Arnold Haase
When my grandfather was a high school art teacher, he threw a piece of chalk at an obstreperous student, not much older than him, in the back of the room. The chalk connected, the student went to his office later and apologized, and Martin and Arnold became life-long friends.
Arnold nursed the Ideler family during a deadly flu epidemic, and became a regular visitor to their house. He went to France as an employee of a German radio company in the 30's, and met and married Jacqueline Dubosc. He changed his name to Haase-Dubosc and became prominent in French radio. When things got impossible for Jews in Germany, his parents also fled to France. One day a German occupation soldier asked his parents for directions and they answered in German instead of French. They were sent to Auschwitz where they died. After the war he also maintained a house in New York. He sponsored Martin's daughter Esther when she immigrated to the USA. She remembers that he gave her a $100 bill, which was more money than most people ever saw in one place at the time.
He died in his mid-90’s after writing a private memoir entitled Emmy et Gustav Haase, Pour Memoire. Below is a rough translation of part of the book. My comments are [in brackets]. The first sections give an idea of life in Berlin when my grandfather was a young man, and the section on the Ideler family gives some feeling about what he was like.
Arnold nursed the Ideler family during a deadly flu epidemic, and became a regular visitor to their house. He went to France as an employee of a German radio company in the 30's, and met and married Jacqueline Dubosc. He changed his name to Haase-Dubosc and became prominent in French radio. When things got impossible for Jews in Germany, his parents also fled to France. One day a German occupation soldier asked his parents for directions and they answered in German instead of French. They were sent to Auschwitz where they died. After the war he also maintained a house in New York. He sponsored Martin's daughter Esther when she immigrated to the USA. She remembers that he gave her a $100 bill, which was more money than most people ever saw in one place at the time.
He died in his mid-90’s after writing a private memoir entitled Emmy et Gustav Haase, Pour Memoire. Below is a rough translation of part of the book. My comments are [in brackets]. The first sections give an idea of life in Berlin when my grandfather was a young man, and the section on the Ideler family gives some feeling about what he was like.
Berlin Pendant La Guerre [World War I]
In Berlin, teaching jobs were often given to women; they replaced professors who had been mobilized. Often, we learned of the "death on the field of honor" of one of our professors. Each time, we gathered to hear the Headmaster give a eulogy in honor of the deceased. We were not very impressed by these speeches, they were very similar. Nevertheless, when it was the turn of our beloved gymnastics professor, Mr. Sperling, it became quite emotional.
Our apartment was located in the Hansa-Viertel near the beautiful Tiergarten [the zoo park, in the government and diplomatic center of Berlin]. It was a comfortable home. Ice was delivered for our ice-box, the fridge did not exist at that time. The house was cozy, built at the end of the last century. The main entrance was reserved for grown-ups, children were required to use the servant's entrance. We walked along a small alley leading to the "Gartenhaus." This was an annex to our house, where rents were lower because it overlooked a courtyard. Before getting all the way to the Gartenhaus (this house did not have a garden, which must have been a figment of the real estate agent) there were the stairs that led directly to our kitchen. This suited us well because we often snitched something to eat off the stove.
My father left early for his office located in the center of the city. He took the Stadtbahn [City Train] which crossed Berlin. I also took the train every day to go to high school. I saw this train again in 1945 when I was entered Berlin as a French soldier, it had the same old cars, with the same old steam locomotives. Only the military could use the Friedrichstrasse Station, which I had used as a student, because it was in the Russian zone.
My father had created his own business in Berlin after a tumultuous break with his brother Selly. With aid from my uncle Willy and sometimes my mother, Gustav worked hard to make himself known and to establish a solid business. It happened: the business "Solly Haase, Owner Gustav Haase" prospered. Later, when he was confronted with the consequences of the German inflation - a loaf of bread cost almost one billion old marks - Gustav was able to save his enterprise. He had the foresight to keep a large stock of fabrics. Once the new currency was introduced, he was able to use this stock to make women's coats. Thus, he was able to develop his business again.
