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    German Boy
    German Boy
    German Boy
    Ebook110 pages58 minutes

    German Boy

    By Carol Koppenstein

    ()

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    About this ebook

    "Oh my God" I saw a body with no head. I saw the head in another place and I almost stepped on another body. It was a lady. Her neck was full of shrapnel and blood was gushing from it.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisheriUniverse
    Release dateJan 17, 2009
    ISBN9780595608737
    German Boy
    Author

    Carol Koppenstein

    Carol' career was in real estate; first as office manager for her husband Chris's construction company, and as a Real Estate Broker and Certified General Real Estate Appraiser. The focus of her appraisal career was litigation support. When she retired, she became a professional mediator. Her focus was court connected Domestic Relation Cases and Parent Educator. In 2007, she received her associates degree in Criminal Justice from Linn Benton Community College. Carol was born and raised in Eastern Montana. She spent her childhood years on a farm. when she married Chris in 1959, they managed the family dairy until 1968, when they moved to Dallas, Oregon. In 2008, they moved to Carlsbad, NM. Their three daughters and their grandchildren are the focus of their lives. Carol wrote this book after many interviews with her husband Chris. She also has childhood memories from what her grandmother told her about living in Bessarabia. Chris's father and mother had passed away before the idea of this book was real.

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      Book preview

      German Boy - Carol Koppenstein

      Contents

      ACKNOWLEDGEMENT:

      INTRODUCTION:

      CHAPTER ONE:

      CHAPTER TWO:

      CHAPTER THREE:

      CHAPTER FOUR:

      CHAPTER FIVE:

      CHAPTER SIX:

      CHAPTER SEVEN:

      CHAPTER EIGHT:

      CONCLUSIONS:

      CREDITS:

      Cami Koppenstein: Editing, typing

      Bryan Hughes: Cover Design

      DEDICATIONS:

      To the memory of Christian’s parents

      To our wonderful daughters: Lori, Kathi and Cami

      And to the best grandchildren in the world

      ACKNOWLEDGEMENT:

      Karyn Chambers, English/Writing Instructor for Linn-Benton Community College: she gave me encouragement.

      INTRODUCTION:

      Christian was a small child during World War II. For over fifty years, he has stored memories in the back of his mind of his childhood, the war, and his life, never to tell anyone until now. He needed to be in survival mode, move on, and most importantly, just wanted a normal life.

      This is a story about survival, enduring hunger, staying alive in subzero temperatures and facing death many times. Some of the atrocities Christian witnessed will never be fully explainable to anyone that wasn’t there to see it for themselves. Most of those atrocities we’ll luckily never be forced to see in our lifetimes.

      As he finally has gotten the courage to go back and remember things he’s worked for many years to forget, Christian can’t help but wonder why he survived; why he made it through when others’ time on this earth was unfairly cut short. The only logical answer is that he’s here to pass those stories on to future generations, in hopes we can learn from the past and not be doomed to repeat it.

      Christian recalls As I was shoved around from one country to another, I knew I was not wanted wherever I went; it is only by God’s will that I lived. I’ll tell my story and those who are interested will read it. I hope that no one ever has to endure what I had to endure.

      This book is Christian’s story, told in the first person as remembered by him. The hard facts and figures are foggy, but the memories and feelings are as clear as the day they happened. Some of the details are horrific, but softened by the courage, sense of humor and youthful innocence of the child that experienced them.

      The story unfolds as shifts in political power changed before, during and after World War II. Christian was a bit unique in that he was a German citizen born in Russian territory.

      CHAPTER ONE:

      I was born in Funda Sarazicka, Bessarabia on October 20, 1936. My birth took place at home and my mother was assisted by a midwife. The only formal records of my birth consisted of my father’s meticulously handwritten records in the family bible, and my baptismal certificate in the Lutheran Church. I was the eldest child of Reinhold and Emma Koppenstein.

      Years later I was told my parents named me Christian after my grandfather on my mother’s side of the family, who had passed away from illness before I was born. I was not given a middle name because it was the custom at that time.

