Little Alfred, Another Lost Child: A Memoir

By Alfred H. Berger

Many readers of this book may feel at a loss to feel the real people and how they felt. That is the purpose of telling it the way it was. No fakery, no embellishments, just the raw straight-from-the-hip truth. This is not fiction, this is fact. No deep seated love or caring, except for my grandmas and the Shermans, (may their goodness last for eternity) no affection, no deep looking into their souls for a little lost child nothing.

These foster parents were paid and it was a job, just like any other job, thats all it was for them.

I have no love or hate for these people, it was something that just happened. Nothing can change the past, it is long gone, one can only look back at it and try to remember the good times, and forget sorrowful and hurting times.

This manuscript was submitted to a literary agent who liked it. There was just one problem, she wanted to change it, give it more impact, more pizzazz, make it stand out even if it meant putting in fiction. I didnt and wouldnt go for that. If I wanted this manuscript to be fiction with all its embellishments, Id write it as such.. what you will be reading is my life through my eyes as a child, with all its warts, cuts, bruises and ugliness. Its not perfect, its life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 27, 2007
• ISBN: 9781453515884

Alfred H. Berger

Biography I am a retired Senior Design Engineer living in warm, sunny San Diego, California. I find writing a very relaxing hobby as well as a way to put down my thoughts and events of the day. I also enjoy writing rhyming children’s tales of magical wonder and enchantment, hopefully someday soon to have published. I especially enjoy putting on paper my childhood days living in an orphanage and three foster homes. Each problem is a small bit of my life as a child, and I have written a book of my younger days up to the age of 21, when I started my drive to San Diego from New York City on a cold winter’s night. Best drive I have made. Life is good no matter how bad it may seem. Enjoy it to the fullest. My hobbies are; reading, writing, RC model boats, building them, sailing them, electronic tinkering, computers, digital photography of sunsets, and being a “health food” fanatic.

Book preview

Introduction

to Little Alfred

There comes a time in everyone’s life when it is time to reflect and look back on the events that occurred in your life. This short book does that. It is a short span of my life that is different from most children’s lives at that time. The years were 1938 to 1944, six short years. These were very difficult years for me, Little Alfred. Thrust into a world of strangers, a child starved for love and affection. Moved from home to home like an old suitcase you would store in an attic, I never felt close or shared a true love for my foster parents, except for the last home I lived in. I loved my last Auntie and Uncle, and they loved me. So as not to be rejected, I was always on my guard, never showing my true feelings or hurts, always keeping it bottled up inside me. Not having any relatives come visit me except my mother, hurt me more than anyone could imagine. So young to be left alone with strangers, but I survived.

There must be thousands of children in the United States, and millions throughout the world who have gone through the same drama and heartache, some much more severe. It is said that the first six years of a person’s life shapes and molds the rest of their life. How true. Writing my true story of Little Alfred has helped me to see life as it was, how it contributed to my later life, and to pass this small part of my life on to my children. Someday they may do the same for their children.

I cry for all the lost children who I knew and lived with at the orphanage. I cry for all the lost children in South America who no one cares about, for all the lost children in Africa who are left starving. And you, the reader, should know about this.

Most of the children who were born when I was had a normal life with parents and had happy homes. Their parents loved them and helped them grow into young people.

I am very happy for those people. Life and their parents have been good to them. They are the fortunate few. Some are lucky, some are not. I was not one of the lucky ones.

Maybe next time around?

Yours affectionately,

Little Alfred

Alfred H. Berger, 2005

San Diego, CA, U. S. A.

Today

Fly away my heart, I told myself as I watched my four and a half year old son Paul. We were all sitting at the table having breakfast. It was our usual Saturday morning when we all had breakfast together. A happy family, my wife Louise and me, my daughter Karen, seven and one half years old, and Paul.

Paul, so mischievous for his age, so completely different from me at that age. His turbulence and activity, so carefree, not a worry of what would or could happen to him in an instant. Not thinking of me as one who would ever or could ever leave him. I was Dad, solid as a rock, someone who would always be there. I liked those thoughts, it made me feel warm inside.