Towards the end of the war, when the German armies retreated and we felt the war was lost for the Kaiser's Reich, the myth of the "Dolchstoss" (stab in the back) became popular amongst the German bourgeoise: the heroic armies had been betrayed by leftists, socialists, deserters, revolutionary communists, and, of course, Jews.
A boy - he was older - I met in our street called me, "dirty Jew, dirty traitor." I hit him savagely. A policeman stopped me and I was led to the Commissariat in our street. I had hurt my opponent. I still remember the long wait at the Office: I was not afraid but I felt my isolation and the hostility of others more strongly than ever before in my life. There were witnesses. They had heard that boy insulting me. Fortunately, my father knew the Commissioner. Papa finally was able to bring me home.
If you were to believe the press, the German army was flying from victory to victory. Each time, the civilian population was supposed to celebrate. Emmy refused to buy a flag. Our windows were among the few to not display any signs of elation.
During a visit to a department store with my mother, I saw piles of tantalizing books that told about the battles won by our troops. I would have liked to have one. Emmy told me they were not something I could read. "f you want a good book, I would rather buy you one about a different war." My mother bought me a book by Felix Dahn, "Des Kampf um Rom" [A Struggle for Rome]. Thank you, Emmy.
At that time we were studying the French Revolution in school. The professor asked me what Danton's profession was. As I hesitated, not knowing the answer, he said, "Come, Haase, you know the profession of traitor to the king. You just have to look at your own family. " This professor was a little guy with a little goatee. I jumped on him, I took him by his beard and would have thrown him out the window. Fortunately, the other boys prevented me from committing this crime. There were consequencess. The professor lost his job and I was sent back with a severe reprimand for serious insubordination.
Ultimately, everything came out well for me. I was admitted to one of the best schools in Berlin where I made some good friends and had excellent teachers. These few experiences of a boy of thirteen reflect the tumult of the years from 1917 to 1918: the German Reich was rattled and a great revolution was coming.
Our apartment was located in the Hansa-Viertel near the beautiful Tiergarten [the zoo park, in the government and diplomatic center of Berlin]. It was a comfortable home. Ice was delivered for our ice-box, the fridge did not exist at that time. The house was cozy, built at the end of the last century. The main entrance was reserved for grown-ups, children were required to use the servant's entrance. We walked along a small alley leading to the "Gartenhaus." This was an annex to our house, where rents were lower because it overlooked a courtyard. Before getting all the way to the Gartenhaus (this house did not have a garden, which must have been a figment of the real estate agent) there were the stairs that led directly to our kitchen. This suited us well because we often snitched something to eat off the stove.
My father left early for his office located in the center of the city. He took the Stadtbahn [City Train] which crossed Berlin. I also took the train every day to go to high school. I saw this train again in 1945 when I was entered Berlin as a French soldier, it had the same old cars, with the same old steam locomotives. Only the military could use the Friedrichstrasse Station, which I had used as a student, because it was in the Russian zone.
My father had created his own business in Berlin after a tumultuous break with his brother Selly. With aid from my uncle Willy and sometimes my mother, Gustav worked hard to make himself known and to establish a solid business. It happened: the business "Solly Haase, Owner Gustav Haase" prospered. Later, when he was confronted with the consequences of the German inflation - a loaf of bread cost almost one billion old marks - Gustav was able to save his enterprise. He had the foresight to keep a large stock of fabrics. Once the new currency was introduced, he was able to use this stock to make women's coats. Thus, he was able to develop his business again.
Towards the end of the war, when the German armies retreated and we felt the war was lost for the Kaiser's Reich, the myth of the "Dolchstoss" (stab in the back) became popular amongst the German bourgeoise: the heroic armies had been betrayed by leftists, socialists, deserters, revolutionary communists, and, of course, Jews.
