A Gnostic Childhood
Part XVI
1955 - 1956
Back in Berlin from Norderney
Going back to school after
such an extraordinary summer vacation was a drag. I felt totally alienated from
my school mates and friends after having had such an intensely gratifying
encounter with young comrades who were not only intelligent and in many ways
'outsiders' like me, but who had given me such stimulating comradeship and hope.
Looking at the blank faces of my school-mates, I was abhorred at their ignorance
and conformity. Their lives and mundane conversations seemed like an unbearable
burden to endure and I resolved to re-live what I had experienced in Norderney
through even more reading and day-dreaming about my favorite subjects which were
America, National Socialism, Communism, Spirituality and biographies of
inventors such as Edison and Tesla as well as those of Hitler, Goebbels and
Rudolf Steiner, to mention just a few.
We were in our last school year and everything was geared to prepare us
for jobs as apprentices in various trades (Handwerker). Apprenticeship usually
lasted for three years and after taking a final test one would become a
journey-man or "Geselle". I couldn't for the life of me see myself in any such
"trade" and was much to pre-occupied with my dream of America and adventure to
pay much heed to such down to earth endeavors. Nothing like this appealed to me
when we watched movies which were designed to give us information about the
various "trades" available to us. Of course, in order to get an apprenticeship (Lehre),
one had to go around to different companies and apply humbly with one's "Zeugnis"
(school report) in hand, hoping that the owner or head honcho would take a
liking to this scraggly 14 year old and hire him for apprenticeship. Little
chance of such "luck" was there if one's "Zeugnis" (the final school-report
card) wasn't at least "befriedigend" (satisfactory) in general. Since my
performance in school was abysmal, and I had no interest in beefing it up during
this my last year, I couldn't even think and hope to find such a "Lehrstelle"
(apprenticeship). Did I worry about my dim prospects of finding something which
would constitute a job? Of course not. Somehow, I knew that my "destiny" would
guide and help me. And I did trust my destiny as much as only a fourteen year
old idealist could. I just knew, in my heart and soul, that I was glad to get
out of this slave-camp called "school" in order to test this inner knowledge and
find the right road to wherever destiny would take me.
My mother was almost hysterical with worry but I just knew that the
"normal" path of limited prospects and further slavery was not for me. I did
make a little effort though and applied at "Bolle", a grocery chain in Berlin
and despite my misgivings about the whole thing, was hired as an apprentice as a
grocery clerk...or something in that vain. I don't know why I went to Bolle, but
remember that I did it because they had big advertisements in the "Mottenpost"
(slang for "Berliner Morgenpost") newspaper and I thought that I would stand a
better chance of being hired there than being scrutinized too closely by the
owner of a small shop or company. And I couldn't believe it myself when, after
taking a test with Bolle and an interview, they sent me a letter within a week,
telling me that I would start in April 1956 at one of their branches in Schoeneberg. Well, I still had a couple of weeks to go in school and didn't
really look forward to go from the frying-pan into the fire...From one slavery
into another.
We finished school in
April 1956 and had a little gathering in the school auditorium for the occasion.
Herr Gueth and Herr Siedpol and some other teachers were there and shook our
hands teary eyed. After all, these teachers had been with us for three years and
developed a liking for us, even though, as in my case, they couldn't quite
figure out what possible "future" we could have as "proletarians" and "Staatsburgers"
in a divided and increasingly insecure world. What I am referring to was the
ever increasing tension between East and West Germany which was especially
pronounced in the divided city of Berlin.
After shaking hands with our teachers we were set free, waving "good-bye"
to each other and rode our bikes home. How I had anticipated this day! But it
seemed somehow hollow and meaningless after it was all over. Especially with the
prospect of having to report to Bolle in two weeks to learn a job which I had no
interest in at all.
