My Years in Brno

I arrived in Brno in the morning hours of late August. My father was coming from Jablonec and we were to meet at a hotel. Father had not yet arrived. Not wanting to check in by myself, I left my baggage in the porter's care and started to walk through the streets of the city.

Brno was not what I would call a beautiful city, but it certainly was a very prosperous one. The second largest city in the Czech Republic, it boasted of industry unequaled elsewhere in the land. Besides serving as the seat of the Supreme Court of Czechoslovakia, it was also the capital of the historically independent lands of Moravia and Silesia, where thousands upon thousands found employment with state, regional and local governments.

The city boasted such industrial giants as Zbrojovka, the largest Czech armament factory. It produced everything from bullets, machine guns and carbines to tanks, and even motorcycles. Some of their products reached the U.S.A. and other countries around the world. Their civilian and police motorcycles were especially famous. The textile industry was represented on a grand scale by the Gebr¸der Stiastni Textile Mills (Bratri Stiastni Textilni Zavody), where I eventually found part-time employment. There were other large textile mills, which employed workers not only from Brno, but also from the neighboring little towns. One had only to go to the main railway station at 5:30 a.m. to comprehend the enormity of Brno's industrial might. Commuter trains arrived practically every minute and poured out great masses of workers.

Another large enterprise worth mentioning was the brick factory known as the Moravsko-Slezske Cihlarny (Moravia Silesian brick works). It was a huge complex owned by the Cohen family that employed a great number of Jews. Any Jew unable to find work anywhere else could eventually get employment at the Cihlarna.

Of course, on the morning of my arrival I was not concerned with any of that. My main interest was to find a room, preferably without board. I was hoping to eat in the many student eateries available in Brno, like in every city with a significant student population. Next was to locate my school which was at Francouzka ulice 1. I did not have to ask around, as the porter pointed out its direction. The school was far from the hotel, a long walk up a hill, so I was tired when I reached my destination. The school occupied a huge building, a full city block.

Once I knew where my school was, I could start planning. Walking around, I noticed many signs in windows advertising rooms for rent. It was still too early to inspect any of the rooms, so I bought a paper and returned to the hotel. Since my father had not yet arrived, I went to a nearby park to read the newspaper, concentrating on the "Room for Rent" ads. Some included prices, some had telephone numbers to call, others listed only addresses. From the ads I got an idea what a room cost in different parts of the city.

My father arrived in late afternoon. By the time we checked in and got settled, it was time for supper (referred to as "dinner" here). After supper, we returned to our hotel room and finally got down to details. I reported what I had seen so far, what I thought we should look for and what I estimated the expenditures would be.

It took us two days to find a room not far from the school. It was with a middle class Jewish family, and had to be shared with another student. The price, if I remember it correctly, was 350-375 Kcs. and included room and board. It was a nice, large room. There was a telephone in the hall to be used sparingly and for short communications only. I resolved the financial questions to my satisfaction, having established with my father the amount of money I was to receive from him every month.

My father arranged to depart the next day, as he had some friends in town he wanted to visit.

I normally dread goodbyes and dreaded them even more on this occasion, as it was the first time I was to be left by myself in such a large city. As we waited for his train, I grew apprehensive of all the last minute advice I expected my father would give me. Surprisingly, as I see it now, I did not really know my father well enough. There were no long speeches on how to behave, what to do and what not to do. We had a pleasant last conversation, with my father telling me about the political problems that might affect our future. His last words to me as he boarded the train were, "I know it is not easy for a young boy to be alone, far away from his family, especially the first time. But I fully trust you." This was his only comment. Telling me that he trusted me meant that I should behave honorably, so as not to bring shame on him. I still had a few days before school began and I did not waste any time sitting in my room. The first thing that I did was to look up a football team I knew of, to see if I could play for them. The Club, S. K Zidenice, had its home at a stadium in Zidenice, which was a suburb of Brno. Zidenice (Jewtown) had been the Jewish Ghetto up to the middle of the 19th century.

