Life: Idiotropic

24 September 2008
This part of the trip was probably the most anticipated, but also the shortest with the greatest amount of unknowns. I'd gone through Grandpa's book and taken notes on every Austrian and Hungarian town he'd mentioned, but I only had one address and the name of another street. I had nothing concrete, so though dad and I were really looking forward to this day, we had no idea what we'd find. I suppose I just wanted to see the town and with the address firmly in hand, I thought my GPS would take us to the old shop where Grandpa and Margie spent part of their childhood. Those were the expectations. Didn't exactly happen that way.

The drive from Vienna to Oberwart was uneventful with the exception of some on and off spitty rain that took turns with all too brief patches of sun through the beautiful green hills of Austria. It really was beautiful. Big green hills, story book homes with the big dark wood balconies, flowers bursting out of flower boxes, and tiny flocks of sheep.

Oberwart itself was bigger than I expected, but then, I'd heard grandpa's version of it from 60 years ago and even since he'd gone back, enough time had passed that more stores had moved it and things had grown. We drove down Hauptstrasse looking for #85. Drove down until the houses were getting farther apart and there were very few businesses and the numbering changed, then turned around and drove back. It was frustrating. All I had was that address and within a 10 minute drive, the only thing I knew to see was now a mystery. After all, I knew it still existed. I'd been in touch with Herr Pecoviks, a newspaper reporter that Grandpa had corresponded to. Originally, Mr. Pecoviks was going to give us a tour and even offered to make an appointment with the mayor. He'd told me that Grandpa's shop was still in existance. So I knew it was there. Just had no idea how to find it.

We stopped at the Rathaus to see if we could find out. A sign in the entry said auf deutch that they were closed to visitors due to the elections that would take place the following week. That was the same reason that Mr. Pecoviks was unable to help us this week. The building was open, but looked abandoned. Even the lights were off on the lower level and the visitor booth was dark and locked. For some reason, we went in anyway. A few steps in and we rounded a corner that led to a stairwell. Beginning there and winding all the way up the stairs was a series of posters on the walls depicting the history of Oberwart and the region before and during WW2 through photos, advertisements, and text. It immediately caught my attention and so dad and I started to take pictures of it all so that I could go back and better read it later. (It was all in German, so it's slow reading for me.) I think the plan was to leave when we got to the top of the stairs, but the posters didn't end, so I kept looking not sure what I would find. Nervous, since the building was dark, and a little worried that I might get in trouble for being there, I rounded the corner. At that moment any worry about being caught left and my entire focus was on this room. It was one of those moments where it seemed that time almost stopped or may be my heart stopped. I felt it in my throat as I looked up and saw a wall with the names of all the Oberwart Jews of that time. It was a huge wall may be 12' long and 6+' tall with an old photo enlarged in the background and the list of names. And on the right I found them all. Stricker Magdalena, Weber Joseph Paul, Weber Lenke (Helene), Weber Simon. My Aunt Margie, Grandfather, and Great Grandparents of which I remember Omi (Lenke) well.

I don't know if I was visibly teary then. I certainly felt it. That was a heavy moment and only became more intense as I turned not only to one side, but to both my left and right, to see two more walls, again covered with old photos in the background, the foreground of each being a solitary quote from my grandfather - nothing more. On the right, he talked about a Kapuchin monk that came about asking for alms which great-grandpa almost always gave. And when the monks slaughtered a pig, they'd bring sausage. And when they celebrated Pessach, they'd send some pastry. On the left wall, was another quote from grandpa again talking about the customers and the trade that got him violin lesson and Margie lessons on the piano. The entire room was dedicated to the Oberwart Jews - they're lives and businesses. Yet another wall there listed great-grandpa, Simon Weber, as a shop owner and listed his address as 85 Hauptstrasse.

This was too much. To see all this, I felt there must be a record - something - somewhere. So when I heard footsteps, I hurried a bit to find who they belonged too and asked in my very poor German, where we could get information on my grandpa's house. I pointed to the room emotionally. "That's my grandpa there. His name is there."

He led us downstairs to an office where we waited for a woman there to get off the phone. He stood for quite some time waiting with us. It was nice. After all, they were pretty much closed this day. It seemed like a while, but soon she got off the phone. She spoke only German as well, but she understood me and tried to help. From that office we went to another where another woman tried to help. They both made some phone calls. They all knew Pecoviks - the reporter - but none could reach him if they tried. Eventually we were led upstairs again to the office of a man who spoke very nice English. He walked into the room with us. I showed him grandpa's name. He made a phone call. And that was it.

He explained that the when my grandfather lived there in the 1930's, there were no street names, only numbers, so Hauptstrasse means "Main Street," but that doesn't necessarily correlate with todays Hauptstrasse. Also, the Russians came and burned down the Rathaus in 1945, so all the records up to that date are completely lost and they are only able to piece things back together through local historians who continue to put it all back together. One of those historians is Urusula Mindler from whose book, much of the exhibit was taken. And she took grandpa's quotes from "Vertrieben" by Lang, Tobler, and Tschoegl, Oberwart historians who came to inverview Grandpa in 2002. But, he thought he knew the house and seemed to remember the "beautiful villa" that was there until about 20 years ago when it was torn down to build the Billa grocery store that stands there now. I mentioned the Pinka - a river that Grandpa had played in. And his man smiled warmly - he knew the Pinka too. Said that it had changed as well, but he'd played there as a boy too.

