From Vienna to Louisville, 1938-1940

Six-page narrative of Trude Ackermann Breiner as told to Carolyn Moyse and Virginia Wilson. The story covers the Ackermann and Pokorny families's experiences in Vienna, Austria, during World War II and their efforts to navigate the immigration process to the United States.

Mss. A CA Ackermann Breiner, Ackermann family papers, The Filson Historical Society, Louisville, Kentucky

Mss. A CA Ackermann Breiner

From Vienna to Louisville, 1938 - 1940
By
Gertrude ("Trude") Breiner
as told to Carolyn Moyse and Virginia Wilson, daughters
of
Florence B. Jones, who was the owner
of
the
house at 2063 Sherwood A venue, Louisville, Kentucky, where the Breiner family lived
for
over twenty years
after arriving in Louisville from Vienna.
July, 1999
Thefamily: MichaelAckermann,father; ElsaAckermann, daughter; Kurt Ackermann, son; Gerda
Pokorny, fiancee
of
Kurt Ackermann; Gertrude (['rude) Ackermann, daughter.
The story:
As
told by Trude
We were born and raised in Vienna, Austria. It was a lovely old city. We never thought anybody
could, for any reason, make us leave. Then
Mr
. Hitler came.
Germany had demanded that Austria be coupled with Germany because both were German
speaking countries, and therefore belonged together. Half
of
the Viennese were against this, but Germany
sent military troops to occupy Vienna and hold rallies. They marched with signs, "One Country, One
People, One Leader." All
of
a sudden everyone was a Nazi and doors were closed to Jews. People were
even afraid to talk to Jews. However, we had a neighbor, really a very nice family, who when he met my
father on the street, said, "I am so ashamed
of
what has happened here. Believe me, not everyone is a
Nazi."
The Austrian Chancellor was against the takeover by Germany, and when the annexation was
announced in March 1938, he broadcast, "Gentlemen, God Bless Austria." He was immediately arrested.
Once Hitler decided that the Jews had to get out, there was nothing left but to leave. It was not so
easy because where could you go? You had to sacrifice everything you had, and you could only take along
twelve marks. Hitler would not allow marks to leave Germany. So, we managed.
Gerda was the first one to leave, then Kurt. Gerda had worked in Vienna for a Romanian Jewish
family who had two sons. He was a wealthy banker. Gerda had to move in with this family the last six
months they were all in Vienna. When they were able to leave Austria, they took Gerda along with them.
She didn't want to leave without Kurt, but with the quotas it may have taken more than a year to get out
ofAustria. So she went to Switzerland in May 1938 to be with the family she worked for.
Kurt had an established a medical practice in Austria and had a "shingle" on his door. In Vienna at
that time doctors had their practices in the apartments in which they lived. He had hung his shingle, had his
office and had established himself. Now he had to leave.
In order to emigrate to the United States, you needed a quota number. A cousin
of
mine, who
recently died in Paris, was also hunting for possibilities to emigrate. She saw a crowd
of
people waiting in
front
of
a building and asked why they were there. They said it was the American Consulate and everyone
was trying to get a quota number. She was right in front and got one. Then she said to Kurt, "I have no one
who can sponsor us. You might go, so take the nun1ber ." It was a present from heaven. He was able to
leave in the fall of 1938. I knew, at that time, he would have ended up in a concentration camp had he
stayed in Vienna.
Our family doctor had a daughter who was studying in Switzerland She no longer came home and
was scheduled to go to the United States soon. Kurt wrote to her asking if
, when she got to America, would
[,J
she ask a cousin of her father' s if he could get some affidavits? She went to that doctor to get help. He still
had a sister and her husband in Vienna who also needed affidavits. There was another family he contacted
who could also help. They were cousins of our family doctor, but were also our relativ es. Their names were
Ackermann, but we never knew they existed until then.
Kurt had booked passage from Cherbourg in France. He had to pass through Switzerland, then
France. Since Gerda was already in Switzerland, he was able to spend two weeks with her. The family she
worked for was lovely, and they gave her vacation time and paid for his hotel. Kurt wanted to get married
but Switzerland had a three-week waiting period.
He got the visa for Switzerland, but I had to go to the French Consulate for a "passing through
France visa." The official did not want to give it to me, so I said, "I thought this was a neutral place." He
said it was also a Hitler place. I said, "Do you think my brother wants to stay in France now, which Hitler
will probably invade pretty soon, when he already has a visa for the States? He only goes through France to
get the boat." But the official still made trouble, so I said, "I wish you or your children come to this
situation. Did you all learn from Hitler?" He issued the visa.
