“We believe that all human beings should be permitted free expression of speech and opinion."
We are not bound by a fixed ideology or grand vision. All of us should exercise care not to do harm onto others, while pursuing our own aspirations and dreams.”
“Further, we should not pretend to know what may be best for others, as they should not pretend to know what’s best for us. We humbly acknowledge not to know what may be best for the human race as a whole, even though others make it appear at times that we are the only ones who don’t. It may well be that gathered right here in this room tonight are all the people we know, who don’t want to tell other people what to do.”
He paused, his animated face searching the room for response. He unfolded a large white handkerchief mopping perspiration from his face. His face was beaming with satisfaction.
“Fundamentally, we believe in freedom. Freedom based on tolerant ideology, not acquired from the point of a gun.”
He continued to approving nods.
“And freedom is not entitlement. People on social assistance may feel entitlement. But how free are they? And finally, liberty must not be confused with ever increasing rights to citizens - rights to education, health care, housing and food. We also know that there are those among us – not in this room, mind you, but this very town we call home – who have disparate views. And we shall…”
Crack. And again, crack, crack, crack.
Glass splinters from several broken windows littered the edges of the far side of the room. In a sudden attack the floor was littered with fist-sized stones and ink containers, their contents leaving long blue streaks on the gleaming parquet floor. The sound of rocks crashing through windows, muffled cries and curses, filled the large room. The strong double oak doors at the main entrance were being jolted with what sounded like heavy rams.
“Down the fire escape,” someone yelled from the back of the room.
“The police should be here soon; let’s wait it out. It’s safer in here,” cautioned others.
Above the ramming and clattering noises echoing across the ballroom came the sound of a shrill whistle. The large room fell eerily silent, the street below miraculously peaceful. Rus was one of the first to regain his composure and risked peeking through one of the broken windows. The heavy-set silhouette of Officer Hirschmann, one of the town constables, was seen lumbering up the street toward the hotel along with several of his men. Once inside, he pulled a narrow black notebook from the outer pocket of his blue uniform.
“The usual suspects?” he intoned, as if all of this had become just a matter of routine.
“Probably,” answered Herr Rus. “We really didn’t see anyone, but recognized some voices among the clamor.”
Hirschmann, who had collapsed into the red velour sofa next to the stage, was feverishly scribbling into his little book. “I’ll see what can be done in the morning,” he finally said.
This certainly was a part of family history I had absolutely no prior knowledge of and I continued to read my father’s manuscript with growing fascination……….
My grandfather had started it well before the turn of the century. It was a large electrical supply business, serving hundreds of industrial and retail customers. They came from as far South as Prague and near the German border to the Northwest. My father had taken the helm at the conclusion of World War I. Some ten years later, I joined him following my service in the Czech military.
The first few years had been exciting. Despite the oncoming economic depression, we were able to build on our past success. Yet by the mid 1930’s it had become clear that ours was not a sanctuary in the gigantic waves of despair washing over the region - indeed, the European continent and far beyond. Except for a small part-time skeleton staff, most of our permanent employees were gone.
I was there a few days a week, the place increasingly devoid of people and saleable product. We had a central location, next to the city square with its town hall and opera theatre. The upper floors of our building housed the town library, which once provided a constant flow of traffic to our store. The city square itself usually bustled with town folk in their finest, local professionals and public servants. It now resembled a deserted and eerie rail terminal in the small hours of the morning.
Working alongside my father was difficult. He was a serious, authoritarian figure, who tolerated little distraction. Two generations with conflicting values often led to disparate views and arguments. His dogmatic political ideology and distaste of Jews was known throughout town. It was impossible for him to understand that I was not following in his footsteps. Heaven forbid, I even counted a number of Jews among my friends.
“You know as well as I do there are some Jewish professionals around town whom you respect.”
“Well, that’s different.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some exceptions exist.”
“Really, father - how can you say that and explain your categorical denial of all things Jewish?”
“You don’t understand, son.”
I was frustrated when he terminated our discussions with dismissive banality. It took a great deal of discipline not to show the full measure of my annoyance. One morning I was called to the front show room from my office located toward the back of the building.
“A gentleman would like to speak with your father”, our part-time receptionist informed me. The individual taking several hesitant steps in my direction bore the unmistakable features of an Eastern European Jew - olive-brownish skin, hawkish nose and dark burning eyes under protruding heavy eyebrows.
What business could he possibly have with my father?
He appeared modest and sincere.
“Do I have privilege of speaking with son of Herrn Hugo?”
“Yes, I am him - what is your business with my father?”
His German was broken and halting, but he seemed to be here for a reason.
“Your father - he has been - during the war, I mean he served with the ‘Scheinwerfer’?”
‘Yes, he was a colonel and searchlight specialist with the Austro-Hungarian infantry about twenty years back.”
“Thank God that you have such father. He shall be blessed that he has heart such good and just.”
I couldn’t believe my ears.
“You are surprised that I, Jew, am talking this way?”
A faint smile had appeared around the corners of his mouth.
I simply nodded, not sure what to say.
“I know who is, your father. But I came to thank him, where he is?”
“I am sorry, but he is out of town for a few days.”
“I am sad to know but shall enrich you with story. I was serving in company of your father Colonel and not have had leave for one and one half year. I went to ‘rapport’ and have asked Herr Colonel for leave. He asked me how long it was since leave before. I told him the truth and he screamed I was lying and use