Sanctioned

By Malcolm Wittenberg

His name was Lonnie Siegel, but he was known by others.

Lonnie was born into an aristocratic German family and orphaned during an allied bombing raid over Dresden. Shuttled from one caretaker to the next, he was ultimately taken in by an elderly first-generation immigrant family-a family that wanted nothing more than to be left alone. But,

• Language: English
• Publisher: Malcolm Wittenberg
• Release date: Apr 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798987661611

Malcolm Wittenberg

Malcolm Wittenberg retired after a fifty-year career as an intellectual property lawyer, trading his clinical writing skills for the mendacity of a fiction author. He is a graduate of Worcester Polytechnic Institute and the National Law Center of George Washington University. He currently lives in Northern California, is the father of three adult children, has two grandchildren, and is the husband of a most loving and supportive wife.

Book preview

Text copyright © 2023 by Malcolm Wittenberg.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher.

ISBN: 979-8-9876616-0-4

Ebook ISBN: 979-8-9876616-1-1

Manufactured in the United States of America.

Produced by Dean Burrell

Design by Maureen Forys, Happenstance Type-O-Rama

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For Bonnie, my inspiration

1

His name was Lonnie Siegel although he had been known by others. In fact, he was not born to that name. But saying that gets us a bit ahead of ourselves.

He was born into an aristocratic German family, a wealthy one at that. His father, Karl Wagoner, was the music director at the Semperoper, the opera house of the Sächsische Staatsoper Dresden.

He, together with his wife, Helga, would walk along the Elba, stopping as he often did to allow their son, as a robust two-year-old, to play along its banks. For a midwinter day, the temperature was surprisingly mild, the skies blue with only a smattering of billowy white clouds. Perfect for fantasieren.

Peter, do you see the white elephant in the sky?

If he was old enough, he would have confirmed that, indeed, there was a trunk and floppy ears slowly passing by. But as soon as the elephant became identifiable, it blurred into obscurity, only to be replaced by another apparition.

But there was little need for Karl’s services, as Dresden was immersed in the war effort, it being a major rail transport and communication center thought to house over 100 factories and over 50,000 workers. Staging elaborate operas was incongruous in war-torn Germany. So, to break the routine of remaining at home with little to occupy his time, he and Helga spend nights at the opera house—a bed and crib being set up in the anteroom next to his office with an ample supply of Peter’s favorite toys

His father would proudly show his son his office, bragging of the autographs given to him by some of the most prominent talents in Europe; that is, photographs of Germans, not of non-Aryans. But Peter would only be interested in the cookies stacked in the glass bowl kept on Karl’s desk.

Although the USAAF Eighth Air Force had bombed the railway yards near the center of the city on October 7 and again on January 16, none of the strikes were particularly close to their makeshift quarters. The Wagoners, despite the proximity of the Allied strikes, felt comforted in believing that no one in their right mind would bomb the Semperoper. It was originally built in 1841 and rebuilt in 1869 after fire destroyed much of it. Works by Richard Wagner and Richard Strauss premiered there. The eclectic structure combining early Renaissance with the Baroque adorned by Corinthian pillars typical of Greek classical revival was considered by all to be so classically important as to be off-limits. It was considered one of the most magnificent structures of its kind in all of Europe. It had no strategic value.

But on the night of February 13, 1945, over 200 Lancaster heavy bombers carrying high explosives and incendiaries disrupted Peter’s parents’ nightly ritual of tea before bedtime. Their teacups resting in their saucers began to vibrate. Seeing the flashes some ten kilometers from the opera house, they went to the nearest window and flung it open, hoping to glean some perspective of the goings-on about them.

As a storm front approached that evening, the inclement weather limited USAAF operations. As a consequence, the bombing raid was left to the RAF Bomber Command. This began as Mosquito planes began their runs by identifying target areas memorialized by 1000-pound indicators.

Massive destruction resulted not only from the two-ton blockbusters, but from the incendiaries themselves. Although Karl and Helga undoubtedly heard the whistle of falling munitions, that would be their last sensory observation. One 4000-pounder landed a mere fifty yards from where they stood, blowing off the opera house’s roof and collapsing many of its doors and windows. An incendiary followed thirty seconds later, engulfing the entire structure.

Karl and Helga Wagoner were burned beyond recognition.