The Club itself was fully professional and of National League caliber. The team I wished to join was their junior section, which played against junior teams of other clubs. It usually played on Sundays, before the A-1 team played their game. Every second Sunday we traveled, which took up lots of time - usually the whole day. The Czechs have a saying, "He made the bill without the headwaiter," referring to the system used in European coffee shops and restaurants to present checks to customers. Waiters served guests, but the headwaiter collected the bill. If one sat down for a cup of coffee costing 2 Kcs., one would wind up with a much larger bill: 15% was added for service, 1 Kcs. for music if a band was playing - as was usually the case in the evenings, 1 Kcs. for tax, and so on. Hence the saying, don't make (figure) the bill without the headwaiter. But that's exactly what I wound up doing when I initially planned my sports activities.

I approached the coach of the team asking to join. He invited me to a practice to see if I could qualify - which I did and was accepted. Henceforth, I had to come every Wednesday for a three hour workout at 6:00 p.m. Then I had to be at the stadium every Sunday--no later than noon on days the team played at home, or as early as 8:00 a.m. if the team played away.

Little did I know that this school was much different from any school I attended previously. For one thing, classes started at 8:00 am., lasting until noon, and began again at 2:00 p.m. and lasted until 6:00 p.m. Weekends were the only exception. Saturday classes were held from 8:00 a.m. to noon. Sundays were free. This allowed little time for any extracurricular activities, as there was always some homework to do. I can see now why students graduating from this institution were in such demand.

Every professor was either a professional engineer or had a Ph.D. degree; some had both titles. The studies were in depth, thorough and strict. We dreaded exams months in advance, and waited anxiously with fearful expectation of the results for several weeks afterwards. We learned about everything from growing cotton to making synthetic fibers like rayon. We studied the arts of spinning, weaving and dyeing.

We learned all about the machines needed in each operation. Business law, partnerships, corporation and even civil law were taught daily. No student completing his studies at this school had any difficulty figuring out to the last penny the cost of manufacturing any type of cloth.

Back in Jablonec, when I had joined my first organized football team, I also had to become a member of the FIFA, the International Football Association. Every player had to register with them. An identity card was issued to the player's club, who became the player's exclusive owner. Good players were traded or sold to other clubs. Although my card held no monetary value, my new club in Brno nonetheless had to ask the club in Jablonec for my identity card so that I could play for them. It took half the season for the club to receive my card.

At first I believed that I could squeeze in the time needed for my sports activities. But I never had the chance to be tested on that. Within only 34 weeks, I learned that there was no way I could spare any time for football unless I was willing to neglect my studies. However, knowing that I would not make a living from football, I finally decided to forget it--for the time being anyway. I had made the mistake of making plans without knowing all the facts--I had "made the bill without the headwaiter."

Right from the beginning, many other developments greatly affected my lifestyle. Shortly after arriving in Brno, I met a boy from Volove, who turned out to be a cousin, twice removed, named Mojse Friedman. He told me of many other boys in town who came from Volove and Chust and soon I was in contact with all of them. Our meeting place was an eatery called The Russian Club, so named because the owner was an emigrÈ from old Czarist Russia. One could meet friends there from practically anywhere. It was an inexpensive place that served as a social club, particularly for Jewish youths who were in town as students or as apprentices learning a trade.

Soon it became evident to me that I would be better off moving in with some friends who lived in an apartment on Gymnasium Street. They had rented the apartment from a young couple by the name of Einhorn, who hailed from Chust.

The Einhorns rented the whole fourth floor of the building and sublet four of the rooms at 200 Kcs. each, with two persons per room. I had to wait for a vacancy, but as soon as place was available I moved in with a boy from Volove. We were eight young people and it was truly lots of fun. Our evenings were spent in debates or at The Russian Club.

Sundays we went from one movie to another. The regular price for a ticket was 3 Kcs., but for students only 1 Kcs. So I was the one who would first purchase a ticket, then give my student card to the next, and so on.

Another reason for moving was that by paying less rent I had more money left over for my private use. Again, it was my popularity and friendships from Volove that helped me in this respect.