BOLLE
After two weeks of vacation
and dreaded anticipation I took the A4 bus from the Weserstrasse and got off in
Schoeneberg. Walking for about 15 minutes I found the street where the store was
located and arrived at the store shortly thereafter. It was a smallish
old-fashioned grocery store where the clerk and wares were behind a large
counter and where you told the clerk what you wanted and he would get it for
you. In other words, it wasn't "self-service" like our modern grocery stores
are.
The three ladies behind the counter looked at me and one of them looked at
me and exclaimed after I introduced myself: "Kieg doch ma, der kleene, is der
nich suess"! Which roughly translated would come to: "Take a look at this little
guy, isn't he sweet"! I could have melted on the spot, feeling like a complete
fool. My first instinct was to just turn around and run away. But that, at the
moment, seemed not quite possible, I reasoned. Thus I just smiled with her and
took the whole thing as a joke. Which was good, because these three older ladies
were quite nice and really didn't mean any harm. And in retrospect, I was small
and thin and must have looked like a little kid coming into the store wanting to
play "Kaufmanns Laden" (Grocery store). One of them, who was the manager, took
me by the hand, like a mother would with a child and led me to the back storage
room where she told me that she was happy I had come and that she hoped I would
like to work at the store. Then she gave me a white apron and a cap to put on my
head and told me not to worry and just come out to the store when I was ready.
The store wasn't open yet and so the manager took me around and showed me where
things were, especially the milk container from where milk was dispensed with
measured 1/2 or 1 liter dippers into the milk cans which customers brought with
them to be filled. This was going to be my first task. I was the milk dispenser.
When the store opened, house-wife's (Hausfrauen) started to come in and I was
the one to dip the milk carefully with the measuring cup under their
scrutinizing, watchful eyes into their aluminum milk containers. I also helped
to get things for the other counter ladies and tried to absorb as much about my
"duties" as I could. And there were "beasts" in the store which worried me to
death, the "cash-registers". What I mean is, these cash-registers weren't like
today's by any means at all but were only there to give change. They didn't add
and didn't tell you what the amount of change was. I would have to add up the
prices of different items on a writing pad, tell the customer what the total
amount of their purchase was, and make change with the cash register. Now, what
worried me was that under the pressure of customers waiting in line, I would be
too nervous to correctly add up the different items and thus make myself look
foolish. Of course, this indeed
would happen to me when I advanced into becoming
a full-fledged "clerk" after a few days at the store. Especially observing how
customers often complained to the other clerks about mistakes being made and
thus raising hell in the store. The customers, those "Hausfrauen", were indeed a
special breed of mean and bitter women who loved nothing more than to let out
their inner frustrations on those who couldn't really lash back at them, -the
grocery clerks. I learned quickly to protect myself from their wrath by using
the only weapon of self defense that I had available to me, my boyish charm. And
"charm" them I did unabashedly. Me, being the only "man" in the store, gave me a
certain advantage over female clerks, the advantage of being able to "flirt"
with these rough and often abused women who seemed to enjoy my presence at the
store and smile and talk to me, treating me more like a confidant and friend,
than a mere clerk. To the amazement of the female clerks who had been at this
store for many years and knew the "troublemakers" well, they were able to see
with their own eyes how these old "battle-axes" turned into almost diminutive
"little Frauleins" in my presence. Oh, and I could be charming when I wanted to
be. Especially when my "life" depended on it. And to me, my life did depend on
those ladies and their good grace. Early on, in my life, I had learned to handle
my mercurial grandmother with charm when I saw that I could discharge her anger
at me by using such phrases as: "Oh, Oma, you are so temperamental"! Which would
instantly make her laugh and change her outburst into an innocent moment of
delight. In fact, I was the only one in our extended family who understood her
and was able to "handle" her. Of course, one of the reasons I understood her so
well was because I too had inherited her temper and knew therefore how to deal
with her tantrums.