      How is it that I was born in Russian territory, yet still a German citizen? History tells us that Catherine the Great of Russia was in possession of vast tracts of virgin land and desperately needed settlers to turn the lands into a productive agricultural area. In 1763, she issued a manifesto inviting foreigners to settle in Russia. She enticed them with free land, the right to self government, exemption from military service, as well as the right to pass on these privileges to their heirs forever. During the Russian Revolution, Bessarabia was spared chaos by annexing to Romania. Almost 200 years later in 1940, Hitler agreed that Russian could have Bessarabia if Stalin would agree to the resettlement of all ethnic Germans back to Germany.

      The Bessarabia countryside was dotted with settlement villages. The earlier settlers had changed the wilderness into highly productive land, yet it remained secluded and simple in comparison to the rest of the world. There were no modern technological conveniences, such as electricity or telephones. Modern transportation such as automobiles and tractors had infiltrated most of the earth, but we still relied on horse and buggy. We had clean air, organic food and pure water from a hand-dug well. Residents would travel between the villages to trade supplies.

      The climate was favorable for growing grapes and other delicious fruit, as well as bountiful crops of grain and corn. My parents’ farm spanned about 600 acres, divided into parcels on both sides of the village road. We had several hired hands (servants) to help out with the daily work.

      The judicial system was patterned after the Ten Commandments. A magistrate and judge had the authority to determine the nature of the punishment for each crime. A minor offence was usually reconciled in the form of a public beating, which served as a warning for both the criminal and the rest of the community. More serious crimes resulted in hanging or shooting. Evening curfew was enforced by dogs, which were allowed to run loose in the village after 9pm. Children were not permitted to see any punishments being served, however, it happened by accident on occasion. I’ll never forget the time I happened to look the wrong direction and saw a public beating in progress. In horror I wondered, Why would anyone do something to deserve that?

      Our village was laid out in ‘cluster-style’, designed to protect us and the livestock from predators, mainly wolves. The houses had livestock quarters attached and facing the street, while the farmland behind opened up to a common pastureland. During the summer the livestock were looked after by herdsman as they grazed the pastures, while in winter they were housed indoors where they could be kept warm and safe. Every morning the herdsman would come down the street to gather the cattle. Every evening, they would round up the cattle and deposit them to each of their owners who would place them indoors for the night. The cows always seemed to know where they belonged and would automatically turn off the street into their own yard without prompting; they were quite amazing creatures. Earlier settlers lived in dugouts for protection from wolf attacks. I remember seeing some of those on the hillsides and wondering what it would be like to live there.

      My young childhood memories are happy and carefree. I knew I was loved by my parents and that they’d always take good care of me. They read Bible stories to me and taught me how to pray. I was happy and secure, and had a dog who was my buddy. We would spend hours playing fetch.

      I saw my parents working together on the farm every day. Father was in the field with the horses, doing the plowing and harrowing, and scattering seeds by hand. During harvest, I stayed a safe distance away when he and the servants cut the grain with big scary scythes. I watched and learned as they tied the bundles by wrapping a few strands of grain around each bundle and twisting and tucking in the ends to finish.

      Whatever Father did I wanted to do too, even if it meant being ridiculed by the help. My bundles were small, but I made and tied them all by myself. Later when they made shocks with the bundles, I made little shocks with my little bundles. Finally when the shocks were loaded onto wagons to bring into the yard for threshing, I got to sit on top of the wagon, which was pretty much my favorite part. I loved to slide along with the grain to the ground, and hay was even more fun because it was more slippery! The faster my slide, the harder the ground felt to my bottom. My dog was always there wagging his tail and waiting for me to hit the ground.

      Sometimes I would see little mice scurrying from under the hay. My dog would only chase things if I gave him the Sick ‘Em! command. For the most part we ignored the mice, but a rat was a different story. My dog and I would keep busy clubbing and chasing, but the rat would usually escape because he was faster than us.

      My mother worked in the house and the yard. She would rub our dirty clothes clean on a washboard and hang them on a line to dry. I always laughed in the wintertime when the long underwear froze and the stiff long legs flapped awkwardly

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