A boy - he was older - I met in our street called me, "dirty Jew, dirty traitor." I hit him savagely. A policeman stopped me and I was led to the Commissariat in our street. I had hurt my opponent. I still remember the long wait at the Office: I was not afraid but I felt my isolation and the hostility of others more strongly than ever before in my life. There were witnesses. They had heard that boy insulting me. Fortunately, my father knew the Commissioner. Papa finally was able to bring me home.
If you were to believe the press, the German army was flying from victory to victory. Each time, the civilian population was supposed to celebrate. Emmy refused to buy a flag. Our windows were among the few to not display any signs of elation.
During a visit to a department store with my mother, I saw piles of tantalizing books that told about the battles won by our troops. I would have liked to have one. Emmy told me they were not something I could read. "f you want a good book, I would rather buy you one about a different war." My mother bought me a book by Felix Dahn, "Des Kampf um Rom" [A Struggle for Rome]. Thank you, Emmy.
At that time we were studying the French Revolution in school. The professor asked me what Danton's profession was. As I hesitated, not knowing the answer, he said, "Come, Haase, you know the profession of traitor to the king. You just have to look at your own family. " This professor was a little guy with a little goatee. I jumped on him, I took him by his beard and would have thrown him out the window. Fortunately, the other boys prevented me from committing this crime. There were consequencess. The professor lost his job and I was sent back with a severe reprimand for serious insubordination.
Ultimately, everything came out well for me. I was admitted to one of the best schools in Berlin where I made some good friends and had excellent teachers. These few experiences of a boy of thirteen reflect the tumult of the years from 1917 to 1918: the German Reich was rattled and a great revolution was coming.
Berlin: Les Annees Vingt [Berlin: the 20's]
I grew up in Berlin during those years. The city quickly became the artistic center of Europe. The plays of Brecht, Zuckmaier, and Hazenclever [all playwrights who were later banned by the Nazis] were popular. Max Reinhart earned his reputation for extraordinary stage direction. Painting gave us Nolde, Kirchoff, Dix, Kandinsky, and Kokoschka. We admired the marvelous Käthe Kollwitz. The statuettes of Rene Sintenis were very much on view. German cinema was often shown opposite Hollywood productions. We were in the modern age. Young writers such as Remarqe, Hesse, and the brothers Mann quickly became our favorites. We knew the poetry of Stephan George's circle, we admired the Weimar Bauhaus and its achievements. The city sparkled. Everywhere young people discovered new aspects of aesthetics, of life.
The republic of Weimar continued, not without difficulties. The voice of the opposition manifested itself, first muted, and then very vociferous. Right-wing parties did not hesitate to attack the so-called excess of the Berlin intelligentsia.
The republic of Weimar continued, not without difficulties. The voice of the opposition manifested itself, first muted, and then very vociferous. Right-wing parties did not hesitate to attack the so-called excess of the Berlin intelligentsia.
Les Idelers
During our last meeting, Gustav and Emmy often called up their lives during the last year in Berlin, remembering the exemplary behavior of my friends the Idelers during this tragic time.
Martin Ideler was my art teacher at the gymnasium [high school] in Berlin, from 1923 to 1925. His youth and the enthusiasm he showed in his teaching appealed to us. He took us to museums. Through him I discovered the beauty of Impressionist paintings and the value of German Expressionist painters. Soon the bonds of friendships were struck up between us and I was often invited to his house. His family lived in a small villa in a suburb of Berlin [Lichterfelde]. That's where I met his wife Lonni and her three children, Axel, Esther, and Suzanne.
If I speak of my dear friends the Idelers it is because of all my German friends, they were the ones who best knew my parents. Gustav and Emmy appreciated their honesty and sincerity. Several times the Idelers came to my parents when my music teacher Heinz Fischer and I organized musical soirées.
