Category Archives: War

Legal Aliens

Posted on by under Daily Life, Family, War

It was April 12, 1952: seventy years ago. I saw Lady Liberty from our ship.

We were processed at Ellis Island. Mom, Dad, my brother, and I received our LEGAL ALIEN CARDS. I still have the card. We left behind, hunger, oppression—and began a new life of freedom, rule of law, right to own property, freedom of religion, freedom from fear, and being rewarded for work. All we had to do to live the American Dream was to work hard.

Before being permitted to immigrate, our family was vetted for four years. Mom and Dad had to prove they were not Nazis or communists. They also had to pass a criminal background check. Nazis, like cockroaches scurrying in the light, were trying to hide all over the world. The USSR was already working to destroy the USA and was sending spies. Even my 11-year-old brother was “interrogated” several times. The “interrogators” were matronly ladies, who questioned my brother privately, behind closed doors. What better way to find out what Mom and Dad really thought and had done in the past than to ask a child? We always thought vetting was reasonable and wise.

I look with incredulity at our current southern border. Millions of people from 160 countries are illegally crossing. I suspect that the great majority are coming for the same reasons as my family. They think: “How illegal can it be to cross the border if the federal government gives me a cell phone, and buses or flies me to somewhere in the USA?” Before being processed, many migrants throw away identification documents they had with them. No criminal background checks are done. How many are cartel members, MS-13, gang members, common criminals, murderers, pedophiles, rapists, or terrorists sent by our enemies? The answer: We don’t know. Those who fit those descriptions will prey on American Citizens.

Nazis (National Socialist German Workers Party) killed Jews, Roma, homosexuals, and the handicapped. Twelve million non-Germans were sent to slave labor camps where many perished. The USSR (Union of Soviet Socialist Republics) toll of innocents killed is estimated to range from 40 to 60 million. That is more than the Nazis killed. The communist killing methods of choice were a bullet in the back of the head or to starve in the Gulags. Like countless others, my dear cousin was sent to a slave labor camp where she nearly died.

Cartel and MS-13 members kill with bullets, with the occasional added the twist of dismembering bodies. I see no moral difference between Nazis, communists, cartel members, MS-13, and terrorists. The only difference is the technology used to kill.

It made sense on April 12, 1952, to protect the American people by only allowing immigrants who would be a positive addition to America, to come. It still makes sense.

Christmas sausages, sort of

Posted on by under Daily Life, War

As Christmas approaches, I remember the Christmas season of 1946-1947, in post-WWII West Germany. Ice on the inside walls, electricity 45 minutes per day, and almost no food. We were hungry and it was dark outside.

Mom and Dad usually hid their concerns from us, but this evening, despair hung in the air. As recently arrived refugees, we were still strangers in the village.

An unexpected knock on the door. The daughter of one of the local farmers brought us a large pot of warm water that sausages had been boiled in. The sausages had been fished out, but the fragrance of the fat floating on top was glorious. An overwhelming feeling of thankfulness and joy filled our dimly lit living room. We did not go hungry that night.

I think hardship strengthens us and teaches us to be more compassionate and thankful for what we have.

You might consider my memoir as a Christmas gift. Get your copy on Amazon.com, or you can get a signed copy here on this website.

Fido Burgers

Posted on by under Daily Life, War

My earliest memories all involve being hungry and the fear of going without food. We were starving.

After WWII ended, Mom, my brother and I we lived in Russian occupied East Germany. Russian soldiers did not treat civilians well, especially women. But they never bothered children. My brother and I would go on walks. He was six and I was three. Mom instructed him to always hold my hand.

My brother was fully aware of our serious food situation and took it upon himself to help feed the family.

Unbeknownst to our mother, my resourceful brother used those walks as an opportunity to get food. As we were walking, my brother was on the lookout for anyone, who looked like they could not run fast, and was walking a small dog. Usually, it was an old lady with her little dog that became our target.

