Tvarozna: A German Slovakian Legacy

By Cres Smith

In 1926 Pauline Klug, had an opportunity to visit her family living in Eastern Europe. Her mother had been informed that Paulines grandmother was dieing. She and her mother, Wilma Klug, traveled to Tvarozna (Var-oz-na) to see her before her death. Tvarozna is a village in Slovakia lying in the shadows of the Carpathian Mountains.

The impending trip to Eastern Europe brought to remembrance the younger lives of Wilma and Cornell in Tvarozna and Poprad, Slovakia. Wilma Bullner and Cornell Klug lived twenty miles apart and were third cousins. Although they lived close, they were not acquainted as young people in 1895. As a girl, Wilma spoke Slovak and German and found work as a language teacher. Before the 1st World War Tvarozna was known as Durand, a village of the Spis, mostly populated with Germans whose families had formed the village during the 15th century.

Cornells family lived in Poprad and this is where Pauline spent most of her time while in Europe. Paulines grandfather, Gustav Klug, was in the construction and other business ventures. His fathers business was one Cornell desired; but his older brother, Emile, was to inherit the business from Gustav. Cornell was apprentinced to a tailor.

Cornell and Wilma immigrated to America at different times, around 1901. They met and married in Philadelphia. While in Philadelphia and during the roaring twenties they operated a delicatessen. Pauline grew up with two brothers, Erwin and Louis. . Pauline enjoyed an especially fond relationship with her brother, Louis, as they danced for fun and competition and enjoyed the same friends.

Wilma left for Europe, leaving Cornell behind with her two boys to help Cornell in the store. While Wilma was in Europe, Cornell sold the store and took a job as an insurance salesman. When Wilma returned from Europe she was understandably upset and took Cornell to task for selling the store.

Later, Cornell purchased a gasoline service station and Pauline spent late hours with her father as he kept the store open late. Pauline grew into a young woman. She attended Temple University and majored in art.

While Pauline was in Europe, Creston Smith ran away from an orphanage near Lancaster, Pa. He and his sister, Edna, had been placed in the orphanage because his father had recently died. Creston was a frail youngster, born prematurely and sickly.

Pauline and Creston met after a baseball practice in Philadelphia. For months after they became acquainted Pauline pretended to only speak German. This made it hard for Creston, who finally found out the truth. They were married in 1935. Raising a family was hard and work was harsh. The family grew to five with one boy and two girls. They moved frequently over America as Creston sought work during the depression. Creston found work in the San Francisco ship yards building amphibious landing Craft during World War Two.

Louis was drafted into the Army and served in the African campaign under General Patton. He fought against Rommel and was part of the invasion of Sicily, in 1943. He was killed in fighting at Gala Bay, Sicily, July 10, 1943.

Pauline, Creston and their family moved from California to Philadelphia to be with Wilma. Cornell was bed-ridden with arthritis. The family was together again now, and Wilma was able to relate the stories of the old country to her grandchildren. The spirit of Tvarozna, as a family home, drew the family together, even though they didnt live in Eastern Europe anymore.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 3, 1999
• ISBN: 9781462828319

Cres Smith

Cres Smith (114 words) Cres Smith is the author of one other book, Tvarozna, and has been writing for about ten years. Cres has a college degree in Mathematics, providing an analytical platform for his writing. The book about the Gospel of John is a spiritual book and is based upon Cres lifes experiences and Gospel teaching. He has taught in church institutes and in church congregations. He has been a minister of the Gospel all his life and has served the Lord as needed. Cres has constantly looked to the Holy Ghost in his teachings and sought for spiritual understanding to all things. He is a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.

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Copyright © by Cres Smith.

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Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

PROLOGUE

CORNELL

WILMA

ALBERT BALLIN

HAMBURG

POPRAD

DURAND, CZECHOSLOVAKIA

CRESTON

THE ORPHANAGE

SUMMER

ON HIS OWN

GROWING UP

NATIONAL SOCIALISM

CRESTON AND PAULINE

SHADOWS

STEPHAN

LOU

MOROCCO

NORTH AFRICA

THE HOME WAR

SICILY

PHILADELPHIA

TVAROZNA ABSTRACT

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

This story could not have been told without the life of Pauline, Creston and their families. For that we are eternally grateful. From families we are able to learn and we get a notion of being. We learn the eternal truths and of our great potential. Thank you, all of you.