As rescue teams worked to extinguish the fires and rescue survivors under the massive rubble, a faint whimpering could be heard, which led to Peter’s discovery. But in reflecting upon all of this, perhaps finding him was, at best, a mixed blessing. He was alive, but now orphaned, a war casualty in a country on the verge of collapse.

2

There was little infrastructure in battle-ravaged Germany to address the needs of an orphan. Refugee centers sprung up as staging areas for the resettlement of displaced persons. But the task was daunting given the realities of postwar Europe.

Germany, in conjunction with the United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration (UNRRA), began reconstruction. The UNRRA was created by President Franklin D. Roosevelt in 1943 to be later succeeded by the United Nations International Refugee Organization (IRO) in 1948.

Karl and Helga’s remains mingled with the rubble in what was left of the Semperoper and, as Peter was found without identification, he became a nameless waif, assigned no more than an identification number: Peter Wagoner became Displaced Person W-027631. He was processed, as were others, orphaned by the war. But with 20,000 confirmed killed, and with 35,000 residents registered as missing, rescue forces had little to work with.

Jewish and non-Aryan babies were commonly given to Aryan families, even though every effort was made to place children with relatives if they could be found. But after Peter spent ten days at a local emergency shelter, the Mueller family in Leipzig was earmarked as one willing to foster him. They called him Heimey for Heimatlose or waif.

They were a family of five, having three children of their own ages four, six, and nine. At first, Peter was welcomed but, over time, was seen as an intruder by his adoptive siblings, who resented the attention given to him.

Worse was his disability. Although he could discern faint sounds, he was for all practical purposes deaf. Often, as he did not respond to those around him, he was thought to be rude, particularly by the six-year-old, who was constantly frustrated by Peter’s failure to interact.

In looking back, it was a combination of pity and nationalism that had driven their decision to foster the boy. But an injured two-year-old alone during wartime invokes a different emotional response than a disabled four-year-old. They simply gave up trying.

The Muellers, traveling to Berlin to find their waif a permanent home, hoped to convince authorities that repatriation was appropriate as, coming from Dresden, they knew that he was certainly German. But they found that repatriation was not easy. Evidence of his ancestry was nonexistent. Without it, archives in Dresden would have to be searched and reports of his location within its bombed-out rubble found or re-created.

As the Muellers were anxious to dispose of Peter, they resolved to take a different approach. Leaving their children with their nanny, they traveled to Föhrenwald, an IRO displaced persons camp in Bavaria. Thereupon, he was unceremoniously deposited at its western gate. Lost forever was the knowledge that he was the son of prominent German parents and that he was orphaned during a wartime bombing raid over Dresden.

Peter was asleep when they abandoned him, but the morning’s daily food delivery van woke him abruptly; its driver, being startled, almost ran the boy over. Instinctively, as a knee-jerk reaction, the driver sounded his horn, whereupon Peter began to cry. He was then immediately taken to the camp’s processing center. It was thought that he could not speak or understand German, so French and Italian were tried as alternative means to communicate. It took several days for the camp’s medical staff to conclude that he had a hearing disability.

At the time, the IRO was desperate to relocate those displaced persons placed in their care. The United States was historically the leader in accepting immigrants, but enthusiasm withered as immigrants were unwanted, unpleasant reminders of the war and its destruction. To enhance his opportunity, Peter was characterized as a child without family. This intimated a Jewish heritage, his family presumed to be nothing more than death camp statistics.

The ultimate goal was to relocate him in the United States. But the Federal Immigration Law of 1924 limited acceptance of Eastern European (as well as Asian) immigrants, which resulted in significant, but not insurmountable, challenges for the IRO. Fortunately, much of the staff at Föhrenwald took a personal interest in Peter’s well-being. This apparently stemmed from his disability coupled with a happy disposition—certainly not one attributable to the hand that was dealt him.

Anna Fischer, the senior-most nurse at the IRO facility, was involved with the Kindertransport project in the late 1930s, despite the risks involved in attempting to save Jewish immigrant children from Nazi Germany. To circumvent the United States immigration restrictions, she called upon the friendship she maintained with Commander Harry Walker of the Royal Navy, asking for his assistance.

Cmdr. Walker remained active with various groups involved in British immigration. Particularly, he helped to promote the Guardianship Act of 1944, enacted for the purpose of providing care for children who remained unadopted. He was well versed in handling situations such as Peter’s and did so enthusiastically.