A few days after the infamous Kristallnacht, when the Nazis burned synagogues and shattered the windows of stores owned by Jews - my friends the Idlers visited my parents. They were the only ones who by their presence testified that there were still Germans who revolted against Nazi barbarism.
'Tin served every year of the War of 1914-18. He returned very depressed by what he saw at the front [my mother says he was hospitalized twice for what was then called shell-shock and is now PTSD]. He was a pupil of Louis Corinth and very quickly became a talented painter and a teacher. His pacifist views and liberal attitude were very poorly regarded by the German authorities, and this prevented any promotion for Martin. It was only after the end of World War II that 'Tin was appointed professor of the Academy of Fine Arts.
Lonni Ideler was a great conversationalist. Her enthusiasm for some of the moderns–Nolde and Kollwitz–was equaled by her contempt for reactionaries who glorified war. She vigorously defended our already threatened freedom of expression. I watched as she encouraged her daughters to adopt these ideas and also to develop a real talent for drawing and watercolor. My father loved Lonni. She often went to see him. He made some of his prettiest coats for her.
Lonni's talent for watercolor was exceptional. She worked quickly and apparently without effort, but with an exquisite sense of the value of colors and with remarkable technique. One of her Beaux-Arts teachers said "Lonni ignores that painting is difficult."
She stays in my memory as a woman of true righteousness. She represents all that was best in the German tradition, the truth. I saw her in mourning after the death of her son Axel. Seemingly composed, she wiped the tears with the back of her hand and said, "Arnold, das ist schwer zu ertragen." [Arnold, it is hard to bear.] If dazzling in her conversation, she had a touching modesty when it came to her work.
During all the years when my parents were in Nazi Germany, the Idelers did their best to keep in touch and to surround them with their presence. When my parents finally left, they entrusted to them their their silverware, which survived the war and was returned to us. I had the pleasure to see them physically and mentally intact in Berlin in 1945. I told them about the fate Gustav and Emmy. Their tears showed better than any words their attachment to my dear parents.
Esther and Susanne emigrated to the United States, both married American husbands. [Actually, Esther's husband was Czech.] Once he retired, Tin, with Lonni, followed his children to America. They had the joy of meeting five small grandchildren in Los Angeles where their daughters were established.
During my trips to California, I visited my friends. We walked in beautiful parks. Tin spoke of the light, and the different races composing the population of Los Angeles. Lonni was delighted with the flowers and colors of California. One day I was able to take them to Santa Barbara where I had to work. On the way we talked about the times 'Tin stayed in Paris in 1921 and then in 1925, and the trip that Lonni and 'Tin made in 1937 when they became acquainted with Jacqueline.
On the trip to our house after the war they left us a gift of fresh and beautiful family portraits. Arriving in Santa Barbara, they settled near the beach waiting for me. My appointment was not to last long. 'Tin did a picture of mountains and Lonni a watercolor; a bouquet of flowers that has been in my office for 20 years.
Tin was not healthy. The last time I visited them, he accompanied me to the taxi that would take me to a factory where I was going. This is where we said goodbye. After our departure, the driver turned to me and said, "Yes, Mister, it's hard to leave the ones we love." How right he was.
During my last visit to Los Angeles, Lonni was in the hospital. Esther had given me the phone number. We talked. Everything was going well when suddenly, Lonni was sobbing, "It is not so hard to die, Arnold, only there is your parents' fate ... It is thinking about them that makes it so hard."
Martin Ideler was my art teacher at the gymnasium [high school] in Berlin, from 1923 to 1925. His youth and the enthusiasm he showed in his teaching appealed to us. He took us to museums. Through him I discovered the beauty of Impressionist paintings and the value of German Expressionist painters. Soon the bonds of friendships were struck up between us and I was often invited to his house. His family lived in a small villa in a suburb of Berlin [Lichterfelde]. That's where I met his wife Lonni and her three children, Axel, Esther, and Suzanne.