Then there are some people in this novel who didn‘t exist in memory or reality, but provide color to this novel. Most of the stories are true, especially those including family members. Obviously the dialog was not copied from a past life and serves to enliven the story. Some events serve as explanations for why people did things. The stories of Pauline and Creston are all true, their family history colored by memory. Some wise person said that history is as it is remembered. This is certainly true as we stretch back into our infant memories to recall events as they took place. How we remember them and how they affect our lives is reality. Our memories are not restored without the emotion that accompanies them. Tvarozna was constructed by recalling the memories of many people and then putting the memories to paper so that they may be shared; but also so that others may share. The author gratefully accepts and solicits memories of others in behalf of all of us.

My sister, Paula McBride, with her scholastic accomplishments, edited and gave ample guidance in this effort.

My wife, Patty, endured the length of this endeavor and encouraged the writing throughout the arduous times. She has been with me through, what seems like, my entire life. Her love and support is reciprocated heartily.

My children, Tony, Amie, Susan, and Paul, supported this effort in many ways. I am thankful for their lives.

An abstract, or summary, is contained at the end of the novel. Some reviewers found it beneficial in following the flow of lives through many years.

PROLOGUE

The overcast winter sky kept the sunshine from the snow covered north Philadelphia Fifth Street sidewalk. The first flakes had settled quickly to the ground. They lay frozen in a recognizable crystalline shape until others floated in; and then the flakes became an icy mass. Determined storeowners, wrapped in scarves and wool caps, scraped the snowy mass into the street.

The long fingered and weathered hand of a postman clutched a parched yellow envelope. The snowflakes from the drab sky settled on the envelope. The envelope stamps and the return address clearly indicated that the letter did not originate in America. The postman, his feet warmly secure in rubber galoshes, hurried from one store to the next with his mail packet. His mouth salivated as he neared Klug’s Delicatessen with the black 4949 stenciled above the front door. He always enjoyed this stop because he could sample food made by Wilma, the storeowner’s wife. The doorbell clanged as he burst into the store, followed by the cold air. The postman deposited the letter on the counter and, in the same sweeping arm motion, snatched a sample of the potato salad. The doorbell clanged again and slammed shut as he left.

A few minutes later Cornell walked from the back of the store to the front counter. Already balding, his fine light brown hair was thick below his thinning crown. He was a thinly framed man in his middle forties, five feet nine inches tall with sparkling, deep set, blue-gray eyes and an attractive thin nose. A broad bushy mustache jutted out beneath his nose. He picked up the creased and smudged envelope. He recognized the handwriting as well as the return address.

Wilma, a letter from Millie. How long’s it been since we heard from your sister? Three er four months?

His voice raised in volume so his German accented voice would reach to an unseen figure in the rear of the store.

Cornell’s fingers wandered over the stamp. Czechoslovakia, his home, yet memories didn’t arise within him immediately. He thoughtfully rubbed the stamp. The postmark was dated Feb. 21, 1926. Europe held no promise for him. America gave him the opportunities he had craved in Poprad. That was Austria-Hungary then, Czechoslovakia now. He hadn’t liked the occupation his father had chosen for him then. There was nothing for him there now; his brother, Emile, ran his father’s contracting business. That’s what he wanted—to work with machinery and building materials. Years ago, having just arrived in America, he had stayed with his Uncle Roth and Tante Pauline.

Cornell, the resonant voice of his Uncle came to his ears, I know how lonely you are now, only able to speak German and not familiar with America. And you’ll never forget the struggles you’ll go through to feel a part of this county. But eventually you’ll love America like I do.

He was grateful. A series of shivers passed through him, the fine hair raising slightly on his arms, a tingling in his back.

Wilma went to the counter and took the letter from her husband’s outstretched hand. She held it with three fingers and the thumb of her left hand, the index finger pointed through the air. She too recognized the handwriting and she thought lovingly of her sister. And of her mother—so frightened of the ocean that she refused to come to America. She glanced at the return address: Czechoslovakia. She hated the name. She wasn’t Czech; she was Austrian. She was glad she wasn’t in Europe to feel the revulsion of living in a country that humiliated her family. Some day, she thought, this will be straightened out, of that you can be sure! Her family would have their rights restored. The League of Nations had no right to change the land of her birth. She opened the envelope and removed the letter.