My job was to engage the old lady. Invariably, the cute-blond-kid trick worked. The lady would talk to me, and maybe stroke my head. Meanwhile, my brother would pet the dog, making sure it was friendly. Once the lady was fully engaged in a conversation with me, my brother would pick up the dog and sprint away with it. When he was out of sight, that was my signal to run after him as fast as I could.

My brother would then find a middleman, usually a boy around 16, and trade the dog for something valuable. The most common items traded for the dog were cigarettes, a cereal-like of coffee, and socks. All those items were scarce and valuable. He then traded them for provisions. Much of the economy was on the barter system at the time. Cigarettes, in particular, were more valuable than cash. Survival is a powerful instinct. My brother knew the dogs would become fido-burgers, but having something to eat was more important to him than the fate of the dogs.

The above story never made it into my memoir. Had I included all stories, the book could have been useful for weightlifting. I am posting this story to remind people how blessed we are to live in this country. Those who complain about our country, and want to change it drastically, by dancing with socialists and Marxists, have always had the basics of life. They have never experienced true need. We who have experienced starvation, fear, socialism, Marxism, and Nazism, even while young, know that those forms of government lead to tyranny, genocide and want.

If you want to read the stories that did make it into the book get your copy here!

New Postscript!

Posted on by under Excerpts, News, War

After WWII, seventy-five years ago, Mr. Massler saved my father’s life. Massler was a good and brave man. I often wondered what his fate was. Last year my question was answered. With this new information I was compelled to add a postscript to my memoir. The postscript follows:

Illuliu and Magda Massler

Postscript

The last story

Mom told me one last story on a Saturday afternoon. I had stopped by her assisted living apartment for one of my frequent visits. She was 82 and in failing health. She was sitting in her favorite easy chair beside the window. I pulled up a kitchen chair and we were talking. Mom appeared to remember something and unprompted, told me a story from her past. She told me about Mr. Massler. His story is found in chapters 2 and 7. Massler was Dad’s Jewish friend. They had been classmates at a Romanian prep school. Massler’s family owned one of the finest stores in Bistritz.

Many of Mom’s stories were corroborated by the documents my parents had saved and by research. This last story was not corroborated until 2020.

Good men. Courageous men.

The Romanian-Hungarian border was changed in 1940; we now lived in Hungary. The fascist Hungarian government treated Jews the same way the Nazis did. It was decreed that it was illegal to do business with Jews. Despite being an officer in the Hungarian army reserves, Dad continued to do business secretly with Massler at considerable risk to himself.

In May 1944, Dad left home to fight the Russians. Mom told me that Massler had been sent to a Nazi concentration camp. She said that Mr. Massler survived, returned to Bistritz, and was appointed the communist police commissioner.

Dad was released from a Russian POW camp on August 28, 1945. He returned home to the family farm, but his family was gone. He did not know where we were or if we had survived the war. The communist authorities had been conducting nighttime arrest raids since January 1945. They were arresting Transylvanian Saxons of working age and political opponents. All arrested Saxons were sent off to slave labor camps in Russia. Massler protected Dad by warning him of impending raids. Massler’s courage cannot be overstated.

Considering my father’s poor health, had he been arrested, he would not have survived the arduous train trip to a slave labor camp. His body would have been thrown out of the rail car without a burial. My brother and I would have grown up without our father. My brother would have missed him terribly. I would have had no memories of him.

Oppression and killing were back in full bloom, only now the communists were in charge.

I often wondered what Mr. Massler’s fate was. He was a good and courageous man. A true friend. A man of character.

Question answered 

In January 2020, I posted a short version of the “Massler story” on my book’s Facebook page. About one month later I received a response, stating, “I am Mr. Massler’s daughter.” I was in shock. I was in an emotional state. Could this be true? Is it a scam?

It was not a scam. It was real. I had been contacted by Mr. Massler’s daughter. She responded to my post. We have been in email contact since then. For the first time, she heard the story of our fathers’ friendship and their noble actions. I then learned what had happened to the man who saved Dad’s life 75 years ago.

