Documentation Campaign on the Road

19. 10. 1945.

We headed out at 6 a.m. from Janovského Street 27. The two girls had been waiting with a pile of suitcases since 6 a.m. Dr. Nasch appeared at 6:45 because his alarm hadn’t gone off. At 7:00 everyone was assembled, but we found out that

a) Erich forgot the canister attachment.

b) the girls have one more suitcase at the train station.

We therefore drove to Střešovice to get the wire, but couldn’t attach the canister, and then went on to the train station to pick up the suitcase and the girls. With so many people around and much good advice proffered, the suitcases were attached to the roof of the car. We noticed that one of the passers-by had neither advice nor criticism to give—he was likely a German. At 8:00, we wished ourselves good luck and headed out. Due to the rain and slippery road, our overloaded car drove slowly but surely to the demarcation line, where neither the Russians nor the Americans took much notice of our papers and let us pass through smoothly. We arrived in Pilsen at 10:00. At the town hall, we immediately found out that travel permits are only issued by the US Embassy in Prague. We were told to contact the embassy and assured that we would get them. But they also told us of another option—apply to Frankfurt for an entry permit. It generally takes six weeks to get a reply and most applications are turned down, however, so we politely thanked them for their advice. By that point, we were fed up with all this bullshit. We left the sad girls at the train station, where they were barely visible under their pile of luggage and packages. We still don’t know if they made it to Deggendorf, where we would have loved to have driven them. In our desperation, we went to Vaňha's for some perch with caraway seeds, which consisted mostly of bones, with potato salad, pudding with nail polish, and pretty decent ducat buns.

After lunch, we headed out in the direction of Volary. In the meantime, the weather had improved, the clouds had cleared up, our initial anger towards the Americans had abated, the sun was shining, and we drove through the autumn-colored, beautiful landscape of South Bohemia. Our mood had improved so much that the inhabitants of Nepomuk, Blatná, and Strakonice shook their heads at the two lurching and bellowing riders in the small green car. However, our mood soon worsened in proportion to the state of the road. Between Volyně and Vimperk, Erich heard by auscultation the motor emitting strange sounds although its performance was unaffected. A short check revealed that the bolt that attaches the air filter to the gasifier was missing. A cosmetic insignificant matter, but one that we needed to have fixed in Vimperk. Once there, the local mechanics discovered many other problems that could have cost us our necks or even our lives. The old gasifier needed to be replaced with a new one because a piece of it had broken off, and the right front wheel had run out of bearings, meaning that the whole axle had to be replaced. Luckily, they had one just like it, quickly replaced it, and stole about 3 l of petrol from an American car for us. Meanwhile, Vinči had been searching all over town for the missing chairman of the National Committee, because we needed stamps for our petrol tickets since they couldn't pump any gas for us without them. He couldn’t find him, and so we drove on without getting any gas.

It was already dark when we drove the last leg of the journey to Volary. We gave a lift to an American soldier, earning Vinči one cigarette. In Volary, we went to a German hotel, duly checked in, and then quickly ran away and went to the Czech competition across the street. We got lucky, because it turned out that a lively black market was being held there. Apparently, foreign elements from all sides had swooped down with offers and requests. They wanted to buy a tractor and a car from us and offered us various goods in exchange, starting with cigarettes, but our wonderful army offered us surprisingly cheap petrol in any quantity. And so we purchased, under adventurous circumstances, as much gas and oil as we could fit in the car, in other words as much as we could get out of our pockets. We only ate two soups and bread for dinner, but the deal we had just made on the gas had left us thoroughly satisfied. We had a beautiful double bedroom with three windows and three doors and pink lacquered furniture. By 9:00 we were already fast asleep, tracing our grand plans all over the map. Erich got diarrhea at the thought of what the Russians could be doing to the car, but it was high time for it seemed to calm his nerves.

