“There is no greater agony than
bearing an untold story inside you.”
—MAYA ANGELOU
“On the night of March 16, 1945, the Town of Wurzburg was utterly destroyed. All night long we heard the bombs dropping, one explosion after another, and following so closely one after the next that our basement shelter shook, non-stop, in terror. In all, 307,650 bombs were dropped on Wurzburg that night. We huddled together, clutching one another for dear life, each of us wondering whether we would make it through another, interminable night, this night, the very worst night of all.
And then, at long last, quiet.
The trembling stopped.
Silence rang in our ears.”
—From Remembering by John Schwabacher with Susan Wolfe
“My father’s friend Albert Hirsch was at the pier when our family landed in Hoboken, New Jersey, on October 30, 1938, a week before Kristallnacht, the infamous night of broken glass in which violent Nazi rioters looted Jewish business districts throughout Germany, annexed Austria, and Czechoslovakia. Our sponsor, Henry Hofheimer, was there, too, in a limousine with a driver to collect us and deliver us to a hotel on 70th Street – quite an experience for me and my sister. On the ride to the hotel, I asked many questions. Having been stripped of so many rights and privileges by the Nazi Party, I wanted to know, for example, can you buy this or that in America? Can you attend public school in America? Can you go to the movies in America?
Hofheimer told us, “In America, you can do anything. All you need is money.”
—From From Generation to Generation by Lottie and Henry Burger with Susan Wolfe
“The subject of memory is a sensitive one. Memories of my early family life have pained me, whereas the memory problems I deal with today are a source of stress over how they affect my loved ones.
I now find myself yearning for a conversation I was never able to conduct with my father. He passed away before it occurred to me to initiate it. The recent changes in my own cognitive health have altered my perspective on my brother Dorsey’s handicap and its dominant role in my family of origin… The opportunity to have candid discussions with my coauthor, as well as with my wife Robin, has provided a welcome change of perspective as I have coped with a difficult decline in personal capacity. I wish I could talk to my father about it. He cared for my brother throughout his illness. He cared for my mother through Alzheimer’s disease. I have no doubt he could impart wisdom and patience in my present situation… Because I once held prominent roles as president of a leading university, editor-in-chief of a major academic journal, and commissioner of a federal agency, I now find myself being honored and praised for what I did in the past, not what I am able to accomplish today… In many respects I have assumed an identity much like that of my brother Dorsey.
With this fresh perspective and a softened heart, I look back with a different kind of understanding to my parents, their history together, my handicapped brother Dorsey, and my own role in that nuclear family.”