[Cz-L] My Czernowitz Roots

Hello Ms. Taylor and fellow Czernowitzers,

My name is Phil Katz, and I have been rather timid about writing to
you all, since I am but a newcomer to the group. I am fascinated by
the stories, photos, and articles sent between you all in that it
brings my history, long forgotten, to the forefront.

You see, I was born in Czernowitz, on September 27, 1941 in the
Ghetto; I can not remember much, as my parents did not wish to discuss
any of their history with me, however this little I do know:

My Father's name was Moritz (Moishe) Katz. He was a highly skilled
electrician who owned his own store somewhere in Czernowitz, with a
large sign which I saw in a photograph. It read KATZ. I believe he
was born and raised in Czernowitz, but I am not certain.

My Mother's name was Baby (That is not a typo) Wolloch. She was from a
place called Lukavetz, I believe. A town in Bukovina. Somehow
(unknown) they married sometime in the late thirties. For my Dad, it
was his second marriage from which came a son, Salo Katz, for my Mom,
it was her first.

In addition to his electrical business, my Dad was an avid soccer
player, as well as a motorcycle racer. I do not know what proficiency
he attained in both, however, I do have photos of him wearing apparel
with numbers both with a soccer ball and a motorcycle.

The story gets somewhat fuzzy from here on. I recall a story my Mom
told me about having received some false documents so that we could
get out of Czernowitz, and that all they could get were papers for an
adult couple and a daughter, not a son.

As the story goes, my Mom had me grow my blonde hair, shoulder length,
acquired clothes for a two or three year old girl, and dressed me in
those, in an attempt to deceive the guards. I was at an age where I
had started to speak and walk by then. I am told that while the
guards were inspecting my parent's papers, I wandered away, as a
curious child will do and started to walk towards a guard who was
calling to me. My Mom and Dad, realized I was missing, and in horror
also realized that I was having a conversation with the guard all they
could envision was being caught in this masquerade, and going to
prison. In the meantime I was having a grand old time with guard who
had given me some chocolate and engaged me in conversation.

"What is your name little girl" he asked with a smile on his face.
Just then a heavy truck was passing with a noisy engine. "Philip", I
responded. although my name was that of a little girl, I did not know
enough to answer correctly, but in innocence, as a child would do.
Although the truck engine drowned out my response, to my Mom and Dead,
they said it were if the entire world had fallen still to the
exclusion of my voice. "What is your name little girl?" he repeated
again, "I did not hear you". By then my parent'shad been cleared to
cross, and my Mom rushed over, grabbed and yanked me by my hand, and
tore me away with a frozen smile on her face to the guard, saying to
me "Come, we must go now!"

I guess that was a close one. They say one's life and circumstances
which change one's life is predicated on decisions, right or wrong.
Classic case which all transpired in 3-4 minutes that lasted a
lifetime.

Not real certain about the rest. I think I recall either stopping or
even living in a small town called Barlad. I vividly recall my Dad,
who was a master with his hands, building me a tricycle out of spare
parts while in Barlad. I clearly recall arriving In Bucharest, where
we finally settled down for a number of years. I was enrolled in
school there, we lived on a street called Poppa Russo, and my parents
both were employed. My Mom made friends with a popular actress, who's
last name was Pereziano, who was appearing in Shakespeare's "Mid
Summer Night Dream", and they were casting children for a bit walk in
part, and I was selected, and my thespian career got its start.

We lived on the third floor, and one day while playing with friends at
an open window's steel bar, I slipped and fell three floors, ended on
my head in a brick courtyard. I was shaken of course, rushed to a
hospital, and checked OK. It must have been a slow news cycle in
Bucharest, since the next day, an article appeared, something like
......"The Boy Parachutist falls out of a three story window without a
parachute".

It's really amazing how these suppressed memories, until now are
coming to me. Around 1946, for reasons I can not state, I recall
moving from Bucharest to Vienna. I have a vivid recollection of
getting there via Budapest, since I clearly recall hearing everyone
speak a tongue that was unfamiliar to me, Hungarian.

Up to that point, I was fluent in Russian, Romanian and German. I
guess in those days, you had to be multi lingual to survive. 
When we arrived in Vienna we wound up in the "19 Bezirk", Sievering -
a beautiful outskirt of Vienna, and more specific Grape and Wine
growing country. It was the 19th American Controlled District. In
those days, the control of Vienna was taken over into sections by the
winners, the Brits, French. Russians, and GI's.

We wound up in what was once a huge mansion with acres of gorgeous
property owned by an aristocrat which was converted by the GI's into a
DP Camp. Each huge banquet room, housed hundreds of families, and the
only thing that separated our accommodations were blankets separating
each cubicle. It was literally a United Nation of Jews who were
fortunate enough to have escaped the atrocities that brought them
here, and in their eyes freedom.

I will never forget how they laughed and joked and sang, probably for
the first time in years. It's a miracle what freedom can do even under
these sparse circumstances.

I was enrolled in school, my Mom went to an ORT supported school to
learn pastry baking, and my Dad, due to his skills, found a full time
job, as a spot light operator in a night club in downtown Vienna, an
area called 'The Graben'. I was making friends, Viennese and immigrant
alike, my Mom and Dad were employed and happy, and I felt that all was
well.

Circa 1950-51 we packed up once again (I understood the word Immigrant
well by then), and wound up in Bremer Haven to board a big old
freighter, who's name I will never forget, "The USS General
Blatchford". It seems that distant relatives in NY had found out our
whereabouts, and sponsored us so that we could live and hopefully
finally stay in the US, where the "streets were paved with gold". It
was a rough crossing but I noted that every passenger had a new
sparkling look in their eyes, with a anticipation of what was to be, I
had never seen before.

The day we entered NY Harbor I was on deck, and could clearly see the
NY skyline as well as the Statue of Liberty. Even at the age of 9 or
10 I thought I died and went to heaven. I did, and I did.

I don't know where all of these thoughts came from. I was merely
going to introduce myself, and tell you how much I enjoyed the
comments written. I apologize for the length of this "quick note" but
I guess the question really is, can anyone fill in the blanks? I have
always wondered but never tried since I guess these memories were
always subconsciously buried somewhere, and now they are pouring out
of me.

I sincerely thank you all for your indulgence and patience.

Phil Katz

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Received on 2008-12-21 16:40:43