20. 10. 1945

In the morning, all of us were glad that we could have a shave, and they sewed us a lost Czechoslovak flag for free. Then we set about our task in the Volary hospital, wrote up a report on it for the Joint, ate some more or less beef goulash, and then headed out toward Vyšší Brod. The weather continued to be nice, the landscape was even nicer, our mood was great, our vocal cords were tired, and the road looked like a slice of Emmental cheese. In Vyšší Brod, we bought some bread and salami in advance of hungry times in Austria, collected information about border crossings, and drove in the direction of the nearby state border. There, the American patrol regretfully informed us that the roadblock was hermetically sealed for everyone, even if General Eisenhower himself were to come. We were ordered by the H.Q. of the XXVI Div. to go to Pilsen to pick up a permit. We tried to use our fluent knowledge of English to change their minds. Amazed by the fact that a civilian was finally speaking to him in his native language, he telephoned various commanders in charge and continuously told us he was sorry to keep us waiting so long. Every 10 minutes, a different gentleman would come to apologize. In the meantime, we conducted very interesting interviews, one with the American sergeant about attitudes towards the Russians (why are they so dirty?) and the Germans in Czechoslovakia, and the other with a Czech financier about the Americans. We received an overview of the international situation from the perspective of the customs office in Studánky. It was already full dark when the colonel wished to speak with us over the telephone. He explained to Erich that he wasn’t permitted to let us pass and that he was sorry. But immediately afterwards, the lieutenant asked us whether we wanted to cross the border immediately or tomorrow morning. We decided on the next morning and triumphantly returned to the Hotel Primator in Vyšší Brod. Mutton and gravy with bread, coffee with buns, beer, and an endless conversation with an idiot from Wisconsin, who worked as a cowboy. We wrote a letter to Zeev and were asleep by 8:30.

21. 10. 1945

A beautiful Sunday morning thick with early fog. A right cigarette at the right time and at the right place made the bitter coffee sweeter, but it wasn’t enough for the buns. We headed out, confident that at least the American patrol would let us through, which is why we were in such good spirits. The first hoarfrost covered the meadows and trees. As soon as the Americans recognized our car from a distance, they opened the gates without a word. The Czech financier was nowhere to be found, sparing us the trouble of handing over our Czech money and having to fill out a carnet, but the Russian soldier on the other side of the border studied our papers with an avid interest, and charasho (perfect in Russian), we continued on our drive to Austria. We sang the songs Andulko, stroj koně, pojedeme do Rakous and O, du mein Oesterreich, fortissimo and bade farewell to the Czech groves and meadows with one last backward glance. Then we stood once again in front of a barrier: a Russian checkpoint. As before, a private read the Russian version of our papers with great interest, after which he sauntered off to the officer’s hut. He soon returned and resolutely uttered: Obrať suda (go back) with the appropriate accompanying gesture. We began reasoning with him, firmly stating that we were needed in Linz and not obrátit suda. With less confidence this time, the private declared that the officer had ordered obrať suda. While we were talking, a sleepy and improperly attired officer, a young and nice-looking fellow, appeared and asked with a childlike smile when we would be returning from Linz, saying that he needed a ride, but wanted to come back on the same day. The private had probably only been half listening, heard the word back, and wanted to send us back to Czechoslovakia.

The road was in good shape and we drove for free without needing gas since it was downhill all the way. With the sun shining overhead, we descended into a valley thickly covered in fog, which we drove into and then it hung over us all day like a gray cloud. We were the only witnesses to the beautiful autumn sunlight in Leonsdorf, while the day was entirely gray in Uhrfahr.