Pauline was cold from her walk from school. She pushed her shoulder against the delicatessen front door and slid her twelve-year-old body through the front door. The bell rang as she entered. Her blue eyes wandered through the unlit interior as she looked for her family. As she did so, she saw that her brothers, Erwin and Lou, were already at work. Her parents were reading an open letter held in her mother’s small hand with the strangely warped left forefinger, unbent, and pointing in a familiar yet unnatural way. Pauline frequently wondered about her mother’s finger. She could hear her mother speaking. Pauline saw the strained facial expression of her mother as the letter was read. She slowly, half tiptoed over, listening. The German words were softly spoken,

I've been concerned about this for some time, her mother said.

What, mom? What are you worried about?

It's a letter from your Tante Millie. She says that your grandmother Bullner isn’t well. She wants me to come.

Are you going? Can I go?

I don’t think so. I have to think about it.

I don’t think your mother will go, Pauline. We have the store to run. Her father said.

The store wasn’t a problem for her, Pauline thought. She didn’t have to work like the rest of them did. But she was used to them being busy. Sometimes they got someone to watch the store when they went on a picnic or a family wedding. She really didn’t expect to go but it wouldn’t hurt to ask. She had never seen her grandmother, Christine Bullner and wanted to. Pauline’s father had been on trips before and her grandpa Bullner and grandpa Klug came to America frequently. She didn’t really think that she would go. But she wanted to. Her mom looked at her dad and continued the conversation she had interrupted.

Mother, may I go to Dorothy’s?

Distracted temporarily by her daughter, Wilma looked up, Of course, Pauline. Be home for dinner, she hugged her with her free arm. Pauline’s black hair swished through the air as she put her books under the store counter before she ran out the ringing door. Wilma watched her disappear, then her head lowered to continue reading the letter.

The sturdy, dark haired woman turned back to her husband. The extended index finger suddenly became awkward and bothersome to her. So many of Wilma’s youthful memories had been forgotten. The finger and the letter again reminded her of her home and family. A centuries old stone farmhouse had sheltered her. In the summer, barefooted and her head covered by a babushka, she had left the house every day to teach German and Hungarian. Years earlier, Hungarian had become the official language and she was one of the few Germans who could teach it, even though she was a girl. She performed her teaching confidently. She spoke out bravely to her mother, Austria is the greatest country in the world.

Her mother had scrubbed the potatoes for the evening meal with a stiff bristle brush. Don’t forget who you are.

Wilma knew what she meant.

You are Austrian, not Hungarian.

Still, she loved Hungary. She loved it when the family vacationed in Budapest and she heard the music of Franz Liszt in the vast music hall. Even now she heard the rhythmic emotional melodies that were woven into her life.

I could never go to America, she had told her mother when she heard that her Tante Pauline Huss had gone.

She longed for her home and family. Wilma looked at Cornell and spoke rapidly in German, I would like to go home for a visit.

We can’t go back.

Why not? Wilma’s blue eyes stared into his. She waited.

Does Millie say how sick your mother is? Cornell asked.

Her eyes left his and she looked down at her hands, Mother coughs constantly, and chokes when she swallows. She’s very depressed. Millie doesn’t think that mother is going to get well.

Wilma saw an image of spring in Tvarozna, with the creeks high and the ground saturated. The valley rimmed with the Carpathian Mountains rising sharply into the sky.

It’s such a long way off. She thought of her trip to America, a rough sickening boat trip through the North Sea. Salt spray had whipped through the air from the tips of the black waves. The lips had become salty, the hands and face had become clammy when opened to the wind. The rocking, clackety train had wound through the warm valleys and black smoke from the engine had obscured the white clouds and blue sky. With the windows down, the silky dust had gotten into the skin crevices and pores. With the windows up, the sweltering heat had made it hard to breathe.

It’s too far, Wilma thought.

We can’t go, Cornell said again.

Later that day the familiar doorbell tinkled with the entry of a man. Cornell hurried forward.

