A Miracle in the Hand of God

By Therese Möller Sapone

This autobiography tells the story of a little girl, born in 1939, and how things were before WWII, during the war, and after the war. It is a story of survival, courage, and dignity; forever learning and fitting into new countries, cultures, languages, religions, and foods; all the way to the current time in her seventies. It’s always ama

• Language: English
• Publisher: TOPLINK PUBLISHING, LLC
• Release date: Aug 22, 2017
• ISBN: 9781946801326

Therese Möller Sapone

It was always a passion with her to write, even when she was a little child. She always loved to read; read about anything she could get her hands on! Her most desperate times she would say were the times when she arrived in America and could not speak, but even worse, could not read or write English. She was the happiest when she was able to speak English. When she writes, she's more of an off-the-top-of-my-head-writer. Her style is more natural. If there are parts that are missing and she remembers them later, it's not a problem for her to fill in a blank place. As far as the science, the proper use of language, that's where her good friend Joan B. Isom steps in. They are two people of total opposites, as far as the East is from the West. She referred many times like they were two peas in a pod, except they have two completely different pods. But their life patterns are just about the same, as far as life situations are concerned. But culturally, they are totally opposites--from language to food to religion. You name it; they lived in two different worlds. Joan is handicapped and Therese a physical fitness teacher. But the Lord brought them together for a reason and she is ever so thankful that He did! Her thanks and gratitude goes to you, Joan, and with great appreciation, she says thank you.

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A Miracle in the Hand of God

Therese MÖller Sapone

Copyright © 2017 by Therese Sapone.

HARDBACK: 978-1-946801-31-9

PAPERBACK: 978-1-946801-30-2

EBOOK: 978-1-946801-32-6

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Foreword

Preface

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Chapter 1: The Netherlands: Holland

Chapter 2: Early Childhood Memories of Germany

Chapter 3: Adjusting to Our New Home

Chapter 4: Entering the Work Force: Responsibility

Chapter 5: Marriage: Beginning a New Lifestyle

Chapter 6: America: My First Culture Encounter

Chapter 7: Japan: The Next Culture Transition

Chapter 8: Return to America: My Second Encounter

Chapter 9: Bound for New York: Carl’s Homeplace

Chapter 10: Standing up for Women’s Rights in American Business as Usual: American Style

Chapter 11: Planning for Our Retirement

Chapter 12: Relocating Our Retirement: Change of Plans

Foreword

My Friend

Although this book is the autobiography of Therese Moller Sapone, she has added dramatic humor to her work in the face of traumatic situations. The humor mixed with varying lifestyle changes, as she experiences what most people would classify as culture shock, demonstrates her unique ability to adapt to her ever-changing environments. To say the least, what culture shock would be to most people is merely a new and exciting adventure to her.

As I typed her rough drafts and manuscripts, there was never a dull moment. I would read, proofread, and then read again the material. It was never boring, just the humorous way in which she dealt with her life on a day-to-day basis. There were never any boundaries to hold her back.

My heartfelt appreciation to Therese for allowing me to share in this unique opportunity to look into her exciting past and actually relive it with her. There were times of tears and times of laughter. The grace of God has been overshadowing her since birth. He still has her in His hand, still molding her future, and still watching over her as He plans her future

Joan B. Isom

Preface

Something to think about…

This autobiography tells the story of a little girl, born in 1939, and how things were before WWII, during the war, and after the war. It is a story of survival, courage, and dignity; forever learning and fitting into new countries, cultures, languages, religions, and foods; all the way to the current time in her seventies..

It’s always amazing to her when she thinks of all the different individuals who crossed her paths from east to west, from north to south; people coming to her aid in the most desperate times. It was a French Canadian woman in New Hampshire who helped her with the birth of her first child, and she spoke very little English and no French. It was a Jewish family who saw to it that she had enough to eat. A man from Puerto Rico and his wife gave her a roof over her head. A Lebanese woman gave her a job in New York. A Mexican family gave her employment in Texas. Earleen, a black woman, told her about Jesus; she was a neighbor and her friend. A Polish woman from Canada presented her with her first Bible. Many Italian women took her into their hearts and homes. And here she is, in the South, surrounded by the most caring and loving people, trying to learn a new language and culture. She is okay with the culture, but that language is a bit of a problem. It’s very difficult for her to master that Southern twang.

She wonders and ponders why it is that people get along so well, and not the leaders of different countries. Amazing!

Acknowledgements

My biggest thanks go to the Lord, first, of course, and to my very good Christian friend, Joan B. Isom. This project included laboring alongside me during the wee hours of the night, working her mind as hard as her computer. She even cooked up a few stories and drawings herself for future children’s books that had not even entered my mind. Concerned in regards to plagiarism, I had a note notarized stating that in case something would happen to me, she would use all my pictures and material and hers also, to complete my autobiography and have it published, and the future children’s books.