In half an hour, we arrived in Uhrfahr, a suburb of Linz in the Danube region. Our fear of the Russians seizing our car gradually abated as we met many Russians along the way and none paid any attention to us. We were well aware that the Danube River is the border between the Russian and American zones and that there were patrols on the bridge. The bridge appeared out of the fog, and although we saw some booths with Russian and American soldiers, they perhaps didn’t see us and tralala we quickly crossed the bridge. We didn’t get far before we heard a shout saying stop, halt, stop, and then savage Mongols rushed towards us. From the confusion in their voices we could only understand: confiscate the car. Erich paled, but gasped when, after our explanation that we were just ordinary people, the threat and demand to obtain a pass from the Russian command to gain entry into the American zone remained. But today is Sunday, nobody is working, wait til tomorrow. Until tomorrow? What does a Jew do when he’s at his wit’s end? He finds a cafe. A nice cozy Austrian cafe with female servers, pornographic drawings on the walls, and, best of all, a nice clean bathroom. It was warm, and the joyful discovery that our marks were valid made us happy. Erich started to get sentimental when he heard the Austrian dialect once again. Then we told ourselves, it doesn't matter that it’s Sunday, let’s try our luck at the command, but nobody was there. So we set off on a futile search for a place to stay the night. At 11:00, we headed out towards Mauthausen. The road was in bad shape and we arrived around 12:00. We noticed three people who looked to be of Jewish origin on the street, struck up a conversation with them, and then we all found a pub where Erich’s eloquence, helped by his Austrian dialect and a few American cigarettes,

managed to win over the natives. We also got a lunch out of it, rather decent and not requiring rations tickets. However, what really tested our patience was the torrent of endless chatter from our Polish female guide on the way to the concentration camp and we thought about how to extricate ourselves from the enemy the entire time.

We learned from our guides that the last Mauthausen prisoners were convalescing in the sanatorium in Katzdorf, where we could also find a place to sleep and some supper. And so to Katzdorf we went. There, the chief physician, Dr. Cederbaum, greeted us with an Eastern, almost Japanese, courtesy. He would have thrown himself on the floor for us to tread over him. He apologized for bothering us with his presence, even for being alive. Nevertheless, we were served a nice dinner with real Emmental cheese and lots of over-sweetened coffee. The Polish nurses rushed to see the interesting guests who had come from far and wide, and when we retired to our rooms to write our report on Mauthausen, one after another popped in to see us, but their reasons for these intrusions were very kind: to light the stove to heat the room or bring us some more food. Only the fact that we slept together saved us from more of these reasons. We spent a comfortable and slightly boring night there and went to bed sinfully late, falling asleep after 10:00. As we fell asleep alone again, Vinči declared: Sonička isn’t allowed and the others aren’t worth it.

22. 10. 1945

The hot water during our morning ablutions was extremely pleasant. The disappointed nurses welcomed us with reproachful looks, but nevertheless made us a proper breakfast. We discreetly made a few breads disappear into our pockets, because we were worried about procuring food in Austria. By 9:00 we were back at the Russian command. Over one hundred people wanted the same thing we did and were waiting patiently in line. Erich took the lead and with vigorous steps, decked in tricolor, we stepped into the building, overcame the weak resistance of the Russian and Austrian guards, and stood before the commander. In a matter of minutes, a nice interpreter filled out our passes for us and for the car and we hurried back to the American zone. This time, we graciously stopped by the guardhouse and with our noses in the air drove triumphantly toward the promised land. We went straight to the Military Government to get our passports for Munich. We parked in a spot for government vehicles only and once again walked brazenly past the crowd of people waiting to the back doors deliberately to a wrong room, correctly assuming that they would want to dump us in the right room. Pretty Linzer girls led us there through the back. We peered into the criminal proceedings on the Linz black market in money trading, finagled an American stamp on my pass, and found out that passports for Germany can only be issued by the C.I.C. We procured ration cards for 2 days and drove to the C.I.C. full of hope. There, however, we hit a brick wall. Exit permits were only issued by the G 2 in Vienna. Mr. Higgins was very well-mannered, but cold and unapproachable. I have a feeling that we could have gotten the permits there, but our negotiations became deadlocked. Full of woeful self-recriminations, we drove through a beautiful residential neighborhood back to the vibrant city, first to the D.P. Center and then for lunch at a restaurant (beef goulash, beans, and potatoes), whose owner was a clairvoyant.