Hello, Herman, He warmly greeted his Lindley neighbor. Lindley, originally a small village was now part of Philadelphia. He took the order, put the scrapple on the scales, and wiped his hands on his already soiled white apron. He wrapped the meat and placed the weighty package on top of the meat cooler. There you are, Herman.

Potato salad looks fresh. I’m surprised you have any left.

It’ll be gone by the time we close, but Wilma will make more in the morning.

Give me a quart.

Shortly thereafter Herman paused before leaving, Don’t forget the Shriner’s meeting tomorrow, you know—the first Wednesday of the month.

Cornell knowingly smiled and nodded to Herman as he left, then he walked up the aisle to find Erwin straightening and restocking shelves. He felt proud of his oldest son as he watched him work. His fine sandy hair dangled in his round face as he concentrated on marking and stacking the tins of Campbell Soup. He seemed larger than his five feet eight inches. His stocky build gave him a powerful appearance. Cornell’s hand rested on Erwin’s thick shoulder. Cornell hoped that Erwin was spending enough time with his friends and that the store wasn’t consuming the boy’s life.

Just after school he had caught snatches of a conversation between Erwin and his three friends.

Aw, come on, the tall blond one said. Yeah, we need you today, the short fat one added. I’d like to play stick ball with ya, but I have to help my dad in the store.

We’ll just be in the alley, he can call if he needs ya …

Cornell stood, looked at his younger son and walked over to him. Lou, have you checked the meats? The lanky six footer turned his narrow dark haired head and blue eyes toward his father. Yes, Father, there’s a list on the counter. Cornell gave Lou this work knowing that he required a varied and stimulating job, though not as comprehensive as Erwin’s. Lou paid attention to detail, did his job right and always tried to do it better. Cornell reviewed the list.

Sausage count right? Seems different than normal! Lou came over to look at the notes he had made.

Yes, we’ll have to call for an extra delivery tomorrow. Cornell felt comfortable with his boys and Wilma supporting him in the store. There weren’t any jobs for Pauline. Wilma had her do house chores.

Later in the evening Cornell stayed in the store as the family ate in the rear kitchen. One of the boys would temporarily mind the store while he took a small break. Wilma joined him again as the children did homework and spent time playing records. Armstrong’s coronet and Bechet’s soprano saxophone interplay joined with the Red Onion Jazz Babies as Cake Walk Babies sounded through the store. Cornell looked at the small but sturdy figure of his wife, her hair pulled back in a bun, her figure fuller now than so many years ago when he had met her after she had come to America.

He came over to her, You have been working since early in the morning, why don't you go back and help the children, knowing that they didn't need help but that she needed a rest. Are the potatoes ready for tomorrow? If they are you may as well go, he again urged.

It's nearly nine thirty. The Lindley Theater should be out soon, she said.

Later the Lohwassers and Henningers sauntered through the front door. George Lohwasser, in his dark overcoat and felt hat, held the door for his wife Shirley, and the Henningers.

Huh? That could be, I saw her last year in ‘Little Lord Fauntleroy'. I'd go again if I had the chance, the young man holding the door said.

The four of them moved up to the glass window of the meat cooler.

Shirley loosened her coat revealing the hip hugging dress sash and the knee length hem line. Get some scrapple for breakfast, Corky.

He picked up some rolls. I'll take a package of that Burke meat, half pound of scapple and a quart of potato salad.

Cornell filled the container with Wilma's salad, the vinegar fumes rose from the celery seed sprinkled potatoes. The Henningers made their purchase and the quartet headed back for the door.

I'm going to see Pickford if I get the chance, Shirley brushed her bobbed hair with her hand.

Aw you're a woman, you'd rather see Valentino or Fairbanks.

Yeah, but you want to see Fairbanks, too.

Have you heard about the talkies … The door tinkled and slammed shut.

Several weeks later the harsh winter weather was close to its finish. The days were noticeably longer and warmer. Snow was on the ground but the trees were starting to bud and they seemed to reach into the sky with the bare branches to gather energy and life from the early afternoon.

Late in the evening snow flakes drifted aimlessly down through the black night. The spring storm cooled Philadelphia. Park patchworks throughout the city became white squares of snow on a quilted blanket. Inside their row house, with bedrooms on the second floor, above the store, the Klugs slept through the night under the quietness of the snow blanket.

