September 7, 1944: Happy When?

Letter from Opa to Grandmother, September 7, 1944.

Transcription:

Kansas City

September 7, 1944

Dearest,

So you still haven't found Skunkie? It certainly is a shame. He may turn up someday all by himself, but it is rather doubtful.

While I was gone last night, some H. Miller called me, but left no message. I was a little worried, for I don't have the slightest idea who it is. Who knows my address here?

Kiefer's letter is typical, just like a 16-year old girl's. Naturally, the best for her is to go into the forces and find out the hard way. Who knows? She may even like it. If she does get a commission, so much the better. Yes, I would advise her to do it. (You probably have done so already.) Thanks for sending her letter. Also, for sending the bill of the Life Insurance Co. I'll wait a little with paying until I know what to give for a permanent address.

You should see the show "Seventh Cross." It's a picture of the German Underground, and good. It shows the trouble a guy has escaping from concentration camp and making his way through Germany, to Holland. I wished we could have seen it together.

Honey, your mentioning of the apartment you have seen brings tears in my eyes. It seems as though we are as far from settling down now as ever, unless a miracle happens. I do believe in that kind of miracle, though; I must, to keep going!

I suppose you are at the doctor's now. I hope he won't hurt you and that it won't be embarrassing for you. The presence of the nurse will probably help.

Guess I'll go to the library tonight and do some reading. I wished you were here and we could go together. Remember the nights at Manhattan? I came over at 6:45, we walked to the library, studied, joked, bothered each other studied again for a while, and then went to Dad's for coffee. Just a minute or two before ten, we left in order to please Sophie. Goodness, weren't those careless and happy those days? I know we are going to be happy again; but when? And what's going to happen in the meantime?

Good bye Margie; when do I see you again?

Always yours,

Tom

Opa's reference to the movie about the man who escaped a concentration camp and traveled across Germany into Holland makes me ask again if he ever did escape from a camp. He seems to want to share these specific details (everything else is similar to his story) with Grandmother. A question I'll likely never know the answer to.

It sounds like Grandmother is at the gynecologist, and by the way Opa is talking, she's nervous about it. I hope everything goes OK.

Opa is reflecting on easier, blissful times, studying at the college library with Grandmother. 

I remember studying with my sister in college. We would go to the local Books a Million; we affectionately yelled "BAM!" when referring to it. Very little studying was ever done. I don't know what we talked about, but I know that it was lovely to have those  sister dates, to feel connected and to have the freedom to meet up at any time. We haven't lived in the same town since leaving college, and our relationship has seen its ups and downs, but the foundation of time together on our own has been one I am always grateful for. Now my sisters and I have weekly zoom sister dates, memories and moments that make these challenging times feel so much easier.

I'm realizing that when we reflect back on "good ol days," most of the time what we're really remembering is not the absence of responsibility or challenge but the unencumbered access to life-giving relationships. (Fewer challenges help, sure.) Most of the time we're thinking about a time when we felt connected to a community, connected to a person, connected. 

Opa is talking about better days, but really he's just remembering the bliss of being with his love. 

To that he says: "I know we are going to be happy again; but when? And what's going to happen in the meantime?"

I think that question sums up the worry and anxiety of anyone in those in-between times. Opa's optimism that they would be happy again is what kept him going. 

You can borrow his optimism if you need it. I know I do many days.

September 6, 1944: Humble Focus

 

Letter from Opa to Grandmother, September 6, 1944.

Transcription:

Kansas City,

September 6, 1944

Dearest,

No letter today; you probably returned to your old mail box again and I'll get the letter tomorrow. Today is my sister's birthday; I can hardly believe that she is already 26 years old. She was eighteen when I saw her last. There are good chances though, that I may see her or at least be able to write to her by the time of her next birthday.

Work was fun today; I had to work out some functional charts which (in my estimation at least) were rather complicated. Probably routine work for the rest of them.

I am wondering about Skunkie. Suppose he has taken out for Kansas City to see me? Does he know my address? No kidding, though, I do hope you got him back. Do you think we should take him along on our honeymoon?

Today, I got my first paycheck; for a day and a half: $10.56. The girl who gave it to me said "This is just a sample; we'll do better next week." Getting payed every week definitely has its advantages, especially in my case, where I don't know how long I'll be working here.

One of the girls in the office is going to Kansas State this year. She asked me for a rooming house for girls, and I gave her Mrs. Polson's address. Think Sophie will appreciate it? The girl looks pretty wild; maybe, after a month of two, Sophie will pray to have some girl like you back.