Mr. Massler’s daughter disclosed that he had been sent to a slave labor camp where he was terribly mistreated and severely beaten. He was liberated by the Soviets. While he was in the camp, his wife, Magda Mandel, his five-year-old daughter, Juli, his parents, his sister and niece were taken to Auschwitz and gassed. After his return to Romania, he remarried. His daughter from the second marriage is the one who contacted me. She was named after the daughter he had lost to the Nazis.

Mr. Massler became a communist. Eventually he was appointed the communist police commissioner. His daughter recalled that he had not been a dedicated communist.

In 1958 Illuliu Massler (I had not previously known his first name) immigrated to Israel and began a new life in a new country. Some of his extended family had moved to Germany and had a good life there, but he wanted nothing to do with Germans. Making a break from the past, he changed his children’s names to Hebrew names. He is survived by two daughters and four grandchildren. He lived to the age of 78 and was an exceptionally good father.

The daughter who contacted me was thrilled to hear of the goodness and kindness of her father and his part in my family’s story. I was humbled to give her my memoir. As we continued to exchange emails, she sent me a picture of her father. When I first saw the picture of the man who had saved my father’s life 75 years ago, I had tears in my eyes.

As his daughter told me, “The world can learn much from our fathers.”

Gerhard Maroscher

February 21, 2021
Circleville, Ohio

A Tale of Christmas Past

Posted on by under Daily Life, Family, War

The two-hour notice is unexpected. The Mom, her infant and five-year-old depart their ancestral home in the Carpathian Mountains never to return. A baby carriage, a little Cream of Wheat, diapers, and the clothes on their backs are their only belongings. The approaching enemy is on the move.

They board the cattle-car, wounded soldiers and straw-covered floors. The train stops. Track destroyed. Locomotive whistles the warning. “Run. Run!” A 1000 hp engine roars, machine guns bark, a ditch in the wheat field their only cover. They, their internal and external parasites, are now one.

Struggling to survive and little food take their toll. Babies stop crying.

The refugee camps are gray and crowded. Eyes are sunken. Ribs protrude. Disease spreads. Medicines, non-existent. Surgeries without anesthesia.

Journey’s end is a small room in a bombed-to-hell city. No running water, sewers inoperative. Sirens scream “Air Raid!” Basement or bomb shelter? Think quick! Calculate time and distance. The low droning of approaching motors. Distant explosions are now not distant. Hell is here–then goes away. The art of killing is persistent, the will to live more so.

Christmas Eve is quiet. Mom lights a candle and places an evergreen twig into a tin can. They sing Silent Night. Supper is lentil soup; dessert is one apple, carefully peeled, divided and savored.

They cuddle on a mat and sleep.

The cruel Socialist conqueror arrives. Humiliation, unthinkable cruelty, and political indoctrination follow. The Mom has a Patrick Henry moment “Give me Liberty or Give me Death. She and her kids make a midnight-escape across patrolled no-man’s land to freedom.Looking back on that Christmas Eve, all was well. We were together. We were alive.

–Gus Maroscher, Marion, IL

The above is my brother’s Christmas memory. You can read more about how we survive hell on earth, and come to America to live the American Dream in my memoir, available for purchase here.

Hear Gerhard share his story

Posted on by under Daily Life, Excerpts, Family, News, War

Before you buy my memoir, you can watch a few short videos of my story, a story of war, deprivation, courage, perseverance and triumph!

In these videos I invite you to join me by my fireplace while I talk a bit about my history – a few excerpts from my book, in my own voice.

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

My book is available for purchase here, or on Amazon.com.

Burial at sea

Posted on by under Daily Life, Excerpts, War

I remember that a fifty-four-year-old lady died during the trip across the ocean. Her bunk was maybe twenty feet from my bunk. She was buried at sea. 

Her body was on a board and covered with an American flag. The ceremony was dignified. The captain read a few scriptures from an English Bible. I did not understand the words. The board was lifted at one end, and the body, which was wrapped tightly in white sheets, slid into the water. After the body slipped into the water, the ship sailed in a large circle around that location in honor of the deceased passenger.