I looked at him happily blending his own chocolate milk in his special battery powered blender. He in his own secure little world, never to know loneliness, surrounded with love from his family.

What can a child that age suddenly feel if separated from his parent? Many things. As I look at my son, my heart wants to fly away to a time thirty nine years ago this year when I was torn from my parents.

The year was 1938, an unfortunate year for me. A devastating, earth shattering year. I remember the very day. I see it projected into my vision to this day. These eyes will never forget that terrible day at the orphanage.

Chapter 1

Life at the orphanage

I was all alone and afraid. My mother and father, everyone had abandoned me. I was put in the care of the New York State authority and placed in an orphanage. I was a child of four and a half years old and an intelligent child, had a cute face, blond hair and blue eyes. Being a normal child like every other child in the world, but I was different. My parents didn’t want me because they couldn’t get along as a family. They were constantly arguing about things that were not very important. I had no idea why there was always yelling in the house. Through no fault of my own, I was placed in the orphanage. My parents separated, then divorced.

Everyday life at the orphanage was not the best one would imagine. Being alone, with strange children and grown-ups was very hard.

Why am I here? Did I do something wrong? Was I a bad boy? Will I be here till I die? Will I stay small and the a child forever? These were all the things that I thought about as I spent my days at the orphanage. Having a good imaginative and inquisitive mind, and because of this, I was given an IQ test with weights, shapes and what if questions to test my ability. Told I was above average intelligence, and someday it could be used for useful things. This made me feel very good, and my ever thinking mind started to imagine great things. Whenever play-time came, I would go outside and play with the other boys, but I was always imagining where all the tall buildings and bridges came from. Imagining I was a builder of tall buildings, I would gaze up at them. How can such a tall building stand so straight without falling over? If I put a stick on the ground it would always fall over. So I dug a small hole and put the stick in the hole, then filled in the hole with dirt. It didn’t fall. That must be how it’s done I thought. Having discovered this, I was very happy. I played with the other children, but missed my parents. I don’t remember how long I lived there, but one day my parents came to see me. My mother talked to me, then my father. She seemed very upset about something, but never said so. She had to leave. My dad spoke to me and said he was not going to see me anymore. I had started to cry. I asked why, and my dad said he was living in the city and didn’t have time to come see me. After a few minutes my dad left and was never seen for years.

I was left alone again and felt very sad and unhappy, but I still had my thoughts and ideas to keep me busy. Liking to daydreaming, imagining giant airplanes in the sky flying to anywhere and everywhere. There wasn’t much for a boy of four and a half years of age to do. Without parents, being with strangers, what else could I do.

Then one day someone wanted to see me. A man and a woman came with their two children. They came in a big car to the orphanage to see me. I was taken outside to the parking area to see them. I noticed that there was a long bridge with cables to hold it up. There were many cars going across the bridge, and I thought my parents might be in one of those cars. No such luck. As I turned, I saw a low rectangular building with no windows. What could it be I thought? It looked like an ancient building too with tall columns and white walls I had seen pictures of in books. It looked like one of those buildings from ancient Greece.

My mind had wandered away from the people standing before me. I was suddenly brought back to the present.

Alfred, said the administrator, Would you like to live with the Leedermans and their two children, Florence and Stanton? I didn’t know how to think or what to say.

Will my mother come visit me? I asked.

Oh yes, she can visit you anytime she wants to.

Can my father come too? I asked.

Yes he can come also, she replied.

Okay, I said.

Your new parents will come back next week to take you to your new home, said the administrator. The Leedermans spoke with the administrator and everyone went back inside the orphanage. I was sent to play, and the administrator took the Leedermans to her office where they filled out the papers that would allow them to take me to live with them.