So we walked out of there with no more information, really, than we walked in with, but having seen the exhibit demonstrating so clearly that my grandpa was not at all forgotten in his home. It was good.

Uncle Randy had given my dad a map with an X on it somewhere on Grazer street, so, without knowing what we were looking at, we went there to where the X was and saw houses. There was no way to know what house to look at and what it might be... if that was a place grandpa had lived or not. But still, we went and took pictures, then as it started to rain, we stopped by the onion domed church in the center of town on a hill - one that Dad recognized from old photos we'd seen. And we just walked around and took a few photos of that as well.

From there, we drove to Stadt Schlaining, a town that Grandpa had mentioned. He said there was a nice castle there, so we went and walked around. The castle itself was beautiful because of the deep valley that fell just below it making the bridge to the castle from the street quite high above the ground. Below it park trails wove back and forth among leaves that were already starting to turn. The castle was open, but quiet, so this was another time when Dad and I just walked around and took pictures. The strange thing was the "art" pressed against the corner of the inner castle courtyard - a conglomeration of auto parts all pushed together into a triangular mass. No sign explained it. It was just there looking brightly colored and out of place in contrast to the old well opposite it and the brick castle walls.

Stadt Schlaining was a beautiful little village. If it hadn't been so cold and drizzly, we would have walked around more there, but the weather was dictating a day of car tours instead of major walking expeditions.

Gross Petersdorf is where grandpa and Margie used to bike from Oberwart for an ice cream. I'm not sure how far it is across the farm fields as the crow flies, but both dad and I were surprised how far it seemed. Along the way we saw large fields full of dead and wilting sunflowers and corn. And hunters boxes tucked just along the treeline.

Out of curiosity, I looked up "attractions" on my GPS when we were on our way and among the attractions was something called "Weber," so I hit "Go" and we went to Miedlingsdorf #37. It was exactly on the way to where we were going anyway. Soon we turned off the road into a tiny village that basically consisted only of 2 residential roads and nothing else. The road we ended up on was a dead end in both directions. When the GPS announced, "arriving at destination - on right," we looked to our right and saw this tiny brick house that looked much older than any others on the street. The the entire face was painted white, then covered with a mural depicting war. There was no signature - just pictures and words. A small planter box of geraniums sat in the semicircular window and the old wooden shutters sat open just enough for me to see that there was a television on inside. It was eerie. Grandpa's name was Weber. We were on this trip in memory of him. And here were were in the middle of nowhere near a place where he and Margie went a lot, to find this war testimony with his surname on it. Of course, I'm sure there is no connection. There are plenty of Webers out there. But the timing of it was strange. An older lady leaned out of her window the entire time just looking around not paying any attention to us. I did ask her if she knew anything about it - or the name Weber, but she didn't seem to know. So, puzzled, we left, and did our drive through the ice cream town of Gross Petersdorf which was just another normal Austrian village. We didn't even stop there.

Rotenturm was our next stop, a village named after the castle with the red tower at its center. Again, we stopped, got out, and walked around the castle. There were no other choices here. Though the gates to the overgrown grounds around it were open, the castle itself, though beautiful, was in ruin. Wooden planks blocked broken doorways and missing windows and one entire side was bricked over in ugly new bricks that looked obnoxiously modern in comparison with the rest. The detail on the castle was so beautiful. I dreamed of owning it and turning it into a beautiful bed and breakfast. Dad, the practical one, had two words: Money Pit. Yeah, yeah. True, but wow. It was gorgeous! If I will the lottery...

The village was quiet. A few children ran around in the woods near the church until one of the mothers called them home. One woman walked up the little hill to the cemetery behind the little yellow church carrying a bucket of flowers and some sheers. A car or two drove by. And that was it. Dad posed by the large flat photo of a policeman standing on the side of the road... presumably all you need in a small village to stop traffic.

The drive back towards Bad Tatzmanndorf north of Oberwart was a bit adventurous cruising along streets barely wider than our tiny rental car. It's beautiful countryside though and quite charming.

Bad Tatzmannsdorf is a village near Oberwart to the north where Grandpa and his family actually lived briefly with the Sterns after the Jews were kicked out of Oberwart. It was there that we stopped for dinner and spent the night. It's flanked by hills on a couple sides covered in apple trees and large resort spas. Within the town itself almost every other building is a hotel/spa with full health services. Not needing fancy, we found a little place - Pension Restaurant Fuith. We looked pretty conspicuous, but it didn't bother me. I can speak enough German to get buy and the lady was nice. Dad had schnitzel (gebackenes Surschnitzel mit Bratkartoffeln und Krautsalat). I had venison with apples, dumplings, and berries (Hirschragout mit serviettenknoedel, gebratenen Apfelscheiben und Preiselbeeren). Both were delicious. The local wine that I had with it was delicious as well.

As in southern Germany, the people there greet each other with "Gruess Gott," literally meaning, "great God." When people enter a smallish restaurant or store, they say this greeting to all who are listening and the others will all repeat it. They also say "guten Abend" which means "good evening." It feels friendly even if it's habitual.

By the end of dinner, it was late and too dark to do any more sightseeing, so we found a place up the road for a fair price and that ended our time in the Oberwart area. The only Austrian town on my list that we missed was Oberschutzen, the town where grandpa went to school just briefly.

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