Peter, together with Anna, flew to the RAF’s Abington Airfield in Oxfordshire, where they were met by Cmdr. Walker. They spent the next several days strategizing his future and finally settled upon an action plan. Their strategy was to involve HIAS, the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society. HIAS had an office in Föhrenwald that Anna had visited upon her return to Bavaria.

Not knowing Peter’s race or religion, Anna suggested to HIAS that he was probably Jewish and alone as a result of the Holocaust. Although HIAS began in 1904 providing translation services on Ellis Island for Eastern European refugees, it knew how to promote immigration from its Manhattan headquarters.

When told of his relocation to England, HIAS was greatly relieved, as immigration to the United States from the UK was much easier than from other European states.

Peter was flown to New York, accompanied by an HIAS field officer, and placed in a temporary foster home, with the expectation that he would be relocated and hopefully adopted before too long.

3

As noted by Warsan Shire, No one leaves home unless home is the mouth of a shark.

By the late 19th century, Russia became just that—at least for some.

Jewish life in Russia had become increasingly difficult in the 1880s, as waves of antisemitism swept across the country and throughout Eastern Europe. Characterized by Tzar Alexander II as Christ killers, Jews were later blamed for his assassination. By 1881, thousands of Jewish homes had been destroyed and families driven into poverty as large-scale waves of pogroms swept Russia.

As Russian Jews, the Gordons made every effort to be good citizens, coping with hardship, never considering leaving; their surname was likely derived from the city of Grodno in Belarus, their home for generations.

Sadie Gordon was born in 1884 to Leivick and Elizaveta, who were devoutly religious, and respected by the Jewish community of which they were an integral part. Leivick was able to eke out a living as a tailor, but when business was slow, Elizaveta would take in laundry from neighbors, to be returned to their owners impeccably clean and neatly folded.

She would stoically resist giving in to her chronic pain as well as the temptation to hold the more ornate fabrics up to her bosom, her fantasies interrupted by her reality, taking the form of a whelping dog or crying infant, or her pangs of hunger.

Leivick would practice his trade with his wire-rimmed spectacles draped over the bridge of his nose, shoulders slumped as he deftly repaired the sarafan and poneva outfits of those who otherwise would have refused to acknowledge his very existence.

As the Gordons and Siegels were, at one time, neighbors, they kept in contact over the years even though the families sought different paths. The Gordons remained in Belarus—but the Siegels were the more adventurous. They immigrated to South Africa in 1883, a year after their son, Morris, was born.

In Johannesburg, they opened a dry goods store. Little more than a plywood shanty, it was devoid of electricity. Kerosene lamps were strategically placed for customers to inspect the quality of their purchases of maize, sugar beans, apricots, raisins, biltong dried beef, and spices such as curry, turmeric, and cinnamon. Its thatched roof was replaced by membranes of corrugated plastic, functionally able to resist, although not completely prevent, the ravages of those unrelenting African monsoons.

In 1899, the Second Anglo-Boer War erupted, making life difficult and dangerous for immigrant families.

As Morris did all of the heavy lifting at Siegel Dry Goods & Provisions, he was physically capable of soldiering up. Both the British and Boer armies were keen to conscript any and all comers. Using locals as fodder would minimize their own casualties.

At the urging of friends, themselves eager to join the fight, seventeen-year-old Morris asked his father to allow him to enlist in the British Army. But the brutality of the conflict led Aharon to conclude that if he allowed Morris to do so, he would never see him again. He knew that being on the wrong end of a machete was unforgiving. He felt that the family had no choice but to leave the home they had known for almost two decades.

At the urging (and financial support) of the Siegels, the Gordons decided to finally leave Belarus. The final straw was the Molotov cocktail thrown at their front door resulting in a fire that luckily failed to propagate.

Leivick and Elizaveta bribed their local village commandant who looked the other way as they, together with their teenage daughter, Sadie, traveled the 260 kilometers through Latvia and Lithuania arriving at the Baltic Sea with nothing more than they could carry on their backs.

The Seigels and Gordons were typical of immigrant families, braving long sea voyages to join the lines of drably clothed newcomers grateful to be in the New World and equally grateful to have left the world they knew behind. Many Eastern European immigrants settled in the Northeast, having grown up in areas where below-zero temperatures and snowfalls measured in feet were commonplace. To the Gordons and Siegels, the local climate was not a deterrent.

The decision was soon made to leave New York City and relocate to an area where they could more easily create a life for themselves. Worcester, Massachusetts, became an attractive destination as a modest manufacturing hub with a robust shoe industry.

