Autobiography of Walter H. Less (1917-2001)

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF WALTER H. LESS (1917-2001)

GROWING UP IN LUNEBURG, GERMANY

When I was a young boy, there were two portraits prominently hanging on the wall in our family room, showing my father's father, a strong imposing man, and his mother, rather a slim fragile person. At the time of my father's youth, they owned an inn in Bislupitz in the country of Torun, which is located in what was then the German province of West Prussia and is now a part of Poland. The inn was a place where farmers from the surrounding area stopped with their carts and wagons on the way to the city of Torun where they were selling the products of their fields in the marketplace.

When my father was only six years old, my grandmother Rosalie, who was never strong, suddenly died, leaving my grandfather Moritz alone with four children: Adela, the oldest; my father Louis, who later took on his second name, Leopold, Jacob and Heinrich. I remember Adela and Jacob fairly well as they were sometimes visitors in our house. Heinrich, however, became a Christian, cutting all ties with his sister and brothers and only met my father once in later years. A few years later, my grandfather remarried, but when my father was only twelve years old, a farmer's horse kicked him the stomach in the year of the inn. He subsequently died from the consequences of that kick. Later on, the second wife remarried, but my father always spoke lovingly of his stepmother and kept in touch with her for many years.

When my father was fourteen years old, as was the custom then, he left home and became an apprentice sales clerk in a clothing store in the area. At that time, it was mandatory for a young man in order to get ahead to serve as an apprentice for three years, then to go before a board to show that he was competent and then was officially declared a salesperson. After that, my father served as a salesman in several stores all over Germany and taking on more and more responsibilities, until he became the manager of a small department store in Luneburg.

I do remember my mother's family very well. They lived in Rostock, about 100 miles from Luneburg and we frequently visited there. My grandfather, Leopold Ahronheim, also had worked his way up in the clothing business until, with the help of his dowry, he was able to open a store in Rostock and he was very successful until two major national chains opened large department stores in town. So he decided, at a rather young age, to retire and to rent out his building rather than to fight these strong competitors. My grandmother Ida was born a Bonheim, a very wealthy German banking family.

In the 1870s, the Bonheims sent their two sons, Albert and Edward, to the United States. They then settled in Sacramento, California and, with their money, they were able to become partners in the Weinstock Department Store, located there. It is still in existence today, although owned by a large national chain and now has large branch stores up and down California's Central Valley.

California was just then beginning to grow and prosper. Their store prospered with it and the two brothers eventually became millionaires. Albert, whose son had dies quite young, left his fortune to the University of California, where the Albert Bonheim Scholarship for graduate students still exists. Edward, who had two sons, left his fortune to them and they became successful ranchers near Paso Robles, California.

Leopold and Ida Ahronheim had four children: Rosa, the oldest, Ulrich, my mother Anna, Edith and Karl. Rosa died rather young shortly after she got married. I never met her. Ulrich, who will appear frequently in this story, emigrated to America in the early 1890s to avoid compulsory military service in Germany. He was taken under the wing of his uncle Albert who had just lost his son, and went to work as a buyer in the Weinstock store. Edith married Henry Liepmann, who had had the same career route as my father. He then opened a clothing store in Gestemunde. Through him, Karl met Henry's sister Grete. They were married and opened a chinaware store in the same town.

Once my father was established as the manager of the store in Luneburg, he, of course, started thinking of getting married and starting a family. In those days, few couples married for love; rather, marriages were arranged by one or both parents of the young man and women, particularly so in Jewish circles. So it came to pass that my grandparents were searching for an eligible husband for their daughter, Anna. Through traveling salesmen who happened to be calling on both stores, they heard of this young store manager in Luneburg who seemed to be quite successful and of the right age. I don't know just how they were introduced but, evidently, after several visits to my grandparents' house, Leopold and Anna became engaged, got married and settled in Luneburg. As it happened, my father's store was part of a chain of stores whose owner had died shortly after Anna and Leopold married. After her husband's death, the widow was very anxious to sell these stores. With the money he had saved plus either my mother’s dowry or with a loan from my grandparents, he was able to buy the store and then changed its name to LEOPOLD LESS.