Kurt and Gerda made an agreement that if they didn't hear from each other, then twice every year,
if they had the money, they would meet in Paris at a certain church. We went there with them about twenty
years ago in 1978. They also showed me the little plane he took from Switzerland to France. Gerda
watched and watched as he got smaller and smaller, and she thought she would nev er see him again.
Once Kurt got into this country (USA), all he did was hm1t for sponsors for us. Your sponsor takes
responsibility that you will never become a burden to this country. Our cousins in the U. S. were not rich
people, but they liked Kurt. Not only did they take him into their home, but they also took care of him and
gave him money for us. Immediately, they sent the affidavits and $800 landing money, which was a fortmle
at that time. We couldn't emigrate to the U. S. because we needed a quota number. It depended on how
many in each year had previously emigrated to America. Russia had a higher number, but Austria was
always lower. Since we became "German" after Hitler took over, the number was a little higher because
more Germans had emigrated in the past. We managed to get on the list, and the wait was two or three
years.
There was no way we could stay in Vienna. We found out that there was still open emigration to
Trinidad in the West Indies, near Barbados. We needed $250 per person landing money, which would be
returned when we left the Island So, finally we could leave. I could buy ship's tickets to Trinidad, leaving
from the port of Hamburg.
While still in Vienna, I took English lessons twice a week. I went to the home of an English
teacher. One night his wife answered the door and she said to me, "Something is cooking and my husband
is hiding. You'd better go home. You won't have a lesson today. We have an SS man who used to be our
friend, and he told my husband to stay off the street." So I thought, since I'm already out I'll go downtown
and see what' s cooking. I went to the city hall to get some information. I was told they couldn't tell me
what, but something was going to happen today. So I came home. That was the infamous night when they
burned every synagogue in Germany and Austria.
A couple with a baby had come to see our apartment on the previous night. We were told we had
to share our apartment with someone else with so many people coming from Germany. The couple said the
government sent them. They left saying we would hear from them, but they left no name.
After I came home, all of a sudden I heard heavy steps coming up to the third floor. Six men came
in; three from Hitler's Gestapo and three from the old police. They asked to talk to Mr . Ackermann. My
father was down in the bathroom and I hoped he would stay there. So I asked what they wanted. "The
couple that was here yesterday who were supposed to rent a room from you are suspected of being
Communists. Give us his name." My father said he didn 't know his name, so they wanted to arrest my
father.
(z-J
The three men from the police were completely different from the Nazis. I said, "Look, we don't
know the name
of
that person. We never saw him before; we have no connection with him. See these crates
here? We are ready to leave." They asked when we were leaving and
ifwe
had tickets, and I told them we
were leaving on the
13
th
of
January, and I had purchased tickets that day (in November). Then I couldn't
find my tickets. The police called the ship company and were told that Miss Ackermann had left her tickets
on the counter.
Everything was so connected with fear. A hundred things like that happened. You didn't dare go
out at night, and when the doorbell rang, you were scared All
of
this little aggravation cost you a lot. When
you think back and talk,
it's
nothing.
They came and took our piano with all the music. We had a big picture on the wall, a collage
of
all
ofmy
father 's brothers, sisters and relatives. It was in an expensive frame, which they wanted My father
thought it was beautiful, but I thought it was horrible. I told them they could have the frame but please
leave us the photos. They meant nothing to them but a lot to us. They took the frame along with other
things.
My mother had had a brother who was in the first world war. He was six feet tall and a wonderful
violinist. His father and brother were also in the war, and he saw his brother killed right before his eyes. He
also developed elephantiasis or something like that.
So
he came back from the war handicapped and
sickHe was shipped back and forth between the nursing home and the mental institution for about fifteen years,
in a ruined life.
Before we left we received a bill from the government for twenty-two thousand marks for care
given to Richard, my uncle. They told us he was a public burden for so many years that
if
we planned to
leave the country we were responsible for the debt. Proof that this debt was settled had to appear on our
passport before we could leave.
I gave the official handling this a piece
of
my mind, "You know that this Richard gave his life for
you and your family and all the Germans. He was a twenty-five year old wonderfully gifted man. He and
his brother had to go off to fight. His brother was killed, he came back as an invalid, and now you want us
to pay for that. What is the matter with you? Did you lose your mind, or what? You want us out and then
you give us this bill." So the man finally said o.k
We had to have special permission to take any jewelry out
of
the country. While standing in line to
get that permission, I heard people talking. One asked me when I was supposed to leave. I told her in three
days. She said that I should forget the jewelry and not leave it at the office with my passport because I
would probably never get either one
of
them back anyway. My father had been a jeweler and we did have
some nice rings and things.