Morris and Sadie had not met prior to their families’ relocation, but that did not deter Aharon and Leivick from deciding that their children should marry. Morris, being the dutiful son, was not about to question the wishes of his father. Although Sadie was more independent, arranged marriages were not uncommon and, in finding Morris attractive, acquiesced. They were married in 1907.

Even though the couple had a good deal in common, both tracing their roots back to Eastern Europe, they were not at all alike. Having lived in South Africa, Morris was exceedingly independent, a risk taker. He felt a strong kinship to the Afrikaans that lived in his community—they were strong and tough and, as a result, he became so as well. They were also poor but proud, causing him to never stigmatize poverty.

Sadie, on the other hand, was shy and withdrawn. She was but five feet tall in her slippered feet though she seemed to be a bit taller, an allusion that could only be attributed to the bun formed each morning as she stood before her tainted bathroom mirror. There were neighbors who never saw her and oftentimes wondered whether Morris lived alone.

Sadie had experienced the ravages of prejudice and hate. She knew many who were beaten and driven from their homes for no apparent reason—at least for no apparent reason to a young girl sheltered by caring parents. To Sadie, anyone not family was a potential threat. She simply could not allow herself to be left vulnerable.

The Siegels lived at 15 Loxwood Street in a first-floor flat of what was referred to by locals as a triple-decker, one of six apartments, two to a side of its central staircase. It would be the only home they would know.

Despite their differences, they made a good couple. Morris took great joy in being with Sadie while embracing the responsibility of being her husband. Sadie flourished in her role of maintaining a traditional Eastern European home, while Morris was always appreciative of having such a home to return to.

When Leivick had a bit too much to drink, he would pull Morris to one side and thank him for taking such good care of his daughter and for being a good provider. Morris could not understand why.

Morris started a moving company with an open wooden wagon pulled by two horses, Nell and Poppy. The horses were stabled in a makeshift garage located at the back of 15 Loxwood. Hay and oats were purchased at the regional feed and grain once a week, two apples at the end of every workday.

Short and stocky, he did most of the heavy lifting. He hired two neighboring kids, Johnny and Corey Flynn, and the three of them, together with Nell and Poppy, would begin each morning as work became available.

When the weather was particularly inclement, Nell and Poppy would mockingly resist their harnesses, knowing that they would be spending a good part of their day standing in the cold. Morris would drape blankets over them, but those frequent nor’easters made futile any attempt to resist their bone-numbing bite. Nevertheless, their bond was strong. Nell and Poppy were his children.

But after twelve years of devoted service, the elements took their toll. Nell contracted pneumonia and had to be put down. Unable to run his moving business with only a single horse, Morris sold Poppy to a farmer he met at the feed and grain. He hoped he would be treated kindly by his new owner. However, Morris never attempted to learn of his fate. He simply could not bear the thought of anyone mistreating his Poppy.

It took months for Morris to put aside his grief, knowing that he could no longer operate his business with work horses. He moved into the twentieth century and purchased a Stewart truck. It was reasonably reliable and could outperform its predecessors. But Morris would miss buying his two apples each day. He experienced no emotional pull on those occasions when he would fill the Stewart with gas. The van was incapable of expressing gratitude. On top of it all, it took Morris ten years to pay for it.

Their family rituals remained unchanged. Each morning, Morris would awaken at dawn, open a side flap to the oven, and shovel in coal from an adjacent holding bin. A gas pilot would then begin combustion, the oven being their only source of heat. Their flat included steam radiators in each of its three bedrooms, but they were rarely used.

The kitchen was Sadie’s domain. All the food was prepared from scratch. When Morris brought home a chicken, hours of preparation ensued. The bird was first plucked of its feathers. What remained was singed, creating a pungent odor that permeated every crack and crevice. The bird was then skinned, and the carcass boiled. Thereupon, the skin was sewn into a pouch that was filled with chicken fat, breadcrumbs, peppers, onions, and other admixtures known only to its maker. Every bit of the chicken was consumed, including its neck and feet. Nothing went to waste.

Most activities took place in the kitchen, much to Sadie’s aggravation. Huddling near the stove for warmth would oftentimes interfere with her workflow.

As a family, the Siegels never went out. Going to a restaurant was out of the question; in those days, very seldom did anyone do so.