The Jewish community of Brno was rich and generous. They had established a number of institutions to help the less fortunate Jewish population. For instance, they maintained and supported a home for students and apprentices. I did not qualify at first, but later, after the occupation of the Sudeten by the Germans in the fall of 1938, I could meet the requirements by proving that my parents were displaced from their home in Jablonec. However, I did not like the strict discipline maintained in the home nor the lack of friends living there. There were many other institutions. The Freitisch (Free table) played a very important role in my life. This institution, staffed by volunteers, was a place where any Jew could get a good noon meal consisting of a soup and meat dish, and also receive a sandwich packed for an afternoon lunch. Later, thousands of Jewish refugees arrived from Austria and Germany, fleeing persecution in their countries. The Freitisch served them meals until they were placed somewhere else permanently or until they left the country. The community was overburdened and financially pressed as more and more refugees arrived daily and had to be taken care of.

In charge of the Freitisch was Captain Grunn, retired from the Czech Army, a man with nerves of steel but a heart of gold. Coping with all the problems of the emigrÈs was no easy task. The Czech government issued permits to the refugees only on a transient basis, under the condition that they leave again shortly. There was also the danger of being infiltrated by Nazi spies. Non-Jewish Germans could not be easily differentiated from German Jews, who mostly spoke only German and not Yiddish, and had either no knowledge or very little knowledge of Judaism or Hebrew. It fell to Captain Grunn to arrange permits for them to stay in the country, to feed and clothe them, and to provide many other services.

Therefore, it became almost impossible to get a permanent admission card for the Freitisch. I did not even bother to apply for one, knowing full well that I would be refused just like many others were. Nonetheless, I got my hands on more cards than I could use. One evening, a friend by the name of Josse Schwarz, from near Chust, visited me. He knew me but I did not know him until we met in Brno. He was an electrician's apprentice and possessed a Freitisch card, which he gave me to use and for safekeeping while he went home due to an illness in his family. Poor Josse never came back to Brno. In 1939, we met again in Chust.

Another "donor" was the twice-removed cousin, Mojse Friedman, I mentioned earlier. He also went home and needed somebody to hold his card. At one point, I had four cards and problems giving them to reliable friends. The cards had to be used, as each month a new list was drawn up that deleted any persons who had not used their cards the previous month. It was also essential to give the card only to reliable people who could be reached easily if the card's owner came back and demanded its return. I always managed to arrange things to everybody's satisfaction.

I finally started to get used to a regular routine in school and at home, which took some sacrifices on my part. For one, there was no more reading under the bench while the teacher was trying to teach. This was a serious offense. If one did not pay attention, the consequence was failure and there was no such thing as repeating a class. The government had no intentions of spending money on losers. The small tuition fee the students paid covered practically nothing. To maintain all the workshops with their expensive machinery and demonstration materials ran into millions, and there was no freeloading. "Learn or leave," was the law.

I had always been an ardent reader and managed to do quite a bit of reading, even with as little time as I had. So as not to disturb my roommate, I purchased a small lamp that was specially designed to throw light only on a small area and shaded the rest of the room. In this way I could read one or two hours at night.

Life could have been good, but dark clouds hung over Czechoslovakia. The Germans in the Sudeten were becoming more vocal. Their politicians grew more demanding by the hour. Hardly had they achieved one concession that they were there again with ten other demands. It was no longer a secret that their aim was the total annexation of the Sudetenland by Germany.

My father wrote me more often, and we agreed on a unified contingency plan. If the Sudeten were occupied, father would move to Prague and gave me an address where he could be reached. Should they occupy all of Czechoslovakia, he felt we would be safer in Chust or Volove. As it turned out, he rightly foresaw that the Carpathian Ukraine would most likely become part of Hungary. Anything was better than living in Hitler's Germany.

Of course there was still hope for a peaceful settlement, considering that Czechoslovakia allied to France, Great Britain and the U.S.S.R. This alliance, called the "Big Entente", guaranteed military intervention in case of an unprovoked attack. The "Little Entente", an alliance composed of Czechoslovakia, Rumania and Yugoslavia, also pledged intervention in case of attack.