We went to Hamburg to board the ship. There were eighty people on that German boat. We were
required to sign a document that we would never come back to Germany. After sailing for two weeks we
came to Barbados in the West Indies. The Captain announced that Trinidad had just closed its
port
. You
have a 'T ' on your passport, and whoever had that "
f'
could not land I said to him, "You know, I thought
had left Germany, but I think it's just like
I'm
still there."
We telegraphed the King of England, and Roosevelt in America, but finally we had to go on
because nobody responded. We tried to get to Cuba, but there was no way we could land anywhere.
When I bought the ship tickets a man from a German ship company said too me, "Look, you are
an intelligent lady, and I want to ask you - everybody is convinced that it would be better without Jews." I
said to him, "It' s not that they don 't want Jews, it's that they don't want beggars. These people have
nothing. They didn 't want to be beggars ." He said nothing more.
The people in Venezuela, which was the next landing, went to the government and pleaded for us
to allow us to land Venezuela had been closed for a long time. They pleaded for us for thirty-eight hours,
and said that each Venezuelan family would take two people in their home for at least thirty days. In that
time we would have an opportunity to get a visa to another country, maybe Africa or anywhere, just to get
off
the German boat. When we could wait no longer at Caracas, we headed to Curacao, which was Dutch.
All
of
a sudden the boat circled and returned to a different harbor in Venezuela.
When we landed, it was hot,
hot-
in the 100s to 105, with no air-conditioning. The harbor where
we landed was a small one. We were told they would take us to Caracas, which was the capital. We slept
one night in Puerto Cabello in a dirty hotel. The rooms were separated by partitions and we could hear
everybody in the next room talking. Someone used a chamber pot during the night, and we even heard that.
We had mosquito nets that had not been washed No one could understand German or English, only
Spanish; and I didn't know Spanish. I showed the maid the dirty pillow and she brought us some
pillowcases. I took my slip and put it over the pillow because I didn't want to touch anything.
Of
course, I
didn't sleep a wink.
We boarded the bus in the morning and rode about twelve hours on a non-air-conditioned bus in
intense heat, after not sleeping at all. When we came to Caracas, we saw a large fiesta going on. And I
thought, "My God, I had completely forgotten that something like this could exist."
When we came off the bus I thought I wouldn't be able to face strange people, accept their
hospitality, and go in their homes
If
only I could only lay down on the ground where nobody would speak
to me. That's how I felt.
There happened to be one couple from Vienna that we knew. They came and offered to take care
ofus
for thirty days. Their daughter had married a Venezuelan. They thought we were only two people;
they didn't know my sister Elsa was with us, too. So we later changed to a hotel - not really a hotel, but a
restaurant with a few rooms. We had to hang our clothes on nails on the walls. The room was between the
toilet and the kitchen, and you got the odor from both sides. Everything was so moist, and there was
mildew on the walls. We were just so happy to be there that we just ignored all that.
I met a couple as I disembarked that owned an import-export business. Her father was a Brazilian
ambassador to France. They were looking for a nann
y.
The mother was a lovely, beautiful woman with two
children, a three-year-old boy and a baby girl. There were other girls there, all with cards stating their age.
As I was a little older than most, they asked
if
I could come and stay with them. It was a six to seven hour
trip from Caracas on a little train to their home, so I agreed to go. My father and Elsa stayed in Caracas
where he immediately got work repairing watches. As soon as I got a work permit I went with those people
to take care
of
the little boy. Wages were so low that they employed two cleaning maids, a cook, a
laundress, two nannies and a chauffeur.
Elsa had noticed a little knot in her breast while we were still in Vienna. The doctor said it was
nothing to worry about and to just go on. In the tropical Venezuelan climate it started to grow quickly and
developed a blister. She saw a doctor in Caracas at a specialty clinic for cancer. He said it was malignant
and advised her to go to a cooler climate.
There was also a professor from Berlin who was very good. He was not permitted to work in the
office in Caracas, but he could consult. We went to him, and I don't know whether he was not a good
doctor or was just against us. He took a biopsy and said it was not malignant, but it was obvious that it was.
My father was so happy; he wanted to believe that it was o.k By this time two
of
us could leave for
America. I thought it would be better
if
I went because Elsa was already hard
of
hearing at that time and I
could make a living. I left with a very heavy heart. I knew Elsa was sick; she could have come with me but
I didn't want to leave my father alone. And I didn't know how much longer they would have to wait before
joining me.
They came to America in a year. Elsa had to go to Ellis Island, not because
of
the sickness, but
because she had been married and had had a passport years earlier which had expired. It had been
overlooked in Vienna. She was sent to Ellis Island in November. It was cold and she started coughing.