Tonight, I'm going to see "Seventh Cross" with Spencer Tracy. Tell me if you are coming this weekend. If you are, I'll wait with seeing "Wilson" for you. It starts Friday.

Well, there's none of your letters to be answered, and there is no news today. (The fact that I am very lonesome for you is no longer news, is it?)

Love,

Tom.

I love to see the hint of humility in Opa in this letter. He talks about doing some complex work that was challenging, but likely routine for others. He had pride in working on it, but humility that he wasn't the smartest guy on the block. 

That humility is not really a part of my family tradition, for better or worse. I want to pretend we don't all suffer from a case of superiority, but it's true. Well, not for my whole family, but let me just say that the Doeppner gene is strong on the confidence. It's done us well many times, but I have definitely had moments of humility that threw me back hard. I'm amazing at being humble now, though, so don't worry. (Lame joke - I couldn't help it.)

When Opa wrote that he hadn't seen his sister since she was 18, I remembered that she had left Germany about a year before he had, for college in Paris. So it has been eight years since he saw her last. Opa is hoping for a reunion by her next birthday. Or at least to be able to write her. I think he assumes she is OK. Does he wonder? Or does he just assume the best until he knows otherwise? 

Opa seemed good at not worrying, or at least not showing his worry. This is a good trait to have in this time. Opa had specific goals to help him focus on the things he could manage: school, job, staying in the US. When he lost his job and was threatened with deportation, I can see why he really got depressed. He hadn't just lost what he was working for, he lost a focus, his distraction. Once he could not control his steady progress toward citizenship and life with Grandmother, everything spiraled. Everything that was hard and frustrating and out of his control - it all resurfaced. He was helpless without anything to pour his energy into. 

That's why this challenging task at work was so life giving. It kept the heavy burden of the unknown and uncontrollable out of his mind.

September 5, 1944: Not all men

Letter from Opa to Grandmother, September 5, 1944.

Transcription:

Kansas City

September 5, 1944

Dearest,

One of these days, I'm going to buy a new ribbon for this typewriter. The news about Skunkie certainly is too bad. Maybe you have found him back by now, but I doubt it. Well, we'll get another beast, or, if that should cause too much trouble, we'll get a baby instead.

Well, this day has gone by without any complications, and I hope that many similar ones follow. I had a nice letter from Winton; there is a possibility that he may come to Kansas City one of these days; won't that be grand? I hope he can come some weekend and when you are here too.

My work is still fairly interesting; at present, the company is not very busy, and I take plenty of time for practicing my lettering and similar things. The boss is just swell, even though he is from St. John.

I can't quite comprehend why men wandering around should keep you from taking a bath or a nap. Remember, not all men are window seekers... (Or do men interest you more than your bodily welfare?)

How's Yvonne's apartment? Are you thinking about moving in with her, or will it be too far from work?

At the office, everybody got very much disturbed today by the rumor that Germany had capitulated. It seems as though the Brussels Radio carried a story to that effect, which later on was followed by a dementi. We were sort of disappointed when we found out it wasn't true. As an after thought, we started a little bet. Each of us donated a quarter and wrote on a slip of paper the exact date and time when he expected the cessation of hostilities. The one who hits the date and hour the closest, will receive the entire pot. My guess was October 26.

I was so glad to get your letter today, honey. Remember, you said you may not write in time, but you did. I hope you got my letter today.

Be good, find Skunkie, find your dress, and write. As long as I don't come home to you yet, I like to go home to your letter!

Love, 

Tom.

P.S. I'll write Buck to send the radio etc. to you. He will send it by express collect, so don't be surprised if they soak you for it.

Can you imagine being Opa and hearing a radio report that Germany had capitulated?! I can't imagine. Although I do believe news like that is always met with some level of caution. 

Anything that sounds too good to be true, we hold it at arms length for at least a minute before we allow ourselves to believe it. I do this a lot, to the point where even if something turns out to be true, I still have my suspicion radar on and can't fully appreciate it. We really like to sabotage ourselves don't we?!

I keep getting the feeling that everyone expected the war to be over much sooner than it actually was. I wonder if this was just wishful thinking, or if things did actually linger longer than folks (even the in charge folks) thought it would. Opa, who has been pretty on target with his estimates, bet that the war would be over in October 1944. Unfortunately for his family and millions of people, there was still another winter and spring to go before the war would cease. Then of course even longer for the war in the pacific to abate. 

Sounds like work is going OK and Opa's past life isn't haunting him just yet. It's amazing how quickly he falls in to the culture of a work place, already placing bets around the cooler.

