could have fallen through them into the canal. Of course we were afraid to cross the bridge, but had little choice not to cross over the gaps by jumping from board to board, short of being caught by the "railroad police."
This is not the bridge I mentioned in my story,
but it is the same canal, the Teltow Kanal in Berlin Neukoelln
The cops, there were three of them, stopped chasing us when they saw what we were going to do. Perhaps they were worried that we would fall and they would get some of the blame. We made it safely across, out of breath and with shaking knees, looking back defiantly although this was more show then with any true feelings of triumph. We had beaten the "system" successfully, but it was a victory we would have rather done without. Little did our families know that the coal-pieces in our potato sacks could have nearly cost us our lives.
The 'Gasanstalt'
Another time when I came close to death or at least loosing a limb, was when we, as we often did, played near the huge Gas-Cokerie, die "Neukoellner Gasanstalt" which was located right across the street from my grandparent's bicycle shop. One could always smell the gas in the air in that particular area of Neukoelln. This large plant converted coal into gas which was used to cook in most households and apartments. Also street-lights, at that time, used gas. Anyhow, we used to go way back were the coal was stored behind a wall and cranes were operating to dig up the coal from huge stockpiles and carry it from there to the gas-production facilities. These cranes were up very high and moved about on rails. It just happened that one rail was in front of the wall and one could watch the large wheels, three in a row, attached to a kind of steel box, move up and down on this rail according to the direction the crane was going in. Fascinating stuff for boys of any age and especially fascinating to us, bored and looking for something to "explore."
Soon we were taking turns riding on the metal box above the wheels. I had played there before and was familiar with all aspects of this single track and therefore much inclined to show off in front of the others. First sitting on the box as it slowly moved down the track I soon stood up and started to climb up the steel contraption coming out of the box and leading way up to the probably four story above the ground rail on which the crane could move even as the wheels below moved in a different direction. It's difficult to explain the set-up and I'm not even going to try. But as I climbed about eight feet up, I lost my grip and fell upon the box landing more or less on my butt. Having lost my balance from surprise and pain, I tried to stand up and fell off the box head first hitting the rail and tumbling somewhat to a position parallel to the track with the wheels moving slowly towards my left arm which was on the track. Axel had watched the whole thing happening and was quickly by my side, grabbing me by my right arm and pulling me more to the side away from the track. Split seconds later the crane wheel was rolling over where my arm had been. Axel had saved my arm through his quick reaction and cool head, and perhaps even my life. All of us were completely stunned and still couldn't comprehend what really had happened. I must have been in shock, because I felt nothing, no pain nor fear, but began laughing hysterically to deflect from my embarrassment, which is the only thing I felt at the moment. Gradually I began to feel a dull throbbing pain on my forehead where I had landed on the rail. Touching it I could feel a lump and saw some blood on my dirty hand. Suddenly I wanted to cry very badly, but didn't dare to in front of my friends. Fighting away my tears, I told the others that we should go home as I wanted to clean up and hide the accident from my mother. It was so embarrassing to be around my friends looking like I thought I looked, all covered in soot and a huge "horn" on my forehead, walking through the neighborhood back home. But I managed to get 'hold of myself' and make it to our room at the Schwartza Strasse without 'breaking down.' Unfortunately my mother was home and saw me before I could clean up. She screamed and couldn't believe what she saw. Looking in a mirror I couldn't believe what I saw either. My face was black and bloody from my dirty, coal and blood smeared hands, with which I had tried to wipe my emerging tears and feel the, by now huge, lump on my forehead. Seeing myself thus in the mirror and having my mother's sympathy I broke out into free-flowing tears with sobs shaking my whole body. My mother hugged me and held me and I finally told her the truth about what had happened.
She couldn't believe that we were roaming around in that area and that the crane-wheels were accessible outside of the fence. But she soon went over to Axel's apartment and thanked him for what he had done. If she had only known what other dangers we had survived! Sometimes, though, ignorance and 'not knowing' is truly bliss.
Rescue-Operation: 'Reichsparteitagsalbum 1936'
Another occasion, of which she never knew, was when I went on my bike into East-Berlin to pick up a Nazi photo album about the "Reichsparteitag 1936" (Reich's Party Congress 1936). I can not remember how I found out about the oversized nazi book, nor can I remember who it was that owned it. Perhaps they were distant relatives or friends of relatives. Why they would tell me about it and expose me to the danger of bringing it through East-Berlin and then through the border-checks of the "Volkspolizei," is still a riddle to me. And not only that, had I been caught with the album, they too, more so than I, would have been in deep trouble. The possession of nazi books, pictures and artifacts like flags, posters or emblems was a criminal offense in the Communist East and punished with imprisonment. These laws were in effect in West-Germany also, to a degree, but I don't think they were as strict with them as the Communists in East-Germany in those days.