Once again, with better weather and an improved mood, we drove to Ebensee. The approaching Alp Mountains made a deep impression on us. We were in such a good mood that we gave a ride to two country girls smelling of stables, earth, and potatoes. We liked Gmunden so well that we stopped there for an hour. Erich searched in vain for a pissoir because civilians weren’t allowed in hotels or restaurants in Gmunden. In return, we admired the lake and the swans, but Erich claimed that this wasn’t an adequate substitute. So we jumped into the car again and soon arrived in Ebensee. Once more, we picked up two Jewish girls on the way, so well-fed that we drove in second gear. The holes in the road were incredibly deep. The girls

led us to the boys from the Jewish committee. When we asked them about how they were faring, they began to tell us with pity on their faces (rachmones ponem) that the Joint and the UNRRA are abandoning the poor Jews to live in hunger and misery. These deeply sorrowful narrators had well-fed faces and we wouldn’t have been so moved had we not been deprived of a good dinner. Their demeanor immediately changed when we timidly asked where we could get something to eat. Of course, at their place, because, God be praised, they’re not dependent on the Joint, they, God be praised, are clever enough, God be praised, they can provide enough for themselves and others and so they’re not starving. White bread was sliced, American lard was spread on it, an American can of ham was opened; Vinči couldn’t stand it any longer and smoked their American cigarette. It wasn’t easy to find a place to sleep and so we went to the hospital, where they finally put us up in the Kreisszimmeru (we don’t know how to say this in Czech) 1Note 1 : birthing suite. We met the head physician, Dr. Wortmann, who made a very good impression on us, along with the dentist Dr. Feur and his rather pretty sister-in-law Malá. They were walking on eggshells as they wanted to go to the cinema in Ischl. 13 km away? The film starts in half an hour? Will there still be tickets available? So we said we’d go with them. After that, everything happened too fast. We quickly filled the car with petrol in the dark, washed our hands, didn’t have time to change. In our haste, we couldn’t turn the car around because of all the obstacles, like trees, stones, tracks, etc. We somehow made it out, but drove to Ischl way too fast. And then it happened. A large American truck was coming in the opposite direction, didn’t dim its lights, and crash! Shards rained down on Erich with a clatter, the side window was shattered. We somehow managed to stop and the sight that greeted us was terrible. The left fender was a shapeless mass, Erich’s hand was bleeding profusely, the door handle was damaged, and the flag was gone. Otherwise, we were fine and so we straightened the thing that used to be a fender and were amazed at the results. We hurried on towards Ischl, got our tickets, and were there with half an hour to spare. We couldn’t lock the car, so Erich drove to some gate next to the cinema after giving the concierge a large bribe. From a fancy side box, we watched a rather bad movie in color, Münchhausen. Barely thirty minutes in, the film was interrupted and a man’s voice said: Der Besitzer des Auto mit CS-Nummer soll sofort vor das Kino kommen. A chill ran through all of us. Soon, however, Erich returned. Nothing serious had happened, just someone trying to enter his garage and our car was blocking the way. After the movie, we happily drove home, though our outlook was gray. Neither the glass nor the handle could be replaced and the car wouldn’t close. We couldn’t find the bridge across the Traun River. Our attempt to turn around on a narrow street ended in a wet meadow with our wheels spinning, but this was the last adventure of this eventful day. Viribus unitis, we pushed the car onto the road, finally found the bridge, made it home, ate a dinner of tuna and a mysterious lukewarm liquid (apparently coffee), and went to sleep. Twice a nurse stopped by during the night to see whether we were "kreissujeme" 2Note 2 : giving birth, Erich talked a lot in his sleep, but we were alive and well.

23. 10. 1945

Erich slept poorly because he kept dreaming of wanting to give birth, but the genius wasn’t so strong. At the Poles, we met Dr. Bester, a good-natured man who heads their committee with great difficulty and makes an excellent impression on people. It wore off when the breakfast delicacies were served: nes-coffee with powdered milk, sandwiches with lard, cheese, and jam. Then came the painful moment when, due to the amount of work, we had to split up: Erich was tasked with repairing the car while this was still possible and liaising with UNRRY, while Vinči, accompanied by the Pole Bodenstein, explored the concentration camp with a Leica around his neck, however not without obstacles. The Americans only let people into the camp with a special permission from H.Q., but it wasn’t worth going there and getting one because there wasn’t anything to see in the camp. Instead, we went to see various tunnels; it was clear that the working conditions must have been unbearable. As we were walking around the camp, we were suddenly stopped by an American soldier in the guard tower, telling us that civilians weren’t supposed to be here.