I had gotten a job in Louisville at Clara Hats. It wasn't a very good job, but eighteen dollars a
week was good money. I needed to go to New York and asked if I would still have my job when I returned,
and the employer said it would be no problem. I went to New York for six weeks. Meanwhile, my father
had landed and come to the house on Sherwood, along with my brother Kurt and Charles and Anna
Pokorny, Gerda's brother and mother.
I remember when we were looking for a place to live and came to your house (Carolyn and
Virginia Jones '). Your mother and I liked each other so much. She was lovely to us. We learned a lot of
language and habits of the American way of life, you know. When we first came, Carolyn was there and
your mother said, "I have another one just like that (they were eight and ten years old)." When our crates
came, you both stood there and looked - just dishes and nothing - but you were so excited. The pillows
were huge, you thought. Years later when you went to your teen dances every Friday, you would come to
us and show us how you looked, and I really liked that. I can remember those things in detail, but if you
asked me what happened yesterday, I can't remember.
We had a hearing for Elsa in Ellis Island and I had to post a $1000 bond, so we had to find a
thousand dollars. A cousin took me to a movie that evening and a $1000 bond was advertised. I didn't
know there were such places where you could buy a bond, so we got it.
After Elsa came to Louisville, she was sick and spent all of her time in bed. She had surgery at the
old Jewish Hospital. The lab report came back showing the cancer had spread, so three days later they
operated again. She was thirty-six at the time. Kurt came and gave her his blood in a transfusion. She said
to me that it must be cancer because they operated the second time. At that time they tried to keep the truth
from the patient, and we tried to talk her out of it. She started to lose weight. She was weight conscious
because she had always been heavy, so she was pleased to be slender.
She was to have a birthday and we decided to give her a big birthday so she would think she did
not have cancer. We would never have spent that much money if she were not going to live. Everything at
that time was so cheap that we bought her a pair of shoes, a dress and two slips. Elsa said, "I really thought
I had cancer, but now I don't, because you spent all that money."
Elsa had a horrible death. She couldn't breathe. It was in her lungs and I was supposed to give her
morphine shots. We didn't tell my father that she had cancer, so he didn 't let me give her the shots because
it would make an addict of her. At that time, syringes had to be boiled. I had to do that secretly. She begged
to please give her a shot, so secretly I gave her two to three shots a day.
When Kurt came to the United States he worked in St. Louis for a year at a mental hospital. It was
not for him but the pay was good, and he needed that. He and Gerda were married by that time. From there
he got a residency at the old Jewish Hospital in Louisville. After that year he went to Chicago. He trained at
eye institutes in Chicago and New York before he was taken into the Army. In the Army, he first went to
Indianapolis, then Ft. Worth, Texas, and next to Louisiana. After a fourteen-day furlough he was shipped to
the west coast, first to Washington, then to California.
California would have been a paradise if it had not been for the war. Orders came for him to go to
the Pacific, and all of his underwear had to be dyed khaki. Every day when Gerda said goodbye, she
thought she might never see him again. Fortunately, the war ended before his unit was shipped out. After
his discharge from the Army, he took his board exams for the United States and set up his Ophthalmology
practice in Louisville.
The cousin who gave Kurt her quota number to enter the United States left Austria and entered
France illegally. What they went through! They were running with German airplanes after them. They hid
in a farmer's house. She had a boy who could never go to school there. The Germans started taking the
Jews in France to German concentration camps after France collapsed. They were not taking women who
were pregnant so she became pregnant and survived.
After the war each person in the United States could send a five-pound package overseas once a
week. I already had a millinery store established in Louisville, so we sent five packages a week. Your
mother let me use her name. We also used my stepmother Rosa's, my father's, my husband Emil's and mine.
Each sent a package.
Once she received a package with "GIFT" on it. In German that means "poison," so that package
she didn't eat. She later told us that the packages we sent kept them alive. About thirty years ago (about
1969), the boy came to see us in the United States.
Trude operated a millinery store on Bardstown Road in Louisville. She later joined her husband, Emil Breiner, in his dry-goods business.
Mr. Ackermann repaired watches until his death, at which time his
second wife, Rosa, returned to Toledo to be close to her family. Gerda assisted Kurt in his successful
practice of ophthalmology until their retirement. Michael Ackermann died on February 3, 1948; Emil
Breiner on July
7,
199
8;
Kurt Acke rmann on December 13, 1998;
and
Trude Breiner on September 29,
1999.
MS
Word/Personal Documents/Breiner.Doc