But even though I had this advantage, I just couldn't see myself being a
Bolle clerk. It just didn't interest me and, in fact, made me feel depressed and
in a complete rut. Was this life? I asked myself countless times while
contemplating how disappointed I was, having anticipated my freedom after school
only to find myself in a similar, if not worse, place. Something had to be done!
Thus after about two or three weeks at Bolle, I called them from a pay-phone and
told them that I had decided to quit my job with them. My mother was highly
disappointed, to put it mildly, but I had convinced her that Bolle wasn't for
me. Thus I was released from my apprenticeship contract with them and on my own.
School for delinquents and unemployable youths
Newspaper Route
So here I was, in a
precarious situation indeed. Since I was "under age" and not employed in an
apprenticeship anymore, I came under the special attention of the "State".
Apparently quitting one's apprenticeship was a "No, No" and brought with it
serious consequences. Not knowing what I had gotten myself into, I was amazed to
get a letter in the mail which ordered me to report to a "special" school for
delinquent and un-employable juveniles like me. The news hit me like a rock in
the stomach! Realizing that I was in serious "trouble", I reported to this
school on the day I was instructed to and couldn't believe what I saw. The
school itself looked quite normal, like any other school. But inside, it was a
totally different story. The people I saw there, and had to content with, were
anything but normal school kids. They were indeed frightening looking lot. If
anything, they were exactly what one would envision while contemplating the word
"delinquents". Perhaps the word "criminals" would be more adequate though. It
was a wild place where no learning took place whatsoever, which would have been
just fine with me, but the chaos in the classroom and in the whole building was
beyond description. If anything this "school" was a place where if you weren't a
delinquent and criminal, you would sure as hell become one there. I felt like
having been condemned to hell with no way out. When the time finally came to go
home, I decided that I would rather go to prison or whatever place the "state"
would have for me, then to go back to this "school". And I never went back.
The next day, I
pretended to go to school to my mother and went looking for a job. In the
newspaper I found an add looking for someone to take over a newspaper route and
I went to apply. The place listed was in a shabby neighborhood of Neukoelln and
easy to find. A storefront distribution center not much bigger than an
apartment, I talked to the "manager", a sloppy looking character who didn't ask
many questions but seemed happy to have found someone to take over a route for
two newspapers, "Der Tag", and "Die Welt". He explained to me that I needed a
bicycle which I already had and had to get up early in the morning to deliver
the papers door to door in a large sized area which included Neukoelln,
Tempelhof, Schoeneberg and reaching into the near Zoo area. He handed me
building entrance keys for locked apartment buildings on a huge key-ring and
told me to be back at the center the next morning at around 3am. I left my
"interview" ecstatic with excitement and anticipation. Free at last, I thought,
free at last...
My mother didn't seem too excited about my new job, especially the idea of
me getting up around two in the morning and riding through half of West Berlin
on my bicycle. But in those days there wasn't much crime to worry about and
one's safety at such an early hour in the morning wasn't much of a worry.
Nevertheless, she was more than apprehensive and not very convinced of my
ability to do this job seven days a week. Aside from the fact that there really
wasn't much of a "future" in this kind of employment for me.
The next morning I
woke up to the alarm and got myself ready to see what my new job was all about.