Each day the papers came out in extra editions with big headlines. I felt compelled to spend money on them three times a day so I could read the latest news, which in reality was the same only differently phrased. Even the radio could not satisfy my hunger to hear the latest developments. From the middle of September I had become addicted to reading and listening to the news. I managed to tune in to Moscow news on the short-wave. They were optimistic that Hitler would not dare to attack Czechoslovakia, with its strong army and with the promise of help from her Allies, especially from Russia itself. Russia said it was prepared to send 2,000 airplanes with trained pilots to fight alongside our army should the need arise. Little did we realize that this was just empty boasting for propaganda purposes. I was so naive that I believed every word they said.

Mr. Chamberlain, the British Prime Minister, visited Hitler for the second time in a short time span. On this visit Hitler demanded complete surrender of the predominantly German territories without any removal or destruction of military or economic establishments. He also wanted plebiscites held in any territory with a minority population of Germans.

On September 24th, the government of Czechoslovakia ordered its armed forces fully mobilized. Britain and France conferred with Russia, which had urged a strong stand from the outset. Rumania and Yugoslavia also were reported in favor of a firm stand. In fact, a memorandum was sent to Hungary advising it of its obligation through "The Little Entente" pact to come to the aid of Czechoslovakia in case of attack. Hungary promptly withdrew its armies from the Czech border.

But an acute international crisis, the most serious since 1918, was in the making. Chamberlain again appealed to Hitler for a conference, having made up his mind to sacrifice Czechoslovakia for the sake of world peace. Czechoslovakia was not advised of this decision. On September 29th, Hitler, the German Foreign Minister von Ribbentrop, the Premier of France Deladier, Mussolini, el Duce of Italy, and his son-in law, Count Ciano, who was the Italian Foreign Minister, conferred through the whole afternoon late into the evening. Czechoslovakia was not even invited to attend.

Parts of Czechoslovakia with over 50% of a German speaking population were to be occupied beginning on October 1st. Occupation would be completed by the 10th. France and England gave their guarantees to what was left of Czechoslovakia against any further unprovoked aggression. The Czechs knew even then what this guarantee was worth, as one says: "not even the paper it was written on." Czechoslovakia also faced claims from Poland and Hungary. In exchange for these territorial concessions, Germany and Italy were to sign a guarantee similar to the Anglo-French one. It was like "trusting a wolf to watch over the chicken house."

In reality, the occupation started right after the meeting. Czechoslovakia was not only abandoned by France and England, but was threatened with military action should it refuse to honor the agreement. Only Russia and 'The Little Entente" countries protested, but in the end even they abandoned their ally. This gave Germany free entry into the Sudeten and allowed them in the process to grab territory not marked for occupation, territory that was often 100% Czech. In the long run, it did not matter anyway, as this marked the beginning of World War II. Chamberlain's famous remarks in the Lower House of Parliament were, "I have saved peace for the world in our times."

The crisis soon generated much dispute and many recriminations. It was felt that the democratic powers had deserted the only democratic outpost in middle Europe and thereby suffered a tremendous defeat. Thinking was that it could have been avoided if a strong stand had been taken before the Munich conference.

The crisis soon generated much dispute and many recriminations. It was felt that the democratic powers had deserted the only democratic outpost in middle Europe and thereby suffered a tremendous defeat. Thinking was that it could have been avoided if a strong stand had been taken before the Munich conference.

After the war, I read many books written by historians and military men who expressed an opinion, supported by interviews with high-ranking German officers, that the German Army was prepared to overthrow Hitler if the world had stood firm against him. However, after the bloodless capture of Austria, the occupation of the Sudeten and later the rest of Czechoslovakia (Bohemia, Moravia and Silesia) without the loss of a single German soldier or the firing of a single shot, the German generals and general population saw in Hitler a man sent by Providence to lead them to previously unknown heights.

Around October 10th, I received instructions by telegram to be at the main station in Brno, as my father would be coming through with Anne and family on their way to Chust. I had but a few minutes with my father and said hello to Anne. Tommy was sleeping, it was nighttime. Father left Jablonec at the last minute, but was unable to save much since trucks were hard to get. He worked quickly, afraid of the chaos that might occur after the Czech police and military personnel left, making the city a no-man's land for several hours. It was Uncle Marton, by that time managing the Friedman properties that included the sawmill, who invited Father to return to Volove or Chust. Father settled in Chust.