Chapter 2

Saying Good-bye to my parents

The next week the Leedermans came to pick me up. Before I went with them, my parents arrived to say Good-bye to me. They told me they would visit me at the Leederman’s home. I especially remember my dad. He was tall and strong, and he liked to play games with me. Games of strength, with bare knuckles pressed against each other. For a boy of four and a half, it was a rough game to play with my dad, but I showed him I could be strong like a man. My mother hugged me and said she would visit me on Sundays and take me places to have fun. I just could not understand why I wasn’t living with my parents and had to live with other people. I never did find out until much later.

It was now time for my parents to leave, and I also had to leave. My mother gave me a hug, then tears rolled down her cheeks.

Don’t cry mom, I said. My dad just stood and watched. The administrator took my hand and led me away. I waved good-bye to my parents and left the orphanage. I walked with the Leedremans to their car, my suitcase carried by Mr. Leederman. It had all new clothes in it.

Stepping up into the back seat of the car, I waved Good-bye to my mom and dad. I started to cry small tears but didn’t make a sound and stayed in the corner of the seat so no one could see me crying.

I don’t know how long I cried, but it was a long drive to my new home. The scenery went by in a blur. Cars, trucks, homes, then finally stopping in front of this two-story brick house with a few steps leading up to the front door. I had arrived at my home. Where it was, I had no idea.

My eyes were red as I wiped away the tears and the water dripping from my nose. The air was warm and the sky clear. It was summer. The car door was opened, my hand was taken by Stanton as we all entered the house.

It was a two-story house with a stairway to the right side as you entered the door. The Leedermans lived downstairs, and Mrs. Leederman’s mother lived in the front bedroom. A hallway from the front door went straight through to the rear of the house and ended in an enclosed sun-room. From there, a back door led to a stairway into the backyard. I was shown to my room, which I was to share with Stanton. Mrs. Leederman brought in my suitcase and put my clothes in the dresser. I was shown around the house, where the bathroom was, and where other rooms were.

It was lunchtime, so everyone sat down and waited for lunch. Mrs. Leederman asked me what name I would like calling her by: Mom, Auntie, or Mrs. Leederman.

I said, Auntie. And so it was. Mr. Leederman was to be Uncle. After lunch, Stanton showed me around the outside of the house, the driveway leading to the backyard, the large birdcage where Stanton raised carrier pigeons. It was an amazing thing for me to see after living such a sheltered life. Stanton held one of the pigeons for me to touch. So soft, so fragile and pretty as it cooed. He then let some of the pigeons out to fly. They rose up flying in big circles over the backyard as he waved a tall pole.

Will they come back? I asked.

Yes they will, he said, and they did. They were tired, so they came back to rest. I was tired also, so I went to my room to rest.

It had been a long day, and sitting on my bed in my new home, I thought. How long would I stay here? Would I ever see my parents again? Would I have to live here with strangers forever? I cried.

Chapter 3

My new home

My new home was located on Coney Island, a part of Brooklyn, New York. Being surrounded by ocean water, it was cool during the summer, no hot and muggy as the City of New York was. It was a very narrow island, but quite long. You could walk from shore to shore in thirty minutes.

Stanton took me for walks during the next few days to show me the neighborhood, and to meet his best friends. His best friend lived across the street in an old wooden house. There was a large empty grassy lawn on the side of the house with a very sturdy old tree growing there, spreading its branches in all directions. From one of the branches swung two ropes attached to a wood seat. Having never seen a real swing before, I asked if I could sit on it. Stanton said it was alright, so I sat on the seat and held on to the ropes, pushed my feet against the ground and slowly started to swing. Being afraid to fall, I held on to the ropes tightly.

Shall I swing you? said Stanton.

No, I said, I’m afraid. So I just held on to the ropes tightly as the air flowed around me ever so gently.

This was fun, I said to myself.

The next day Stanton walked me to the corner of the street where the grocery store was located. It was a strange name, Bohacks. The owner was a very nice man and said Hi to me. From there we crossed the street, waiting for the green, and then looking both ways. I could see a school with a tall fence around it. It had a playground, basketball hoops, and a handball court. Stanton stopped and said,

I go to this school, and when summer is over you will start kindergarten in this school. I’ll take you to school and brings you home.