Wilma was in bed with her husband; the children slept in separate bedrooms. Wilma’s sleep was still and deep. She was physically and externally still, but her mind continued to operate as though awake, never taking the time to sleep. Wilma’s overwhelming and directing will was silent. Knowledge gained from a far greater Spirit flowed to her physical mind. Her eyes moved under her closed eyelids.

An image of two angels holding a magnificent banner attached to a pole came vividly into her mind, as though remotely projected by an unseen lamp. The banner wafted and billowed in a strong breeze. Wilma’s eyes, now aroused, tried to focus, as though through a fog, on the indistinguishable banner. Then she recognized the displayed black German eagle on a sea of red with a white stripe. She heard German words accompanying the banner. The words stirred her to consciousness.

Cornell, Wake up! She pleaded. He didn’t respond at first, then his arm flailed at his wife’s disturbance and on her next urging turned to face her. I just had a dream which woke me up. I don’t know what it means—and it’s disturbing me.

What was it? He asked. She related the dream to him.

Hmm, what do you make of it.

The image of the waving banner again appeared in front of her and she heard the words again, It was the truth, come. She knew that what Millie had told her in the letter about her mother dying was true. All the travel arrangements and caring for the store while she was gone would be worked out. Cornell, she spoke resolutely—and paused. " … Cornell … Mother won’t recover. We must go.

Cornell rolled over on his back and pulled the covers up as the cold air in the unheated room crept beneath the blankets. He lifted his arms in a slow and thoughtful manner and raised them to his head, placing his hands under his head.

You’re right. We do have to go. I’ll have to see about the store.

Pauline wants to go. Can we take her? she questioned.

I suppose so.

Cornell paused briefly as his thoughts started to take shape. The store was a burden to the family. Maybe he could make a change. Maybe he could do something about the store while Wilma was in Europe.

Maybe Pauline could go instead of me. You two would be good companions.

Wilma got up from the bed and put her slippers and robe on. She walked back and forth in the room as they talked.

I’ll make the arrangements tomorrow, but I want you to go too. She said.

Take Pauline. She wants to go and I have to stay here with the store. The boys and I can take care of it. Cornell responded.

You won’t do anything foolish while I’m gone, will you? She always knew his thoughts.

Cornell paused, No… Nothing foolish.

I have to work this out. Wilma said and then started to pace over the wooden floor. She looked out the window as she passed by. The sky was black and the snowflakes had drifted onto the glass windowpane. Wilma stopped pacing when she had completed the plans in her mind. She climbed into bed and was quickly asleep. There would be plenty of time in the morning to work out the trip reservations and to make arrangements for running the store.

CORNELL

Cornell stood in the sunrays passing through the stuffy store window. „This sun is too much for me, he thought. „I need to be where I can concentrate.

He saw Wilma’s anguished and intent face follow him as he moved behind the store counter where she stood, but he didn’t move too close to her.

Wilma … he paused. Wilma … you’ll never understand how capitalism works…

You’re the one who doesn’t understand. We have been successful with this store. Why do you think that you can give it away and chase a pot of gold?

It’s important that we invest for the future. Herman’s making a lot of money in the stock market.

Those investments aren’t as secure as this store. We have something here that’s real. It’s a good living too.

I have a line on some jobs that will bring in just as much money.

It worries me to think of loosing the store.

How long can we run this store with the family? You spend nearly all day here—and the boys do too. I don’t mind working long hours but you shouldn’t have to spend so much time here.

My family always had the farm and house. We have our store and house and we have some savings to show for it.

The savings have been due to your long hours of work, he countered.

’Work is a golden bracelet’, that’s what mother always said. We have something for our work. We’ll have nothing if we sell the store. It won’t take long to see our savings disappear. Your idea is crazy and I won’t stand for it.

Wilma’s determination stemmed Cornell’s fervor and he backed down from the resolute and angry woman. He’d failed before—trying to convince her to sell. What could he expect from a peasant woman? She was taught to be conservative and make the most of what she had; she certainly didn’t have a head for investments—but he loved her for her hard work and support. That was the pity of it. He wanted it for her.