Opa's use of the phrase "not all men" certainly did not carry the same weight it does now, but I couldn't help but notice it. It's actually the same exact thing that women are frustrated about now. For whatever reason Grandmother doesn't feel comfortable taking a bath or napping because of men wandering around. I don't know if she was serious or just poking fun at Opa (it doesn't seem like the kind of thing she would poke fun of). Either way, here comes Opa "not all men"-splaining. Bless it. 

Listen Opa- and ALL men: if one woman feels like she can't take a nap or bathe herself- the problem is not her or her "perception." It's men. And those "not all men" need to get the other men in line. Also, the focus should not be on the good men. That's not helpful. Does it help me to know that seven tigers are actually sweet snuggly bugs? Not when I'm in the jungle with 17 wandering around. Weird analogy, but I think y'all catch my drift. The *only* thing that "not all men" solves is your own guilt or reputation. Great, now can we move on to the actual problem at hand? 

Bless it. Not all men in 1944.

 

September 4, 1944: The Other Way

 

Letter from Opa to Grandmother September 4, 1944.

Transcription:

Kansas City,

September 4, 1944

My Dearest,

I bet you were just awfully sleepy and tired at work today, and I do feel a little guilty for keeping you here so late. However, those two extra hours meant a lot, did they not?

Somehow or other, I just can't sleep late anymore. Woke up at seven this morning, but stayed in bed till nine. I spent a very lazy day; read most of the time, went to a show, and ate. Some people call that paradise, but I need several other things to give it that name. (You are one of them, and the most important one.)

You probably read the good news: Holland is invaded. Gosh I hope it won't take very long now. The Allies are said to have crossed the German border at two points, one of them being Aachen. That's where I crossed it, going the other way, though. I still expect the Nazis to make a final stand, though; probably along the Siegfried line or thereabouts.

It meant so much to me to have had you here yesterday, honey; somehow or other, our days always seem perfectly arranged, no matter what we do. I was so thrilled when I saw that second ring on your finger; let's hope it won't be too long now until it can stay there.

How did Skunkie behave during your absence? What was it you wanted me to get for him? Flea powder, or soap, or something like that? I'll get it and let you come here to fetch it.

Have you answered Stephens College yet? I wished we knew what is going to happen; it might be that you will be sorry not to have taken it. But there will always be work along your line, even in peace time. Also, we don't expect that you will need any work during peace time, unless it will be for a few years while I should be away.

I am anxious to hear what your folks have to say about your last letter to them. Will you tell me?

Well, I'll take this down to the post office, get a Reader's Digest, and waste with it the remainder of the evening.

Good night, my love,

Tom.

Opa is so much better after spending time with Grandmother. He doesn't know what's going to happen to him, but right now he knows whatever happens, she'll be there. 

For that reason alone, he can breathe.

The Allies are making headway, but as we all know, it will be a long time still until the war is over. I loved Opa's quip that he was near there, but walking "the other way." Opa's dad, August, lives north-west on the opposite side of Holland near Amsterdam, so he isn't getting the benefit of the recent Allied victories. In fact, things are about to get pretty hard for him and Emma (Opa's step-mom).

Opa and Grandmother picked out her wedding ring! I'm guessing that letter to her parents was something along the lines of "no, seriously, we're actually going to get married." It was no secret to us growing up that Grandmother's parents didn't approve of her marriage to Opa, but that he won their hearts fairly soon (so they told us).

Can't say I blame her parents, Opa has not been able to hold a job long, he got fined for window-peeking, he's from Berlin (not only German but a big city boy German), and he's not particularly religious. Oh and his parents are divorced and his step-mom is also his second cousin. 

I'd be wary too. 

Shows how easy it is to misjudge someone! 

Have you ever met someone after writing them off in your head and realized how wrong you were about them?

August 31, 1944: Hired

 

Letter from Opa to Grandmother, August 31, 1944.

Transcription:

Kansas City ...

August 31, 1944

Darling,

You certainly were a life saver today. I had seven dollars in my pocket, had six to pay in advance for my new room, and had not paid a penny on my old hotel bill. Coming back from the Union Station where I called you, I had 28 cents in my pocket. Your money came at one o'clock, though, and put me back into circulation. Thanks a lot, honey.