We continued past the school until we came to a row of very small homes. Stanton led me to one of the homes where a very old woman was sitting outside talking to other old men and women. Stanton said to one of the old women, Grandma, this is Alfred, he is going to stay at our house for a while. She smiled at me, then gave me a hug. Speaking in a language I didn’t understand, she spoke to the other people there. I had no idea what she said, but I smiled, then Stanton and I both said Good-bye. Stanton and I then walked toward the school, then home. We weren’t allowed to go beyond grandma’s house. Stanton wasn’t old enough yet, he was only nine years old.

Summer days were happy days for me, with new friends to play with. I was allowed to cross the street only in front of the house, and had to look both ways for cars. Auntie always watched me cross. This was fun because I ran as fast as I could. Before leaving, I always told Auntie where I would be and had to be home before dark. I liked playing with the boy across the street. Their home had front and side yards with great places to run, play tag, hide-and-seek, and just roll in the grass. The tree had a neat swing that I was brave enough to swing back and forth on without being afraid. We played for a while, then Auntie called and said it was time to come home. So home I went to dinner.

As the summer days rolled by, I thought less and less of my mother and father, and just played outside near home. I watched Stanton let the pigeons fly around the neighborhood, and occasionally a stray pigeon would join the flock. The cooing was the neatest part of being near the birds. If you went up to the cage very slowly, they wouldn’t be frightened and you could feed them corn through the mesh. When they took the corn it didn’t hurt, it tickled. It was fun.

Occasionally there would be a thunderstorm, with long strokes of lightning. One day Stanton ran outside in the thundershower in his bathing suit. I saw him through the front window. He ran into the house and asked his mom if I could go outside in my bathing suit also. His mom said it was okay, as long as we were careful of the cars. So we both ran outside in the pouring rain, running up and down the street. Pretty soon other children were coming outside in their bathing suits and running up and down the street. Everyone was having fun running, screaming, laughing, all the things children do when they are having fun. Every time a bolt of thunder crashed through the air, we all screamed, then laughed. When the rain stopped and the thunder and lightning were gone, the fun was over. So everyone went home and dried themselves, then came out to play. By then the sun was shining, the street was starting to dry up, and everyone could play games. Hopscotch, hide-and-seek, ringalevio 1-2-3, kick-the-can, marbles, or just watch. I liked Hopscotch and hide-and-seek. I was too small to play ringalevio 1-2-3, kick-the-can, and didn’t have marbles.

Stanton showed me how to build model airplanes. That was the most fun. And after they were built, they actually flew. Not very far or high. They were fun to chase. Sometimes they went far and were caught up into the wind. Sometimes they crashed. Poor airplanes, so fragile, almost like a human life—put together with tender loving care. The light-weight balsa was so soft, your fingernail could cut it in two. As fragile as a butterfly, as light as a feather. The balsa frame of the airplane was covered with thin model airplane’s tissue. After covering, the tissue was painted and set aside to dry. Next and final step was a rubber band motor that spun the propeller. Carefully winding the propeller 200 turns, then placing the model on the ground, it was ready to fly. Once the propeller was released, the model rolled along, then lifted into the air and flew straight or in a circle. It was a beautiful sight for me to see, and I loved it. (I watched Stanton build many airplanes in the two years I lived with the Leedermans. It was to be a memorable two years, all part of growing up.)

Chapter 4

The summer days

It was very hot in August, so the Leedermans decided to go to the beach and spend the day enjoying the cool ocean water. Everyone had on their bathing suits before we left the house. We walked to the beach hand-in-hand. A spot was chosen near a long pier and a lifeguard station. Never having been to the ocean or the beach, I was afraid of the crashing waves. I was afraid of drowning. No need to worry, for Auntie took my hand and we slowly walked into the water. The waves lapped up my legs, pushing and pulling me. Sand slowly melted under my feet and acted like glue. Auntie continued walking further