Ursula Bacon - Shanghai Diary

Epilogue

W hen San Francisco opened its Golden Gate to the several thousand Shanghai Jews who arrived on crowded World War II troop carriers, hospitality, friendship, and compassion greeted the weary masses. These refugees had traveled over their elbow to get to their knee, and finally set foot onto the land they had dreamt about for so long.

Speaking for myselfwell, I truly had come home. The moment I touched American soil my heart was at peace, and I knew that the future was mine to live. Marienhall became a fond and treasured memory, but no longer was it the destination of my dreams. I lived happily in a little white cottage with the proverbial picket fence hugged by rambling red roses, with a real bathroom and Gold Bond Stamps.

Our two families settled in Denver, Colorado, where both my parents and the Levysohns (who changed their name to Lansing according to Pauls wishes) led a life of deep content and boundless gratitude for many, many years. Each day, we counted our blessings, viewed with awe the magnificent snow-covered Rocky Mountains, and felt a great deal more like delayed pilgrims than displaced persons.

Our children, Ron and Marly, were born in the mile-high city and made our happiness complete. The kids were American citizens before we were. Our families attended citizenship classes, and in May of 1953, the Lansings and the Blombergs were the largest family ever to be sworn in as American citizens in Denver. What a day that was.

My father just grinned and grinned. He never stopped. Arent we so glad we didnt give in? was all he said with tears glistening in his hazel eyes. He, too, had come home. Vati found employment with a printer, where he put to use his typesetting skills from the past. Later on, he took a job with the Denver Post and worked there until he retired at the age of seventy-five. He didnt even give in to aging. Although he added a great number of words to his vocabulary, the singsong rhythm of his Pidgin English never left him. And that was all right. If anything, it made him more appealing.

Heinz eventually married a young refugee girl from Frankfurt, raised two wonderful children, and remained close to the family. The pictures that accompany this story are the results of his relentless pursuit to document the Shanghai years. He, too, left his gifts behind. I treasure the gifts.

We stayed in touch with Max Selig who made his home in San Francisco, while his roommate, Kurt Vogel, joined his relatives in Boston. Max remained a bachelor, but Kurt married a young widow with two small boys, and, like a fairy tale, they lived happily ever after. Both our friends enjoyed successful business careers.

Eva and her parents settled in Chicago, where she married a young attorney, raised a daughter, and became an interior designer. We corresponded faithfully through the years, talked on the telephone, and whenever possible, we visited with each other. As with the rest of our little groupand just like the memories of the seasonsan uncharted rhythm brought us together with astonishing regularity.

After nine long years, the Schillers, who decided to make New York City their home, were finally reunited with their daughters. The two girls had grown into lovely teenagers with clipped British accents and strong desires to make up for the lost years. Joseph worked as an accountant for a large corporation, and every once in a while he and Lucy came to Colorado to ski. We cherished their visits.

My mothers family, the Schafers, eventually made their home in San Francisco. The two sisters kept up a brisk correspondence and saw each other every year. Wild horses couldnt keep the Cohns away from my parents, and when they arrived in America in early 1948, our faithful friends made a beeline for Denver. The Shanghai bonds ran deep and strong.

It was always a special day when a letter from Yuan Lin arrived. I couldnt wait to open the envelope, because the moment I lifted the flap, his gentle presence flowed into the room. The memories of his startling turquoise eyes lit up my heart, and his warm voice brought his gifts of love and wisdom. He reported on his travels, on settling down in Taiwan and becoming a teacher. Before I tucked his letter in a special place in my desk, Id swear I saw him steeple his hands, touch his forehead, and say: Peace, dear friend. Remember, its all the same.

Distance could not diminish the power of his persona. I missed him terribly.

I called on all the wisdom and faith Yuan Lin had taught me to hold me up when Wolf left us suddenly in 1970. The past surfaced, and I could hear my teachers soft voice saying, Dear friend, always remember, we dont come here to stay. We come here to go.

Life, in all its goodness and splendor, unfolded once again when I met and later married my husband, Thorn, who, with his big heart and gentle hand, opened new and different doors for me. And I grew some more.

All in all, I have been one lucky girl-child.

The names of some individuals have been changed to protect their privacy.

Shanghai Diary

2002, 2004 Ursula Bacon

All rights reserved.

First Edition 2002 from Milestone Books

Photography Henry Lansing (Heinz Levysohn)

Book Design Amy Arendts

No portion of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the express written permission of M Press.

M Press

10956 SE Main Street

Milwaukie, OR 97222

www.mpressbooks.com

ISBN: 1-59582-000-0

ePub ISBN: 978-1-62115-432-7

First M Press Edition: October 2004

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Printed in The United States of America

To Thorn, always and To my wonderful children, Ron and Marly and In memory of those who perished.

To all of you who have touched my life and brought me your gifts of love, and to a special friend whose support of my endeavors is boundless, my deepest gratitude.

Contents

Foreword

Prologue1

March 1939: The Year of the Hare

May 1939: The Year of the Hare

August 1939: The Year of the Hare

September 1939 to January 1940: The Year of the Dragon

1940 to January 1942: The Year of the Snake

1942: The Year of the Horse

Early 1943: The Year of the Sheep

March 1943: The Year of the Sheep

Mid 1943: The Year of the Sheep

December 1943: The Year of the Sheep

1944: The Year of the Monkey

1945: The Year of the Cock

1945, Part Two: The Year of the Cock

1945, Part Three: The Last Half of the Year of the Cock

1946: The Year of the Dog

1947: The Year of New Beginnings

Epilogue

Foreword

There must be a reason why it took me so long to write thisstory. Perhaps I thought no one would want to read it, but I changed my mind.

I have lived in America since 1947, and only at the persistent urging, constant nagging, and final threatening of family and friends have I stepped back into the past to chronicle the Shanghai Years. Few people have ever heard of the nearly 20,000 or so Middle European refugees who found shelter in Shanghai from Hitlers Nazi Germanythe country that eventually would permit the extinction of six million Jews and millions of other undesirables of the Third Reich. The rest of the world had closed its myopic eyes to the horrors of Nazi Germany, closed its ears to the pitiful cries for help, and consequently, barred its doors to those trying to escape from the nightmare of calculated genocide. America, Mexico, Canada, South America, Central America, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, not to mention the European nations and their colonies, all were unwilling to accept refugees.