"My Heart Bleeds for These People"

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Added: Wed. Sep 10, 2008 5:15pm
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In 1937, Ruth Hamilton traveled to Europe to visit family in Denmark and to embark on a fact-finding mission for her radio program in the States. Decades later, she wrote about her life-changing trip in her autobiography, "The Hamilton Saga."

GrowingBolder.com is bringing you exclusive excerpts from the book.

• In part 1, she came face-to-face with the son of a famous painter.
• In part 2, she was invited to watch him at work in his studio.
• In part 3, Ruth described her tense train ride into Nazi territory.
• In part 4, she begins to realize that the citizens of Berlin are living in terror.
• In part 5, Ruth spent a glamorous evening at Hitler's opera house.
• In part 6, Ruth gets caught up in a mob outside Hitler's headquarters and sees the Fuhrer himself.

Wednesday, July 3, 1937 6:30 a.m.

Couldn’t sleep – must record this fantastic last night event.  Last evening I dined at the Tyrolian Café with waiters in native costume. The café was located on second floor over a shop with “Jude” on it. I cringe when I see that and think what the artist told me about spies, etc.

These waiters are so nice and friendly and the food so delicious, always weiner snitzel and good. Not many customers -- enjoyed looking around at the many tables with checkered cloths, so European.  While looking at the menu to find word for dessert (ice cream), I was trying to tell waiter what it was but no result. He just shook his head and wandered to a table where three people sat. Back he came and motioned for me to join the threesome -- and what curbed excitement I met.

Introductions were a Jewish middle-aged couple and a dark-skinned, tall man elegantly dressed who spoke English  -- Oxford kind. His business card said, “Pinto and Pinto Shoe Machinery Manufacturers” from Karachi, Pakistan. And the couple’s name was Friedman.

The husband understood English but spoke very little. The wife looked like a frightened sparrow, petite with gray hair and pale as a ghost. Mr. F. had once been to New York City. Was in the export and import lace and silk business. They looked prosperous.

After the ten minute getting acquainted bit, ice cream was ordered. It is glace in German. Then me, big mouth, started asking questions about Hitler and felt a swift kick under the table and a whisper, “Wait until outside. Spies.”

So my artist’s admonition was correct, but such friendliness. Mr. Pinto asked me a lot about my country but nothing about politics, and the dear little couple kept staring at me -- such a free-hearted woman traveling alone -- and hearing about my Education Radio programs, etc., until we were outside, four abreast on the huge Linden Avenue.

Now we talked.  I heard: rationed everything, one egg per week, one orange a month, nice wife always at the French Spa for her arthritis, but no more traveling for them. They told of every night hearing loud knocks at doors, screams and friends disappearing but where? Nobody knew and wondered when they would be next. (Footsteps and loud knocks haunted me for days after.)

What do Americans know? Always the question. I really didn’t know very much until I arrived two days ago, but now I do know and something awful is here, tenseness and fears. I told them I sure intended to tell all I knew when I returned home. My heart bleeds for these lovely people, so helpless.  What can I do?