Many thanks to my Muskerettes, Marie Smith and Nona Faye Cooley. We call ourselves the three Muskerettes because we formed a bond due to having lost our husbands. Marie’s husband passed away six months after my husband, Carl. We were all good friends and neighbors. They kept encouraging me to keep on writing; and repeating over and over again, It’s going to be a best seller! You wait and see. I became doubtful at times, but they kept on with the words not to give up, always enthusiastically. We take it one day at a time and wait and see what the Lord has for the future. I could not have persevered or finished well without each of you.

Introduction

It was always a passion with me to write, even when I was a little child. I always loved to read; read about anything I could get my hands on! My most desperate times I would say were the times when I arrived in America and could not speak, but even worse, could not read or write English. I was the happiest when I was able to speak English.

When I write, I’m more of an off-the-top-of-my-head-writer. My style is more natural. If there are parts that are missing and I remember them later, it’s not a problem for me to fill in a blank place. As far as the science, the proper use of language, that’s where my good friend Joan B. Isom steps in.

We are two people of total opposites, as far as the East is from the West. I refer to us many times like two peas in a pod, except we have two completely different pods. But our life patterns are just about the same, as far as life situations are concerned. But culturally, we are totally opposites--from language to food to religion. You name it; we lived in two different worlds. But the Lord brought us together for a reason and I am ever so thankful that He did!

My thanks and gratitude goes to you, Joan, and with great appreciation, I say thank you.

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Grossenlueder, Germany

This is my hometown where Carl and I were married on October 19, 1959.

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40th Wedding Anniversary

Chapter 1

The Netherlands: Holland

This is my autobiography--a story of the history of my life from my early childhood memories until my current age of seventy years.

My father was the oldest of five children--three brothers and two sisters. I was named after one sister, Therese, who became a nun. Her name was changed to Sister Cordula when she entered the big convent in Fulda, Germany, right next to the Dom (Cathedral). My father’s forefathers and his father ran their own businesses. They grew flax for linen and raised sheep. That is why the homestead, the house itself, was called Schofelas, which means, ‘people who have sheep.’ The family name is Moeller. In Europe, in the early days, people’s homes were named after their profession.

My father was the oldest and the oldest always inherited the family business. My father was not interested in the family business and gave it up to the second oldest, Uncle Ferdinant, the tailor.

INSERT PICTURE

My son, Guy, choked on the salt in a pretzel when we were at Uncle Ferdinant’s house in 1974 during a visit with the family.

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My Oma (Grandmother)

My father immigrated to the Netherlands at eighteen years of age. He went to school, learned the language, and became a draftsman and an architect. His specialty was building bridges and dams. Most of the land in the Netherlands is manmade and has been retrieved from the ocean; hence, the name for the country--Netherlands means ‘lower land.’ All went well and he prospered. He met my mother, who was living with her parents, Opa Peter and Oma Margret. They had a large bed and breakfast and my mother worked for her parents. There were seven brothers and sisters in her family. My mother was the oldest and was the only one still living at the time of her death in November 1992.

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My Father and Mother on Their Wedding Day, 1928

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My Oma’s Children: My Mother’s Brothers and Sisters. My Father Is On the Left

My father worked all over the country, from construction site to other construction sites. At one time, he was building in the area where my mother was living. My father boarded at her parents’ place and that is how they met. They married in 1928. They were well off and had several homes, businesses, and a new car. After awhile, my sisters and I were born. My oldest sister, Margret, was born in 1931 in Geleen, the Netherlands. Kathie, the middle sister, was born in 1933 also in Geleen. I came along in 1939, born late in life in Schiedam, outside Rotterdam, Holland.

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The Houseboat - In the Windows from Left: Kathy, Mother, and I; Margret Is Outside the House, 1940

By this time, the company my father worked for furnished a large houseboat for him and his family. When he was at a construction site for a long time, we could be together. The houseboat was large with many rooms. My mother had servants. She seldom shopped and had many things delivered to our door.

All went well, until Hitler came on the scene. One mistake my father made: he kept his German citizenship. He never became a citizen of the Netherlands or Holland. In Europe there was a rule: Whatever the citizenship of the father was applied to the whole family. Holland was a neutral country, as well as many other small counties in Europe. That meant nothing to Hitler. He bombed them anyway!

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S Hertogenbosch, Netherlands. Dams My Father Built Picture of Toddler on Cover, That’s Me, Mother and Sister Kathy on Left, and Margret on Right

When Hitler bombed these small countries, these governments rounded all the people up who had any German in them, as well as those who were not their citizens, and placed them in camps. This is what happened during Pearl Harbor in the United States, when the Japanese living in the U.S. (including the children born in the U.S.), were rounded up and placed in camps. Everything was taken from them. It has been only recently that our government apologized to these Japanese Americans and returned their money to them and to their descendants.