I ate some bread with cottage cheese on it and got on my bike in the darkness of
night. It was truly a new experience for me to see and feel Berlin in those very
early morning hours. What a different world this was indeed. Arriving at the
"center", there was lots of activity going on there with people counting and
sorting their newspapers and the manager running around answering to problems
and shortages. It was a regular bee-hive and nothing like I had seen in the day
time. The manager seemed relieved that I had shown up and handed me a small
stack of papers with typed addresses and comments. The pages were dirty and worn
and sometimes it was difficult to make out the addresses, but, at least, they
were sorted and stapled in an order which allowed me to follow the route more or
less logically. Starting at the "Silberstein Strasse" it went through the upper
parts of Neukoelln into Tempelhof and then into Schoeneberg, close to the Bolle
store where I had previously worked and further into the general area close to
the Kurfuersten Damm where my route finished. Neither "Der Tag" nor "Die Welt"
were very popular newspapers in those days, so the huge area which my route
covered is deceiving as to the amount of papers I actually had to deliver. But
it was still quite a feat to be able to not only ride such a large distance with
two side-saddles which hang off your bike's luggage clamp over the back wheel,
stuffed to the bursting point with newspapers, as well as another stack on top
of the clamp itself. I must have had about 150 papers to carry and deliver. And
it wasn't easy to find all the addresses listed on the route-paper. Besides that
I had to find the right key to many apartment houses which was also
time-consuming and tedious. Fortunately I knew Berlin very well and could find
my way through all the different streets and sections of this large city with
ease. Thank God, it didn't rain during my first few days, as this would have
made it much more difficult to look at the route paper while doing all the
deliveries. I had to hustle like I never had before, riding my bike with speed
and running up the different apartment house stairways to my various
destinations. Sweating profusely after a short while, I nevertheless enjoyed the
solitude of those early morning hours. At least I was on my own and didn't have
to deal with customers or bosses. Hearing the chirping of early morning birds, I
felt great despite having to literally race my bike through the early morning
streets, jump of the bike and run up silent stairways and back down, over and
over again and again. Heck, I was young and this kind of strenuous activity
didn't bother me at all. Only on Sundays was my route hell. On Sundays my two
newspapers didn't publish but instead I had to deliver the "Welt am Sonntag"
paper which was the Sunday's edition of "Die Welt" and was quite thick and
popular. Therefore I had to do Neukoelln and Tempelhof first, then return to the
distribution center in Neukoelln and load my bike up again to continue into the
other sections.
Despite this truly burdensome Sunday's runaround, I still loved
this job to continue it for about five more month. I should also mention that
since my newspaper route wasn't considered an apprenticeship and I was only 14
years old, the school for delinquents kept on sending post cards threatening my
mother and myself with juvenile court if I didn't return to school at once.
Having become wise to those cards by a lucky accident, I caught the mailman on
the street before he could slide the card through our apartment mail-slot where
my mother would find it and through them into the street sewer. This went on for
a few month, until finally a police man showed up at our apartment door and
demanded that my mother and I appear for a hearing in a few days. So I was
"exposed" and my mother became very agitated and frightened for my future.
When the day came of our appearance there and I had finished my daily route, we walked to the Neukoelln court house and waited to be called for the hearing. I was called in alone first and the judge started right away in a diatribe about responsibility and my obligations to continue school until I could find an apprenticeship or, if I couldn't find one, to reach age 17. After getting this lecture off his chest, he became more fatherly and asked me why I didn't want to go to this school. He also said that I looked like a fine young man and just didn't fit the profile of a delinquent. I decided to turn on my charm and intellect and confessed to him in all honesty that I thought this school was a terrible place, describing what I had experienced there and begging him not to send me there again, because I just wasn't going to do it no matter what, as I feared for my well being and being turned into a "criminal". Speaking freely, I told him about my daily newspaper route and my extensive reading in history, religion, geography and my knowledge of Edison and Tesla. After conversing with me and kind of testing my knowledge of those subjects, I could see in his face and by his "body-language" that he was deeply impressed if not stunned. Of course I avoided talking about my "political" views. Then looking at me very seriously, he said that he thought that I was a special case and that he would highly encourage me to find alternative schooling and an apprenticeship as soon as possible and that he would defer me from having to return to this school for delinquents as long as a would continue do my paper route and seriously look for an apprenticeship. I don't remember if there were any stipulations attached to his ruling, but I was deeply moved by his kindness and understanding and promised to do as he had asked me to.