Czechoslovakia was still in existence and, for a while at least, there was hope that maybe Mr. Chamberlain was right. I continued school as before. There were now more refugees in Brno than ever. There were frequent raids, checking identity papers in search of illegals.

In one raid, I was arrested for not having any identification papers on me. After finding me in the registry, the authorities released me, but it was some experience. People, some with children, were crying. It was a sorry sight, and the first time I saw this type of suffering: people without a land and nowhere to go.

In July and August of 1938, as usual I returned to Volove and Jasina, with a short stop in Chust. When I came back for the school year 1938-39, I had no inkling that the year would end as abruptly as it did. In October, as I already mentioned, I saw my father and it restored my hope to know that he and his family were safe. With the help of my class professor, I got a part time job at one of the mills of the Gebr¸der Stiastni Textile works. I came in on Sundays and worked twice a week for four hours in the evenings. It was excellent experience for me and gave me a way to meet people and earn a few kopecs besides. I lived in the same place with mostly the same boys. Even though we never locked any doors, nothing was ever missing from our rooms.

One morning, I forgot to put on my old Doxa watch. When I came back from school, the watch was not there. I asked around but nobody knew anything about it. That evening, I went to The Russian Club, met some of my friends and told them the story of my watch. To my surprise, one of them told me that just a while before a fellow named Bohm was trying to sell him a Doxa. Although Bohm was a new tenant and a stranger to us, he looked all right and we thought of him as a regular guy. I asked my friend not to say anything. Very late at night, I got up and went into Bohm's room. I quietly pulled out his shoe and took out his socks. Sure enough my watch came gliding out. I reported this to the landlord and Bohm was sent packing immediately. This was the only time something like that ever happened in our flat.

The winter went by and life settled back to normal. Surprisingly, after a brief period of adjustment, the business climate started to improve and it looked like relations with other countries would be normalized. Factories were again working full blast. My professors, forced to join the army during the September mobilization, returned one by one. Our classes got back to normal as our professors came back to their desks. Dr. Benes, the President of the Republic, resigned in October and was replaced by Dr. Hacha, a former Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. Everyone thought he was a good choice.

I still had plenty of cards for the Freitisch and gave one to a friend by the name of Shlojme Steinberg, with whom I had attended school in Volove. He was very thankful then, so I thought. I mention this now because it turned out to be very interesting from the point of view of human character. Remember this, you will read about him later.

Without much warning, there was political tension again. This time there was no need to mobilize the army since Czech defenses, called the "Little Maginot Line," were in the hands of the Germans (the "Big Maginot Line" was in France.). Czechoslovakia lay defenseless.

On March 14th, President Hacha flew to Berlin and was received by Hitler. According to records published later, Hitler immediately started yelling that Czechoslovakia was a threat to the security of Germany. Unless Czechoslovakia submitted and accepted German occupation, he was prepared to bomb all the country's large cities. Allegedly, Dr. Hacha, who was an old man, fainted and finally submitted.

Occupation began on March 15, 1939. The German Army reached Brno around 10:00 a.m. that day. I had heard about the surrender at 6:00 a.m., but it was too early to phone my good friend and cousin (twice removed) Ludvik Weiss and his brother, Aaron. I waited until 8:00 a.m. to phone them and tell them to get ready to leave that evening. There was a train scheduled to leave at 8:00 p.m. I told Shlojme Steinberg, who lived with me, and I also phoned a few other friends. We were all to meet at the train no later than 6:00 p.m. Before I started packing, I still had some money coming to me and had to go to the Stiastni factory to get my pay.

To my credit, I was sure that Hitler had gone too far this time. The world would never allow this. I thought the latest developments were just a temporary setback and that things would soon return to normal. I packed two suitcases and two boxes. My personal belongings filled one and a half suitcases. The rest of the space held my books.

We were all there even before 6:00 p.m., loaded with suitcases. Ludvik, surprisingly, only had a very small valise. I guess he was smarter than I was, or had less clothing. He did not need any boxes.

Our journey home to Chust and Volove had begun.