It was not a very large store and there were several other stores in town that competed with my father, but he ran a very tight ship. It was always profitable, even during the inflation and depression years, but we lived a frugal but comfortable life. The store's employees were four saleswomen and two apprentices. For Christmas and during the two week long local fair weeks, my father had competent extra help available to handle the additional business. His main business consisted of work clothes, yard goods, knitting wool, underwear and other staple clothing items. Although he had a steady following of townspeople, the backbone of his business consisted of farmers and their wives who would come to town on Wednesdays and Saturdays, open stalls on the market square and offer their produce and poultry for sale there. There even was some bartering going on, particularly with poultry, and I can remember two or three geese hanging out of our back windows waiting to be cooked and eaten. I can remember when the store was lit by gaslight and electric fixtures were installed. Also, when the big tile stove was replaced by central heating. Before dial phones were installed and operators made the connections, our telephone number was #82, evidently one of the first in town.

My brother Ernst and sister Kate were born in 1905 and 1907 and they and my parents had moved twice before they settled shortly before I was born in a very nice apartment house on the city's main street, half a block away from the store. In 1914, the First World War broke out; my father was called into the army, and it was left up to my mother to run the business. Of course, there were also the children for her to take care of, but she did have a maid to look after the housework, laundry and cooking. My father was assigned to the Medical Corps and spent most of the time in the army as a stretcher-bearer, both on the Russian and Western front. He never was wounded and in 1918 was transferred to the reserves where he was assigned as a guard in a prisoner of war camp. Unfortunately, shortly before the end of the war, some prisoners escaped while he was on duty. He was court-martialed but served only a few weeks because the Kaiser's government was overthrown. The end of the war finally arrived and there was a general amnesty. He came home to stay and took over the running of the store again.

Luneburg, at that time, was a city of about 30,000 inhabitants. It was already a settlement when the Romans discovered it in the 800s and it grew in importance as there was a very valuable salt spring at the edge of town. Salt in those days was a very important product as it was used a great deal to preserve meat for long periods of time and Luneburger salt was sold by traders all over the then known world. There also was a very important bridge crossing the river where the city was located and a very steep mountain upon which, in the Middle Ages, fortifications were built. As part of the city's coat-of arms, there were the words: “Mons, Fans, Pons,” Latin for Mountain, Spring, and Bridge. As the city grew in the Middle Ages, it became part of the famous Hanseatic League and even today, it has some very imposing buildings built at that time by its wealthy merchants.

Alas, the salt spring finally dried up, but Luneburg, today, is a very important administrative center and also an important army base. It is a very pretty city with many parks, a spa for people to take saltwater and mud baths and a river running through the center of town. The Real Gymnasium, the high school, which the sons of affluent parents attended, had very high standards and made great demands in its students. Every student wore the school cap at all times and its color changed as one progressed from one grade to the other. Surrounding the city were deep woods and the Luneburger Heath, which in Europe is a well-known tourist attraction, particularly when the heather is in bloom. Had it not been for the Hitler revolution, I believe I could have lived there happily all my life.

I was born in 1917 in the middle of World War 1. My father used to say that he brought me home in his knapsack when he had come home on leave, but now I don't quite believe that story any more (!). My earliest recollections are playing in a sand box in a nearby park and seeing a subway train on a visit to Aunt Adela in Berlin with my not comprehending how those trains could run without having a locomotive to pull them. My next recollection is my first day of school. As a special treat, my father rather than my mother was taking me. Then, half way through the welcoming ceremonies, he suddenly remembered that he had taken the keys to the store with him and it had to be opened. So, he left me there all by myself, a crying little boy who had to be consoled by strangers until he came back about ten minutes later.

After four years of grammar school, I was off to the local high school where I always managed to be in the upper 10% of the class and actually enjoyed school. I had a circle of friends and while all my friends lived on the outskirts of town and we would then be playing in the fields, the great attraction for them was to come to me and play in my father's half empty warehouse. I can still hear him shouting, "No matches! No matches!" And so, until the end of my 9th grade (1930), I had the life of a normal school boy.

But then, dark clouds started to form. Anti-Jewish remarks were heard by me many times; certain students' clubs made it clear that I was not wanted as a member; and there were a couple of my so-called friends who did not want to associate with me any longer. During the next two years, this situation got gradually worse until I had no contact at all with my fellow students after school hours, and as I was the only Jewish student in school, I had to learn to entertain myself. However, except for one minor fight, there was no violence, which was fortunate for me as I later heard from other Jewish kids (after I had arrived in America) that they were frequently beaten up and, in one case, even thrown out of a window.