He probably had time to waste and wanted to have some fun, so he called his lieutenant, who let us go after a brief explanation. The soldier was probably disappointed if he hoped that we would have at least been locked up in the concentration camp. Meanwhile, Erich tapped into his vast resources of insolence and attacked Mr. Fenenga, head of the local UNRRY, and immediately snagged a whole can of petrol. He also got the D.P. Committee to hand over logs, records, and a promise to reproduce 16 extremely valuable photographs. He made contact with a Czech woman married to a Yugoslav, who promised to procure and even pay for the photographs. The fender was hammered into shape and welded and once again somewhat resembled a fender. He then sent a telegram to Vienna, so that we would have an address to send the photographs to. We had wanted to buy some salt, but, of course, we forgot. Our businessmen offered us watches, cognac, chocolate, petrol, cigarettes, but we didn’t buy anything. When we finally got home, the nice Polish girls snuggled up to us. Just like everyone else, they wanted a ride, raved about Prague, especially Prague’s cafes and shops, and dashed off letters for us to take home with us. We waited for lunch, which was worth it, and then said goodbye and took one passenger with us to Ischl.

On our way there, we of course didn’t find the lost handle, but in Ischl Mr. Stadler searched for a long while, so we waved some tobacco at him and he softened, going straight to work on the glass. Erich was so happy to have found such a fool, because glass is the hardest thing to source for cars. He had to do the disassembly and assembly practically by himself, but the foreman broke the glass while installing it. So it was cracked, but usable. The handles were also fixed, except for the irreplaceable one with the lock, so we recovered from the accident without a black eye. In the meantime, Vinči had stopped by the local D.P. Committee, where he chanced upon Heinz Bleicher, an old Terezín prisoner, who runs the Ischl Padowetz, otherwise known as the Goldenes Kreuz. This eliminated our worries about where we would spend the night and eat dinner, and to top it all off we also got some movie tickets. So we had a good meal of Leberkäse and walked down Esplanade and past the Stehbeisl to the cinema. Our mood was almost too good and we conversed only in Czech, which gave us a certain confidence, thinking for sure nobody in Ischl understands Czech, and therefore our speech wasn’t the most polished. We saw a great Anglo-American weekly with German spoken accompaniment and a German film that Vinči called uber kitsch. Nevertheless, the film was pretty good and when it was over we continued in our manly coarse entertainment. We heartily and loudly laughed at our crude jokes until suddenly a woman’s voice addressed us in Czech—a lady from Brno who was happy to hear Czech sounds. You should have seen Vinči’s face. She wanted to spend time with us presently, but she didn’t appeal to us and so we discreetly sauntered away from her and laughed about it for hours. Esplanade by night and especially the Traun River was what we really needed. We dined again in the evening, wrote a report on Ebensee, and went to bed. We were gratified to find three pointed glasses from a medical laboratory in our room.

24. 10. 1945

Austria is a country blessed with a beautiful countryside. We’ll never forget the ride through its colorful landscape and the salt chambers. The vivid autumn colors were intensified by the snow that fell at night, covering the surrounding hills, the clear blue sky and all of the shades from yellow to red and brown of the dying leaves. In short, we had to forbid one another from looking at such beauty because we didn’t deserve it. The day was like a beautiful summer day in August, warm with not a cloud in sight. We drove past Bad Ischl, used the rest of our ration tickets to buy ham salami, butter, buns, took one last look at the Esplanade and off we went to Salzburg. In reality, the scarcity in Austria isn’t that bad. Everything is available, but only if you have ration tickets. For instance, we saw things in shop windows that we don’t have back home, like toothbrushes, shaving brushes, wool, etc. In terms of food, the hardest item to find is sugar, but it’s not as bad as in Germany, where you won’t find any at all. After we left Ischl, checkpoints didn’t disturb us much any longer. We drove around the beautiful Wolfgangsee, saw the smooth surface of the St. Wolfgang lake with the Schafberg, and were forced to stop several times to gaze in silence at this marvelous beauty. We kept on going along the beautiful Fuscher See road and took the

