Re: [Cz-L] My Czernowitz Roots

Dear Phil,

I read your letter in Czernowitz-L, was fascinated by your remarkable story,
and hasten to add a few comments. I must compliment you for tying together
the facts you do remember in a timeline that appears very plausible with my
own recollections. Of course, I am your senior by about fifteen years.

First the chronology: Czernowitz Ghetto (September 1941); a border crossing
when you were about three (the USSR-Romanian border around 1944/45); Barlad
(a town in Romania, 1945), Bucharest - Vienna -Bremerhaven - New York
(1946-51) - Liechtenstein!!! (as I deduced from your e-mail address). There
is one important gap: 1941 - 44; was your family able to stay in Czernowitz,
thus escaping deportation to Transnistria? As you might have gathered from
the correspondence involving the Traian Popovici plaque, this was a decisive
factor for those who managed to survive the war.

As to your family names, Katz was a very common name, I knew some but don't
remember anyone who might have been your Dad. I was, however, well
acquainted with Lukawetz, a large village (actually two villages,
Ober-Lukawetz and Unter-Lukawetz) on the Sereth river. I had a number of
relatives there and used to spend some of my vacations with them on a large
estate that my uncle (Jakob Landwehr) administered for the Count Wasilko.
The name Wolloch sounds familiar. Because of your Dad's sport activities,
you might be able to find more details in publications about that period,
especially if you read German.

I certainly want to welcome you, probably our first Landsmann in
Liechtenstein, to the "Damals in Czernowitz" exchange and we would be
delighted to hear more about the "Flying Czernowitzer" (without a
parachute).

Regards,

Alfred (Fred) Schneider

----- Original Message -----
From: "phil katz" <pkatz_at_awi.li>
To: "czernowitz-L" <czernowitz-l_at_cornell.edu>
Sent: Sunday, December 21, 2008 11:40 AM
Subject: [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.&nbsp;
> 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
>
> [Please post in plain text rather than HTML... see notes below for
instructions - moderator Jerome]
>

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Received on 2008-12-21 21:40:23