So Morris and Sadie settled into their daily routine. Each evening, Morris would walk through the front door of their flat, pour a glass of schnapps, and be seated at the head of the table. Dinner would be served, followed by Sadie clearing and washing the dishes while Morris would fall asleep on his frayed chair in their living room.

Although the Siegels had little, they were always grateful for what they had. Religion played a large part in their lives. They both came from Orthodox Jewish families, but Sadie was the more zealous. She insisted upon maintaining a kosher home, never mixing dairy and meat products, keeping separate dishware and utensils for daily use and another set for Passover. Morris respected her tenets, knowing that it gave Sadie a needed bond to both her domestic and Eastern European ancestors.

In 1913, Morris and Sadie welcomed their baby daughter, Betty. During the delivery, the attending physician dislodged one of her legs from its socket, resulting in a lifelong limp. Her physical challenge coupled with being Jewish in a neighborhood that was primarily Roman Catholic resulted in a difficult upbringing.

Walking home from school, Betty was an easy target as she could do little to fend off intolerant classmates. On days when her clothing was ripped or her knees skinned, she would confide in her mother. But Sadie was quick to caution Betty not to discuss the matter with her quick-tempered father. Sadie’s advice was also an artifact of her own childhood, having learned that the best way to deal with bullies was to take refuge at home.

Although Morris and Sadie were hardly ones to judge such matters, by all objective standards, Betty was a good, but not an exceptional student—and having no formal education, they were not in a position to provide her with any tangible assistance.

As the only child of first-generation Americans, Betty did all that was required but felt out of step with those around her. It wasn’t just the constraints of a centuries-old religion that weighed upon her; her parents, with their limited ability to speak English, could not relate to contemporary American life.

The Great Depression was particularly cruel to the family. Siegel Moving saw little business. For the first and only time in her life, Betty faced the reality of running out of anything to eat.

At eighteen, after graduation, Betty enrolled at Worcester State College with the aspiration of becoming an elementary school teacher but left in her sophomore year to work as a clerk at Filene’s to help her parents. Living at home and providing them with her earnings was done without complaint. The depression left an indelible mark.

Selling clothing at a department store had its benefits, though. Betty began to expand her wardrobe and met friends who insisted she learn to live a little.

4

Betty felt guilty leaving her parents’ flat. She tried to visit whenever possible, but her vocation together with her attempts at dating limited her availability.

Morris’s and Sadie’s rituals remained unchanged. Morris continued with his moving company, returning home each evening totally exhausted. Sadie kept busy in the kitchen. There was one less mouth to feed, but her chores were undiminished.

At Filene’s, Betty befriended Harriet Kincade, the company bookkeeper. She and Harriet moved to 52 Vale Street, two miles from Loxwood Street.

She rose through the ranks to become assistant manager of the activewear department. As she desired more—both financially and professionally—Betty accompanied Harriet to the Introduction to Nursing Seminar at Hahnemann Hospital. But unlike Harriet, who longed to get into healthcare, Betty had not previously given nursing a passing thought.

The seminar was conducted by the hospital’s distinguished-looking Chief of Internal Medicine along with an ER nurse. Job satisfaction was foremost in their presentation, focusing on their recognition that nurses are the backbone of any successful healthcare provider. The seminar ended with a discussion of salaries and benefits.

As a result of Harriet’s unrelenting what do you have to lose pestering, coupled with the knowledge that she could earn multiples of her income at Filene’s, Betty inscribed her name as the third entry on the sign-up sheet for those having a strong interest in pursuing a career in nursing. And the doctor’s good looks—dark-haired with a trace of gray—and professional demeanor gave Betty the hope that nursing would introduce her to like company.

She decided to attend evening classes at Quinsigamond Community College, a school that offered a degree in nursing. Betty’s classmates were in a like position. They had day jobs to keep afloat while attending classes as their work schedules allowed.

It took Betty a bit over four years to complete the program, whereupon she took a position with St. Vincent Hospital and was assigned to its post-op surgery ward. Being the junior-most staff member, she began working the graveyard shift, beginning at 11:00 p.m. and ending at 7:00 a.m.

After completing her first year, Harriet left the program and continued to work at Filene’s and as a nurse’s aide on weekends. Someday, she joked, she might become Betty’s aide.

***

Morris did not say so, but he was lonely and depressed. He was not one to burden Betty and often would say, Whenever you have time, the door is always open. Being less than candid, he longed for the days when she lived at 15 Loxwood.

Sadie, on the other hand, was more forthright in expressing