descending turns from Gaisberg to Salzburg. This city is a chapter unto itself. Despite being badly damaged, it has retained the charm for which Americans call it the most beautiful city in the world. It’s a lively city because the HQ of USFA is located there. It’s crawling with soldiers and privates, UNRRA, and others. We went directly to the MG. After our experience with our trip to Bavaria, we felt little hope of success. We first looked for the Joint, which is reached by a well-marked but winding road. Chaverim in Ebensee were right when they predicted that neither Colonel Reznik (the head) nor his deputy would be in. They were both away on business. Perhaps this was a good thing for us. The little Polish Jew Feuermann bent over backward with politeness and willingness once he saw our papers, and led us to the dreaded Cpt. Nowinsky, a clerk for the D.P. A number of people were waiting there for travel permits as well. He introduced us and the cpt. barely only glanced at our papers before he pressed two papers into our hands to fill in, saying that he would then stamp them. We couldn’t believe it. In the end, however, the process wasn’t all that smooth. These were papers for the Deutsche Heimkehrer. So we decided to be Deutsche Heimkehrer nach München. We filled them out, they were immediately signed and stamped, and we were ready to go. Again, we saw many dangers and risks that Vinči could categorize alphabetically, but there wouldn’t be enough letters. Czechoslovak citizens with passports and only Czechoslovak car papers could return to Munich as repatriates. We put our hands in fate and threw ourselves into it. We stopped by at the D.P. Committee, where a lively Austrian partisan attended to us, took us to the US.O.S.S., and we were promised photographic reproductions. He then took us to the Salzburg Padovec (Hotel Europe), where we enjoyed an excellent lunch and a cold takeaway dinner (white bread, real Emmentaler, butter). But even better were the Salzburg D.P. girls. It was downright outrageous how many beautiful girls they had there and Erich had his work cut out for him to drag Vinči out of there. We wanted to shop in the bookstores for magazines and brochures, but they were already closed. So we waited another hour at the barber’s to get shaved. Danes were working there, which was nice. We were sad to leave Salzburg so soon, but we were nervous about crossing the border on time and so we left before 4:00. We were soon on the highway to Munich, and through the snow-covered mountains we reached the border. There, we were only stopped by an Austrian civilian who asked for money and car papers. Nothing surprised him and moments later we were in Bavaria. We hadn’t imagined that it would be that simple. We feared the next American checkpoint. We drove full speed ahead down the autobahn. Two blown up bridges forced us to make stupid detours and so we pulled into Miesbach at dusk. There, the first American patrol stopped us. It looked bad. Not only were our papers not enough, but he wanted to know where we had stolen the GI-can attached to our car. We pulled out a briefcase and flooded him with documents. There was nothing he could do against this onslaught, and so he gave up and we drove on. The next roadblock hardly noticed our papers at all. We gave a lift to a young boy and arrived in Bad Tölz at 6:30. We went straight to Mr. Ošeris Ješuneris, Erich’s chevra from the concentration camp. It was a touching reunion. Mr. Ješuner is Lithuanian and his almost-wife is a German Jew with all the characteristics of Mrs. von Pollak v. Parnegg. Erich even claims that Frau von Pollak can hide. But we must unreservedly praise the dinner we were treated to. We found out that Ošer remembers Vinči’s father from Kaunas, and, after dinner, we went with the lady of the house to a nearby pub where there’s dancing three times a week. With our bad luck, we happened to be in Tölz on one such day. It wasn’t actually that bad, in fact, it was interesting to see American soldiers, Jewish concentration camp prisoners, and the local German population sitting and dancing together in a crowded pub in defeated Germany. We didn’t dance but instead observed the people. Out of all the girls only two or three were pretty and even less were well-dressed. We didn’t stay until the end, but left to go on a short walk through the streets of Tölz, breathing the fresh air of the Bavarian mountains. We then went home to

our really nice hotel room with comfortable beds, snow-white sheets, and running water. We stayed up and wrote for another hour and then laid down for a well-deserved rest, having learned that breakfast at the Ješuneris is served at 8:30 in the morning.