A short word now about the peculiarities of the Jewish community in Luneburg. There were three definite strata: a minority of wealthy bankers, lawyers, business men who had lived in town for generations; a second group of middleclass people who, somehow, like my father, had come to Luneburg in the early 1900s; and then a majority of Jews who had left the parts of Germany that were ceded to Poland in 1920 but who brought with them the orthodox Jewish outlook that had become their way of life in the ghettos of the East. The sad thing was that, except for meeting in the synagogue on religious occasions, there was no contact at all between these groups. Somehow, each group looked down on the other and lived completely separate from the other. There was only one girl of my age in our circle and that is why, as a boy, I was entirely dependent on Gentiles for friends. Shortly before I left, however, when all the doors had been closed to us, there was indeed a coming together, but I left before close ties had become established.

All through the late 1920s and early 1930s, political demonstrations took place in town, which customarily started with para-military marches through the downtown part of the city. There were the Communists, the Socialists, the Monarchists and, of course, the Nazis, with their stormtroopers and SS contingents. They always marched down the main street, where we lived, with bands blaring and shouting their marching songs. Many times, these rallies turned into fights and bloodshed when an opposing force tried to break up a rally. After the Nazis took control of the government, only they were allowed to march, of course, and one of their most common cries was, "Awake, Germany! Death to the Jews!" Rather scary to watch and to hear. Thirty years later, with my mother safely settled in the Jewish Home in San Francisco, but with her mind beginning to fail, she would insist to me that stormtroopers were gathering under window every night singing their Nazi songs.

In the meantime, we had moved out of our apartment and after having completely renovated the upstairs as living quarters, moved in and thought we were settled there for life. The property included the front part which was built in the 1800s, an old wing dating back to the 1500s, which Ernst for a short time used for his law office, and a huge warehouse in the back. In 1932, Hitler became Chancellor. For several days, stormtroopers stood in front of all Jewish stores in Germany, shouting "Don't buy from Jews," but there were quite a few people who carne into our store anyhow, just to make the point that they were opposed to the Nazis. The following year, the Hitler salute was introduced in all schools to take the place of the customary "Good morning." The teacher would enter the classroom, give the Hitler salute and shout, "Heil Hitler" and the students, in turn, would do the same. But not the Jewish kids, for it was implied that they really would not mean it. And so, the dilemma was consequently simply solved by expelling all Jewish students from all public schools.

There are two incidents of that time that stick in my mind. The first is when I became seriously ill with a type of typhus, and our family doctor of twenty years refused to treat me. Fortunately, there was an ancient, retired Jewish psychiatrist in town and he was willing to start practicing again to take care of the Jewish people in town. The other incident is the opposite side of the coin. When young people were about fourteen years old, it was customary to take ballroom dancing lessons from a man and his wife who would have classes of about thirty boys and girls. I was enrolled and accepted but when the parents of the other kids heard that I was enrolled, they put pressure on the man to refuse the Jew to participate. He absolutely refused to do so, lost about half of his class, and, although my parents offered that I would withdraw, insisted that I stay. Reluctantly, the girls would dance with me, but all through the course I felt out of place and was glad when it was over.

And so, at the age of fifteen and a half, while halfway through tenth grade, I left school. It was always taken for granted by the family that I would eventually take over the store and my father had already made arrangements with a business friend of his in Hamburg to begin my training as an apprentice in his store. However, as both my parents took a very fearful view of the future for young Jews in Germany, it was decided that it would be best for me to go to America, if my aunt and uncle there would have me. The idea being that, if conditions got more desperate, I would be safe and out of harm. If life would again return to normal, I could always come back and pick up again where I had left off. So, a letter was sent off to San Francisco and a quick reply was received welcoming my coming there.

So, finally May came around and it was time for me to leave. Many people have asked me since, "Weren't you afraid?" No, I really was not. I was embarking on a great adventure and could not wait to get going. My mother and I went to Paris by train, stayed at the refugees' barracks with Kate and John for a week (a horrible place!), and Ernst and I went on to Cherbourg to board my ship for America. It was a rather uneventful journey. We arrived in New York in the morning, but I missed being greeted by the Statue of Liberty as we were confined to the dining room where all immigrants were processed by the authorities. Business friends of my uncle met me at the dock and without any delay, whisked me to Grand Central Station where I boarded a train for Chicago and changed there for another train to San Francisco, where I arrived after a four day journey. I spent most of the time soaking up the American landscape, hoping to see buffaloes, Indians and cowboys from the train window or observation platform but, alas, I guess I was fifty years too late. My aunt and uncle met me in Oakland; we took the ferry to San Francisco and there I was. I was shown to my room, next to the kitchen with my own shower and toilet and settled in.