In September my mother had seen a sign in the store-window of a Bakery a
sign asking for an apprentice. She had gone in and talked to the owner, Herrn
Baeckermeister Febel about me and he had told her to send me over to talk to
him. When she came home, she told me about him and begged me to just take a look
and talk to him. So, just to keep her from bothering me about it, I went to see
him and ended up signing up for an apprenticeship as a "Baecker Lehrling". I
don't remember why I did it besides the fact that an apprenticeship of any kind
was better then none. Even I, the idealistic dreamer, could understand that by
then. Having seen all the adds in newspapers for any kind of jobs asked for a
completed apprenticeship or something similar like an Abitur (13 years of High
School finished with a diploma). So I knew from searching for jobs, that an
apprenticeship was my only hope to get an even half way decent job in the
future.
October 1956 - October 1959
Apprentice in a
Bakery
"Baeckerlehrling"
Move to Berlin-Mariendorf.
The bakery was a storefront
operation, like so many others were and probably still are in Berlin. There was
a small store in front displaying the baked goods and a "backstube" -bake room-
about the size of an apartment. And it was just Herr Febel and myself working
there. Sometimes, usually before certain holidays, there were a few more people
who were retired but looking for some extra money. Herr Febel, my "master", was
really a nice, middle aged, red-haired veteran of World War II of Hungarian
origin. His wife was a snippy, dark haired woman whom I disliked intensely.
Working with Herrn Febel was great. He was a patient and kind teacher and I
learned rapidly to be of real help and do my tasks conscientiously and, of
course, quickly. Working in a small bakery without much machinery is hard labor,
but I reveled in it and enjoyed being able to lift 100 pound flower sacks and
sifting them by hand. Weighing only about 120 pounds myself (if that much), this
is not an easy task. Also, although we had a mixing machine for bread and "Schrippen"
(a certain kind of breakfast and lunch roll), many other dough's had to be mixed
and beaten by hand which was physically strenuous. The ceramic tiled baking-oven
took up one whole wall and was fired with coal and wood and had to be loaded up
at many intervals to keep the right temperature for baking. All in all, I
learned quickly and Master Febel was very happy with me.
For breakfast Master Febel used to disappear into his apartment's kitchen
to eat and Frau Febel, his pretentious, snippy wife would bring me a small plate
with old, and I mean real old, baked goods to eat in the working area. I would
have been embarrassed to give this stuff to my dogs, but she acted as if she
handed me gold on a platter. To this day, I can not imagine how she could in
good conscience treat another human being to such abominable stuff and keep a
straight face. I don't think that Master Febel, eating in his kitchen, knew what
she was bringing me as he was much to kind a person to be part of such an
insult... especially since an apprentice is expected to do the work just like a
"journey-man" -Geselle and got paid only about 30 marks a month which wasn't
enough to buy a book. But, those were the days and I began to understand why my
grandfather was such an avowed Socialist.
Needless to say, I was
appalled that people could be so exploitative of others.
Many times during those three years I wanted to just "pack it in" and tell them
to go to hell, but somehow managed to keep on going in the daily
drudgery for
almost no pay. Especially since I knew that after these three years of slavery I
would never, ever work in a bakery again. So I kept on plodding along and giving
this "job" all of my strength and dedication. During this time, about 1957, my
mother's request for an apartment had been approved by the government and we
finally were able to find a decent "Neubau Wohnung" (a newly built apartment
house) in Berlin-Mariendorf, Alt-Mariendorf 44. It was a small apartment but
seemed like heaven after the dank place where we lived attached to the
shoemaker's shop on the ground level. Everything was so new and shiny and we
even had a small balcony where one could sit in the sun and read or watch the
traffic going through Alt-Mariendorf, which was a suburb like section bordering
on rural Buckow or Rudow. The only problem was that it was about ten miles away
from Neukoelln and thus from my job. Since I had to be there at 5 am I couldn't
use a bus or street-car, but had to rely on my trusty bicycle once again to get
me back and forth summer and winter. So for almost two years I rode the ten
miles back and forth to work, which also meant that I had to get up much earlier
than before, at about 4 am.