When I think about this event as an adult, I tear up. She did not make it to the United States, the “Promised Land,” but she was given the honor of being covered by our flag.

Nine people who shared that voyage to the USA have contacted me. All remember the sad event. One was only four years old, two were five, and the rest of us were older. The picture shows the Captain and the ships officers walking to the burial ceremony.

For reviews of my memoir or to purchase a copy visit Amazon.com, or get your own signed copy of my book here.

Fish flushing is dangerous!

Posted on by under Daily Life, Excerpts, Family, War

Even after the war was over, danger would come in sudden and unexpected ways. The excerpt from my memoir is from the time Mom, my brother, and I were living communist East Germany after WWII. 

“One of the places we lived was a multistory apartment building. Fellow tenants included a Russian army officer and his wife. Like almost all Russians, they had never seen running water and flush toilets. To them, a porcelain sink and a porcelain toilet looked the same except for the difference in height.

“Food was scarce for everyone, including the Russians. One day the officer purchased a small fish at a local market in Weimar. There was a little time till lunch, so his wife decided to keep it in one of the flush toilets the residents shared. Mom came to the communal bathroom with us and saw a dead fish floating in the toilet bowl. It never dawned on her that she was looking at someone’s lunch, so she flushed it. Shortly thereafter the officer came in to retrieve his fish and realized Mom had flushed it. He pulled out his pistol and put it to her head and demanded an explanation. My brother remembers those tense moments as Mom tried, in her broken Russian, to explain why she had flushed the fish.”

The book is available on Amazon: https://amzn.to/31H6cSk A story of war, deprivation, courage, perseverance, and triumph.

Letters from 1946

Posted on by under Daily Life, Family, War

Mom saved every letter Dad wrote her during their long separation during and after WWII. The letters give a powerful and intimate view of the deepest feelings of a young married couple whose life has been torn apart by war.

Here are a few short excerpts from two letters and a postcard written by Dad to Mom.

Excerpts from a Letter—May 14, 1946
My sweetie!
Wow! What a joy! I received three letters at once from you today. I got weak in the knees… 

Excerpts from a Letter—May 22, 1946
I can endure everything, but worrying about you gives me many sad and bitter hours. Not to be able to help you . . . But God willing, this separation will also end. Just so you and our boys stay healthy… everything else we will be able to manage… my soul is screaming—why must this happiness bypass us? Is our cup still too full? Have we not drunk from it enough already, and always to the last bitter drop! As there is a God on this earth, this suffering must end and we be together again.

Excerpts from a Postcard—May 31, 1946
“Everything seems so gray, always alone! Well, you can imagine my diet, considering my culinary skills… 

Excerpts from a Letter—June 23, 1946
…Tomorrow it will be seven years since we were married! And we live off the beautiful hours of being together; we live off the memory how much longer?…Oh, how many loving words I want to write to you, but on paper they are cold words. May God grant the time of our reunion, and then in my arms you can forget all this misery. And then I can take care of you and our boys. 

Read more in the book – get your copy on this website or on Amazon: https://amzn.to/32CJfQs

USS General Ballou Reunion

Posted on by under Daily Life, News, War

Sixty-seven years ago John Diebus and I crossed the stormy Atlantic on the USS General Ballou to the promised land: America. John was 14 and I was 8 at the time.

Recently John and I met for the first time since we set foot on Ellis Island. It was exciting and emotional. We both realize how blessed we were to be allowed to come to this country. Mom, my brother, and I fled our Transylvanian homeland (part of Romania) on a Red Cross train. John, his family, and the citizens of his town, fled the advancing Soviet army by wagon train.

Both his family and my family were Romanian citizens. We were ethnic Germans who had lived in Romania for hundreds of years. Ethnic Germans who did not flee were sent off to slave labor camps in Russia, where 15% of them died.

In communist countries (and under the Nazis) a person does not have inherent rights. What matters first is a person’s group or collective identity. There is a hierarchy of groups. Woe to you if you find yourself with the out-of-favor collective identity.