This Sign Was Posted At Every Border Crossing
In order to get the album I
had to cross over into East-Berlin through the same border crossing which we
used to get to my grandparent's
"Schrebergarten" (gardenplot). Two
"Vopo's" (people's police) were standing at the border eying me on my
bike with bored indifference without even stopping me. Riding past them I had to
continue up the "Dammweg" into Treptow. Further up the road I had to
make a left turn and keep on going for quite some distance until I found the
address I was looking for. Ringing the downstairs bell, with the button right
next to the name I was looking for, I heard the loud hum which released the
building entrance door lock. Pushing the door open I went up two flights where
an older man was waiting for me. Inviting me to come in, he went to get the
album from another room. Coming back and holding the almost brand new looking
album I couldn't believe that it would soon be mine. Telling the man, whom I had
never met before, that I thought it best if I stuck the album in the back of my
shirt, I opened my pants and he pushed the album up my back between my
undershirt and sports shirt. Tightening my belt and pants again the album was
secure on my back. Wearing a jacket over the shirt also, one couldn't possibly
see a bulge where the album was. After shaking hands and wishing me good-luck,
the man escorted me back into the stairway and closed his apartment door. My
bike was downstairs in the stairway where I had left it and I pushed it out the
entrance door onto the sidewalk. Getting on it, in the street, I knew that the
difficult part of my "rescue operation" had just begun. The man at the apartment had
reassured me that the album was not visible with my jacket on but I was still
worried that it might shift sideways and then could be seen by the 'Vopo's.'
This worry became more and more pronounced in my mind, the closer I got to the
border-crossing. To my dismay I saw two different cops there who looked more
eager than the other two. In fact they had stopped somebody else on a bike and
were looking through his briefcase when I got real close to them. My heart
almost stopped, I just knew that I would be caught and go to prison or even to
Russia! One of them stepped away from the man with the briefcase and, holding
his hand up, motioned me to stop. Feeling a sudden need to cry and confess my
"crime," I knew that I had to hold on to my emotions and remain in
control of myself.
The 'Vopo' came close to me and with a
sing-song Saxonian
dialect (which is very distinctive like a 'southern twang' in the US) asked me
where I
was going. Perhaps he thought that I lived in East-Berlin and was going
to the West to visit or bring stuff back into East-Berlin. I told him that I had
visited my grandparent's garden in the 'Kolonie Roter Stern' and was
on my way back home in West-Berlin. He looked at me, scrutinizing me like I was
a real threat to the East-German government at my tender age of twelve, and
then, seeming almost reluctant, waved me through without a further word. My legs
shaking and heart pounding like a drum into my ears, I stepped down on the
pedals while getting on the bike's seat. After peddling a few steps I was in
West-Berlin. Not turning my head back once, I continued to peddle like crazy, thinking
that they might still come after me. Finally I felt safe enough to slow down and
continue on my way home drenched in sweat and out of breath, already
anticipating the wonderful pictures in the album. I don't think my mother knew
about the book and my "rescue operation," as she would have never
allowed me to go into East-Berlin to get it. So the album became another object
I had to conceal and hide from her.
The book was a treasure indeed, with lots and lots of pictures and I went through it, page by page, like it was the 'holy of holies.' Since the album came in a box it was easy to hide amongst my other books, comic books and collector's albums. Of course I couldn't wait to show it to my friends. Soon they too were looking through it in awe, admiringly asking me about all the details of my daring 'rescue operation.' I once again was an instant hero.
August came, and with it the end of our school-vacation. Having arranged my transfer from the 'Technical Zweig,' to the 'Practical Zweig,' my mother still couldn't reconcile herself to the fact that I had to attend the 'Pantoffelschule.' Of course it was embarrassing, like staying back in school, but I didn't care and saw it as the lesser of two evils (school in general and the 'basic' schooling of the 'Practical Zweig').
Riding my bike down the 'Sonnenallee,' I was happy to have the dreaded 'Technical Zweig' behind me and looked forward to do as little as possible in the new school.
To Continue The Journey Go To Page 13 of "A Gnostic Childhood"
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