The same thing happened to my parents--the government confiscated all their belongings. My father was taken into custody. My mother was able to disperse many things among her brothers and sisters. Uncle Heinrich had a hair salon for men and women. Adolf and Willi worked in the coal mines. Matthew died in the war. Tante Lene had a dress shop and was a well-known seamstress. Tante Maria married into a business family who dealt in produce import and export.

When the war broke out suddenly with no warning, everything came to a standstill in Holland. Bombs were falling; the sirens went off at all times during the day and night. My family would run to the bunkers for protection. We would run over bodies, glass, and debris. We would huddle together until the sirens would sound again telling us it was safe to go home.

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Aunt Therese on Right, Called Sister Cordula

I remember one day as vividly as if it happened yesterday. My mother was two streets over at her brother Heinrich’s house helping him. The sirens went off. My mother could not make it home in time. The bombs were falling! It was early in the morning. I was still asleep in my bed. The wall next door was crumbling where our attic was. A big hole was blown out of the wall. I could look right in the attic from my room. The house next door was on fire! We lived upstairs and the ceiling was falling down all over my bed. I remember just lying there motionless thinking if I was real quiet, it would go away.

I don’t know how long it was, but the sirens sounded. I remember my two uncles running into my bedroom with my mother grabbing me, putting a blanket around me, and taking us to their house. My mother told me later that I said, "O, de stoute tummies. It means, Oh, those bad English people." However, it was the Germans’ bombs and I didn’t know it. It all happened so fast.

I remember both of my sisters were in a private all girl school run by French nuns who hated the Germans. The nuns were not nice to anyone with any German in them. Margret, my older sister, told me this story just recently. She said to my middle sister, Kathie, I’m going to run away from this monastery! She had figured out a way. While scouting, she found a path through the vegetable garden, way in the back. There was a gate that was never locked. These private Catholic schools were surrounded usually with a stone wall. She sneaked out and ran to the bus station, hopped on the bus, and gave the bus driver her address; when the bus driver asked her for the money for the bus fare, she had no money. A lady on the bus paid for her fare. When she was just about home, the rockets started flying. The bus driver stopped the bus on the main highway and yelled for everyone to get off the bus and run for their lives. She ran all the way and arrived at our home.

There was a stone archway entrance to the courtyard where the bunker was. This archway was wide enough for delivery trucks to drive through. There was a butcher’s shop in back and the archway was at least thirty feet long with cobblestones on the ground and two huge iron gates at the entrance.

My sister made it to the archway and huddled up in the corner on the floor. The sirens went off minutes before the rockets hit. There were only so many minutes to get to that bunker, and just about the same people came running to that bunker every time. When they all came inside, the door was locked from the inside. My sister could not get in. She had to wait until the sirens went off again to let the people know that it was safe to come out.

That’s when my mother found my sister, and said, What are you doing here? How did you get here? Wait until your father finds out! You’re gonna get it! My father was still with us at that time.

He took my sister back to that school and had a long talk with Mother Superior to get my sister back into that school. Mother Superior was reluctant, but money changed her attitude. My father gave her a large amount; and the minute she took it my sister said, See, Papa, they hate the Germans, but they will take their money. When my father heard that, he took my sister by the hand and said, Okay, let’s get Kathie and we are leaving. I was not there when this happened; but I remember something was going on that was not right. I asked Margret and she told the story to me in May 2008. Funny how things stick in your mind!

When she told me this story, I remembered the family down the street. Their name was Packbiers. They had lots of children. My sister was so surprised that I remembered all this because I was only three or four years old at that time. My sister used to be at that house often because she said it was a fun place to be, happy people. However, my mother never approved of my sisters’ visits to that house because she did not want them to come to ours.

They were a talented, artistic family. Both parents played the piano. I remember when the rockets were coming in and the sirens went off, you could always tell when the Packbiers were running for the bunker. Never were they all together; it was always one at a time. We would hear, Clunk, clunk, clunk! The wooden shoes would hit the cobblestones; and then there was that big iron gate, Squeak! Squeak! Clunk, clunk, clunk, squeak, squeak! Clunk, clunk, clunk, squeak, squeak! We lived upstairs and knew just about when the last Packbier arrived. It was time to hurry to the bunker.

After one of those raids, when we came out, I saw people looking to the back of the courtyard. As I looked, I saw the soldier hanging from a tree. He was dangling from his parachute, his head down on his chest. I remember not wanting to see that. It upset me greatly and I quickly looked away. I don’t know if he was dead or who he was. I ran upstairs to get away from it.

We were liberated by the English (the stoute tommy) and the Americans. We had to open up our homes to the soldiers. We were assigned so many to each household. I remember we had to feed three white GIs and one black one. This was the first time I came in contact with a black soldier. These GIs were really nice and friendly; not much was spoken because of the language barrier, but I had a good time with them. I remember the large dining room table and one of those old-fashioned large shade chandeliers. The shade was made out of brocade material with tassels along the edge. The chandelier could