If I speak of my dear friends the Idelers it is because of all my German friends, they were the ones who best knew my parents. Gustav and Emmy appreciated their honesty and sincerity. Several times the Idelers came to my parents when my music teacher Heinz Fischer and I organized musical soirées.
A few days after the infamous Kristallnacht, when the Nazis burned synagogues and shattered the windows of stores owned by Jews - my friends the Idlers visited my parents. They were the only ones who by their presence testified that there were still Germans who revolted against Nazi barbarism.
'Tin served every year of the War of 1914-18. He returned very depressed by what he saw at the front [my mother says he was hospitalized twice for what was then called shell-shock and is now PTSD]. He was a pupil of Louis Corinth and very quickly became a talented painter and a teacher. His pacifist views and liberal attitude were very poorly regarded by the German authorities, and this prevented any promotion for Martin. It was only after the end of World War II that 'Tin was appointed professor of the Academy of Fine Arts.
Lonni Ideler was a great conversationalist. Her enthusiasm for some of the moderns–Nolde and Kollwitz–was equaled by her contempt for reactionaries who glorified war. She vigorously defended our already threatened freedom of expression. I watched as she encouraged her daughters to adopt these ideas and also to develop a real talent for drawing and watercolor. My father loved Lonni. She often went to see him. He made some of his prettiest coats for her.
Lonni's talent for watercolor was exceptional. She worked quickly and apparently without effort, but with an exquisite sense of the value of colors and with remarkable technique. One of her Beaux-Arts teachers said "Lonni ignores that painting is difficult."
She stays in my memory as a woman of true righteousness. She represents all that was best in the German tradition, the truth. I saw her in mourning after the death of her son Axel. Seemingly composed, she wiped the tears with the back of her hand and said, "Arnold, das ist schwer zu ertragen." [Arnold, it is hard to bear.] If dazzling in her conversation, she had a touching modesty when it came to her work.
During all the years when my parents were in Nazi Germany, the Idelers did their best to keep in touch and to surround them with their presence. When my parents finally left, they entrusted to them their their silverware, which survived the war and was returned to us. I had the pleasure to see them physically and mentally intact in Berlin in 1945. I told them about the fate Gustav and Emmy. Their tears showed better than any words their attachment to my dear parents.
Esther and Susanne emigrated to the United States, both married American husbands. [Actually, Esther's husband was Czech.] Once he retired, Tin, with Lonni, followed his children to America. They had the joy of meeting five small grandchildren in Los Angeles where their daughters were established.
During my trips to California, I visited my friends. We walked in beautiful parks. Tin spoke of the light, and the different races composing the population of Los Angeles. Lonni was delighted with the flowers and colors of California. One day I was able to take them to Santa Barbara where I had to work. On the way we talked about the times 'Tin stayed in Paris in 1921 and then in 1925, and the trip that Lonni and 'Tin made in 1937 when they became acquainted with Jacqueline.
On the trip to our house after the war they left us a gift of fresh and beautiful family portraits. Arriving in Santa Barbara, they settled near the beach waiting for me. My appointment was not to last long. 'Tin did a picture of mountains and Lonni a watercolor; a bouquet of flowers that has been in my office for 20 years.
Tin was not healthy. The last time I visited them, he accompanied me to the taxi that would take me to a factory where I was going. This is where we said goodbye. After our departure, the driver turned to me and said, "Yes, Mister, it's hard to leave the ones we love." How right he was.
During my last visit to Los Angeles, Lonni was in the hospital. Esther had given me the phone number. We talked. Everything was going well when suddenly, Lonni was sobbing, "It is not so hard to die, Arnold, only there is your parents' fate ... It is thinking about them that makes it so hard."
Translation notes
I am not a French scholar, but have a beginner's familiarity with the language. I typed Arnold's memoir, paragraph-by-paragraph, into translate.google.com. This generated a clumsy but useful "frenglish" paragraph which I was then able to puzzle out with the help of the original text.