My Mother Was a Nazi Youth Member by Cara (Lewis) Cobb '69
Having been Nazi Youth members, my mother and her two sisters fled Budapest ahead of the Russian Budapest Offensive in 1945. The Allied Forces had allowed Russia the first entrance to any area that had been primarily Nazi sympathetic. The cartoons depicting Russian soldiers wearing wristwatches up their arms made comic of their ruthlessness as they plundered, murdered and raped their way across Europe into Germany. The three women, one pregnant and dragging a toddler, had garbed themselves with as much clothing as they could before saying good-bye to their parents and wealthy lifestyle. Their journey began on foot until they found a wandering German soldier who agreed to transport them by bus to the German border.
They found themselves in a Hungarian refugee camp perched in the Bavarian mountains with a large group of women, children and elderly. There was no sanitation, meager food provisions and no clean water. At the base of the mountain, a unit of the American Army had settled into their own compound; lacking an officer, they had chosen a non-commissioned officer, my father, to head up the unit until a superior could arrive. These war weary troops, part of the Third Army had fought their way from Normandy, through Southern France, survived the Battle of the Bulge, and the Rhineland and Southern Germany invasions; they were relieved to rest in the cool mountain air of Bavaria, near Vilshofen and Passau.
The Hungarians feared the American soldiers because of their Allied kinship with the Russians. They knew they had to face their fears in order to procure food and milk for the children. The quandary was who to send. There were few young men, of whom none could be spared; a child was out of the question; an old man could not make the physical trek down the mountain….they needed a German- speaking, beautiful, bold, young woman to coax the Americans into compliance without harm.
My mother was chosen. She had been previously engaged to a handsome Nazi officer; their romance had been cruelly severed by the war and her flight from Budapest. This five-foot-four, striking, athletic brunette who spoke German with a ‘Zsa Zsa’ accent marched fearlessly into the American Army camp and demanded to speak to the man in charge. The acting officer-in-charge, my overweight, formidable Jewish father came out of his tent, weapon in belt, to meet her. Seeing a rat scurrying across his path, he drew the revolver and blew it to smithereens. My mother was unimpressed, but succeeded in acquiring provisions and care for the Hungarians on the mountain. Smitten by the Eastern European woman, my father continued to care for the refugee camp until it was disbanded and the residents sent home or to Brazil for relocation. He asked my mother to marry him and they wed in December, 1946. They remained stationed in Germany until my birth in 1952.
My mother fashioned our military life into a glamorous experience as we traveled around the world. When we lived in the States, she took advantage of every recreational opportunity given by the military base. I became a lifeguard, swimming instructor, Red Cross Candy Striper and always held an after-school and summer job. In Japan, we learned the language, ate the food, toured and were immersed in the Japanese culture. I ate rice with a fish eye staring from its vacant head; dried squid was a school lunchbox snack; English was forbidden when shopping; walking was the mode of transportation unless we rode the fast train to Tokyo.
I graduated from high school in the class of 1969 at Berlin American High School. My father was the NCOIC (non-commissioned officer in charge) of the RTO, the duty train out of West Berlin, through the demilitarized zone of East Germany, to turn around and return from the Frankfurt train station. His position gave us exceptional travel privileges and first-class accommodations. At the East German rail checkpoint, the DDS military police would board the train, check papers, search under the train for fleeing hitchhikers and finally let the train pass on. During the forty-five minute stop, young Russian soldiers stood at ease along the length of the train, eyes forward, body still. We would rap on the train windows to get their attention, then flash cigarette packs or Playboy magazines, motioning a trade-off for a Soviet belt buckle or hat insignia. The Russian would furtively glance left and right, then make a mad dash to an open window to hurriedly complete the exchange.
My parents allowed me full freedom to be totally engaged with West Berlin society. Possessing multilingual skills, I was absolutely unrecognizable as an American teenager. During the times we crossed into the Eastern Sector to tour and shop with my uniformed father, my mother and I would separate from him to approach the shopkeepers in German or Hungarian, thus obtaining the lowest prices for “locals.” There were only two duty tours which the Army considered too “hazardous” for dependents; one stint to an underground missile base in Nome, Alaska, and thirteen months on the DMZ in Seoul, Korea, after the Korean War. I remember both times as being extremely difficult for my mother as she performed the duties of both parents during his absence. It made me realize the necessity of being co-operative, responsible and mature as I plowed through turbulent adolescence. My mother was as much the soldier as my father was.
My father retired with 100% disability after thirty-seven years of service to the United States. Within six years, at the age of 58, he died, unable to integrate happily into civilian life. My mother lived for thirty more years, ever loving her fallen heroic soldier. My military upbringing has left me with far more experiences, memories, skills and lessons than most “normal” backgrounds. My military upbringing has enabled me to pass on to my children the richness of cultural diversities, the advantage of languages, the thrill of new sights and a global palate. My military upbringing has given me limitless horizons, attainable dreams and adventurous experiences.
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