Well, things are beginning to take shape again. After some vain efforts at landing a job that would suit me and the employer both, I went back to the U.S. Employment Service and was referred by them (another lady waited on me than the time before) to an Engineering firm on Linwood Street, for a position as electrical draftsman. I went, was interviewed, and hired at the rate of 88 cents an hour. The drafting won't only be electrical but mechanical and civil as well, but what do I care. My only hope now is that I can keep this one for a while. When I told the department chief that I had been working in St. John, he replied that that's his home town. Heavens forbid that he will write to St. John about me. I believe the atmosphere in the firm is agreeable; its a utility firm which is not what I had dreamed about, but if someone would tell me that I could keep this job as long as I wanted to without interference of the sort we fear, I'll be the happiest man in the world. The way it is now, I am just scared.

Thanks for your letter, Margie. It was so cheerful and encouraging that I couldn't help but drawing some with from it; with in the future, even though one that may be far away.

I'm going to a show tonight, for I still dread the hours alone in my room, with so many unpleasant thoughts. Outside of that luxury, though I'll save every penny I can for our honey moon.

Margie, don't you think it would be a good idea for you to go to a doctor right away? Things might happen fast now. Also, I want you to go to an eye specialist and have your eyes tested. The longer you wait with that the worse it gets. One set of glasses in the family is enough.

Thanks to your letter and the job, I feel a little better today; I hope it isn't only temporary. I can hardly wait till Sunday morning to see you come in on the train. Oh, I love you so much!

Forever yours,

Tom.

Opa is making his way out of his despair. 

He landed a job! It's not his dream job, it's not as much as the last job paid, but it's a job in his field. At this point, all Opa wants is to keep a job and not be bothered. 

His mood is much better, but his fears are still heavy in his mind. He allows himself the luxury of shows to keep his mind and worries at bay. Solidarity, Opa. Solidarity. There's a reason "shows" are still very much a thing.

If Opa didn't have the support and financial help from Grandmother, he would have been pretty up a creek (or up a crick, as my Virginia southern family would say). Reminds me how small support to bridge the gap can be a life-saver. 

August 30, 1944: Dependent on You

 

Letter from Opa to Grandmother, August 30, 1944.

Transcription:

Kansas City

August 30, 1944

My darling,

It has been raining all day today, that slow, perpetual, hopeless drizzle that seems to fit Kansas City and these days so perfectly. I am sitting in a small room on the eight floor of the Frederic Hotel, which I hope to leave tomorrow.

No luck yet, no job. I still hesitate to take an ordinary laborer's job in a packing plant, but will probably end up in something like that. However, I just haven't looked very hard yet. I tried first to locate Johnny, who has moved away without leaving an address. The jobs as a draftsmen are in war industry which I can't take without special permission, and we know what it means to get that permission. I gave up looking in the early afternoon, just didn't have the strength any more. If I should every get out of this mess (which I doubt) I shall leave this cursed town and never come back again. Right now, I am hoping that the night won't be so long, so I can have your letter in the morning.

Marjorie, I guess I am awfully weak. I know that I should not write to you like this, for you feel lousy yourself. I should write you a nice letter and cheer you up, but I can't do it. Pardon me, honey. You are engaged to a coward. There are thousands and millions of people who are in positions much worse than mine; think of the starving peoples in Greece; think of the bombed-out families in China, in Japan. I always have to think of my mother, who had lost one thing after the other till everything she had held dear was taken away from her, and she still kept going. And here am I, in a situation which, objectively, is far from being desperate, and am without ambition or courage.

No, that isn't quite true either, for I still have the ambition. Last night when we were sitting on the park steps, I realized, probably for the first time in my life, that I am no longer independent and no longer able to direct my own fate within the limits which nature (or God?) has set; and also for the first time, I was glad for this dependency. Honey, I am dependent on you. It's you who gave me my ambition, my goal in life. Like the soldier, who has an ideal or a happy home to come back to, fights better and more efficiently than the one who fights because of hatred, so I will now somehow get my strength back, because I have you to fight for. Also, I know that you will stand by me and help me. Words of thanks are vain between two people who love each other, but I only hope, darling, that there will be a day when I can make up for all help and support and love which you are giving me now. I have been terribly selfish in my love for you, and I know only too well how much more you are giving me than I can ever give you.

It is getting dark now, and I am thinking about yesterday. Every little detail stands in my mind so clearly and beautifully, that, were I a painter, it would make a picture as wonderful as one of Raphael. There were clouds over our happiness last night and the night before, but they made the few moments of laughter stand out in more glorious brilliance. The moment we bought the ring; the way you looked when you sipped the Martini at Price's; your new coat; the orchestra and music in the Penguin Room; your face coming close to mine and your body at the Snyderhof -- these and so many other, smaller things will now shine out and mark themselves down deep inside me, while without the clouds and darkness around them, they would be lost among the thousands of little things we did together. It seems to be a law of living that suffering is necessary to create beauty and happiness; I am only afraid that happiness and days like yesterday, on the other hand, do their part to make suffering even deeper.