Working such crazy hours and having to go to sleep between eight and nine pm, kept me out of a lot of trouble. I severed my contacts with "right-wing" youth movements and spent most of my free time reading. The Mariendorf public library was located right across the street from our new apartment and I spent a lot of time there feeding my ever growing interests. America and Canada were foremost on my mind as I came to realize that Germany just wasn't big enough for me and my thirst for travel and adventure and for my need to find an escape from the drudgery of my apprenticeship. Somehow I was able to buy a moped, -a very light motor-cycle which promised relief from having to pedal my bike day in and day out. But after a few weeks during the winter, riding it in snowy streets and falling on my butt a few times, I traded it with a family friend, Peter Haller, for a modern tape-recorder with all the frills, ...made in East Germany. How he got it I don't know but I was glad to get rid of this moped for it. My bike was much more comfortable and reliable to me, especially during the long winters.
At
the end of my third year of apprenticeship, during September 1959, I had to go to another bakery which
was located in the Hermannstrasse in Neukoelln to work there and thus be tested
by another Meister for my knowledge and abilities to function as a Geselle
(journeyman). Of course this is a difficult task, to work and be scrutinized for
ones ability and knowledge in a completely strange working environment. Needless
to say, I was terrified and nervous when I reported there at 4 am in September
of 1959 at 4 o'clock in the morning. But, despite my misgivings everything
seemed to work out well enough. Since this was a larger bakery, there were about
four Gesellen and two "Lehrlinge" (apprentices) working with me and I seemed to
fit right in. The Master baker there was an older, cranky man with little
patience and I immediately took a disliking to him....And he to me. Perhaps
there was some undercurrent of dislike for Herrn Febel, my Meister, but I sensed
that this cranky old man was out to get me, no matter what I did right or wrong.
But despite my sensing this ugly undercurrent, I thought I had done quite well
and deserved a rating of "good" for practical work and for theoretical
knowledge.
When I returned to work with Herrn Febel at my usual work-place, I told
him about my misgivings in regards to this Meister and my perceived dislike of
me by him. Herr Febel told me not to worry and that indeed he had, in the past,
complained about this man to the Innung for judging Lehrlinge sent to him for
testing unfairly. Well, since I didn't plan on really becoming a baker after my
apprenticeship, I didn't really worry about the whole matter any longer, beyond
the fact that it irked me as grossly unfair. To hell with them all, was my
thought!
Herr Febel offered to hire me after my apprenticeship and I politely declined.
Smelling infinite freedom just a few weeks away, I couldn't possibly see myself
continuing to work at that place, or any bakery for that matter.
Then the final day of my employment with Herrn Febel arrived. It was a working
day like any other and I couldn't believe that his wife, even on that occasion
had the nerve to bring me, like she had for three years previously, ancient cake
for breakfast. Those cheap bastards! I was angry beyond words and on this final
day told her what I had wanted to tell her for three years, to shove this
buckled, dried up Pflaumenkuchen (Prune-cake) which was at least five days old
"up her ass". She didn't take my insult lightly and an argument ensued.... Herr
Febel came out from his kitchen to see what was going on but just stood there
aghast at my furious outburst. I had been such a meek lamb through three years
of service and he probably couldn't imagine what had gotten into me. The time
was about 10 am and I just went to the room where I kept my bike, changed my
clothes and left, never to return.
During those years we
didn't have a telephone and thus there was no more conversation with Herrn Febel.
After about a week I received my "diploma" (Lehrbrief) with the test scores from
the baker's Innung and my test scores were, as I had suspected below what I
thought I should have received. They were "satisfactory" for practical work and
"gut" for theoretical knowledge.... Oh well, what could I do....? It
was over, three years of slavery and I had prevailed... and the test scores
weren't really bad, just average.
A new world with new possibilities was beckoning and I was ready to embrace my
new freedom.....
Continue the journey to page 17