An awful thought came to me today which, like other things I wrote today, I should not mention to you: imagine that the thing we fear most should happen really soon, so that we shall not see each other anymore. If this should be the case (and it might) I'll give you here my word of honor that I shall do everything in my power and shall neglect no way, legal or illegal, to get us back together again. Again, this is selfish, for I know that under certain circumstances you would be happier without me; nevertheless, that's what I'll have to do.

For the time being, you should still send my letters to me at General Delivery, to Thomas Walter. I hope that tomorrow I find a job and a place to stay.

I wrote to Winton today, and to his folks, thanking them for their hospitality. Also, I felt in the mood of doing a little writing and started on a short story which sort of tells the life of my mother. It's not going to be anything, though; will probably end in the waste paper basket before it is half done.

Good bye, my darling, and good night. I wish that some day I can see you really happy.

Tom.

Opa is at the bottom of a dark hole, with very little energy to find his way out. The only light he can see is Grandmother, like a faint, swinging lantern above. Dependency on another human was something Opa once scoffed, but he sees that this tethering gives him strength to keep going. 

Opa can't help but think of his mother and countless others who are suffering right now, which only adds to his shame for how he is feeling. He doesn't deny his despair, as much as he'd like to hide it, he can't hide it from Grandmother. 

How I wish he had kept that story of his mother, even if it was just notes in a margin. 

Is this scary to Grandmother? Is she seeing a side of Opa she never thought she would? He has been steady and optimistic throughout continual challenges. I don't know what Grandmother is feeling. I know when my usually steady, optimistic husband feels down or defeated, it's unsettling. He is not perfect, nor do I expect his optimism to be untouchable, but his optimism is a consistency I rely on. I don't notice how much until it wavers. As we've grown, we've learned how to carry each other through when we aren't ourselves.

For Grandmother and Opa, this moment is a true test of their relationship more than outside disapprovals or cultural expectations. Can they shoulder the times when the other person is weak and weary?

For Opa, the art of hope shows up in their small, sweet moments of connection - like a painting by Raphael.

August 27, 1944: Thanks for just being you

 

Letter from Opa to Grandmother, August 27, 1944.

Transcription:

St. John

August 27, 1944

Darling Margie,

You don't know how good it was to get your letter today. Margie, I am very sorry about the letter I wrote, for I realize now more than before how much it must have hurt you. Your weekend with Kiefer was very likely spoiled by it.

Just now your phone call came, while I was writing this letter. Hearing your voice made me feel so much reassured, it was like hypnosis. I wanted to say so much to you; tell you how ashamed I am now about the letter, but there was a lump in my throat that kept me from saying the simplest things. Also, my landlord and landlady were in the room, so I couldn't talk freely. You cried at the phone, darling, and I have trouble now keeping my tears away. Oh, why is the world so cruel?

As I told you over the phone, I got my permit today and shall leave for McPherson tomorrow morning. It may be that I get to see you before you get this letter, for I hope to leave McPherson the same day. I couldn't stand seeing the Shelleys or anyone there now.

I talked to my landlady last night about the deal, and she was wonderful about it. Naturally, she does not believe any of the stories they tell about me, and it was good to hear someone who thinks I am on the level. I can hardly wait seeing you, and yet I am a little scared of it. Darling, these days have shown me more than anything else how much I love you and how much your love means to me. There still must be some way to iron out all the difficulties; if only I had my old energy and fighting power back.

I guess this is the last letter I write to you before I see you, unless I should be detained in McPherson longer than I expect to.

Thanks for your letter and phone call, honey; and thanks for just being you.

Love,

Tom.

Opa is still feeling the grips of his desperation, and it's frustrating him that he feels so helpless. Grandmother's voice is healing like hypnosis, yet it makes him feel even worse for being so honest in his letter. He can't stop being honest, though. I love that about him. He wants to put on a happy face, buck up and be brave, but he just doesn't have it in him.

To me, the fact that he feels like he can be honest, vulnerable, and not always happy/strong/optimistic around Grandmother speaks to the depth and value of their relationship. 

I'm so appreciative for the people like his landlady who believed in him, and reminded him that he was good, valuable, and worth believing. She is just one of the many people who were on the peripherals of support for Opa, proving again and again that he was not alone.

Opa felt especially convinced of his love for and from Grandmother. Grandmother was the person who made him feel less alone. For no other reason than "just being" herself.