Note: Photos recently sent to me by my third cousin caused me to investigate the Bruck family connection to former President Teddy Roosevelt’s family, and in the process learn a trivial fact and uncover some inaccurate information in a so-called “Roosevelt Genealogy.”
I was astonished to discover that “ChatGPT” (see end of post, Figures 22a-c) correctly divined the connection between Baron Clemens von Zedlitz und Neukirch and the infamous American gangster Al Capone and the celebrated 19th century French author Guy de Maupassant, a disparate group to say the least. Having thought I’d merely come up with a catchy title for my post, I was quickly brought down to earth by artificial intelligence. Let me be clear, I have no known ancestral connection to either Al Capone nor Guy de Maupassant, and only a distant link by marriage to Baron Clemens von Zedlitz. Regular readers may vaguely recognize the von Zedlitz surname as it came up briefly in Post 177.
The current post is inspired by high-quality pictures my third cousin Christopher von Koschembahr (Figure 1) recently sent, including several of Baron Clemens von Zedlitz. (Figure 2) Family photos for me are always an inducement to researching and writing about people, as they make them come to life. As I will explain, these photos caused me to further explore the connection between the Bruck and Roosevelt families. This is a link I’ve long known existed. I’ve never previously investigated this because the Bruck von Koschembahrs, through whom I’m connected to the von Zedlitz family and by extension the Roosevelts, dropped the Bruck portion of their surname upon becoming naturalized American citizens. Having never interacted with the von Koschembahr family means I never thought much about the connection to their von Zedlitz kinsmen. I don’t mean to sound dismissive but am merely reflecting reality and the fact that for me connections to German aristocracy are just coincidental. This may simply reflect the fact I’m American.
That said, the hand drawn ancestral trees left to by my uncle Dr. Fedor Bruck, though very incomplete, include the von Koschembahr and von Zedlitz relatives. (Figure 3) I think this was intentional on my uncle’s part, as I think he fashioned himself an aristocrat and wanted to draw the connection to aristocrats in the family, even if they were only related by marriage. There are two photos of him taken in 1926 in Liegnitz, Germany [today: Legnica, Poland] on horseback that illustrate my uncle’s self-perceived sense of himself as part of the aristocracy. (Figures 4-5) They recall a snippet in Amalie von Koschembahr, née Mockrauer’s diary which was the subject of Post 177. The quotation is about her son Stanislaus von Koschembahr, patriarch of the family following her husband’s death, when he greets his mother atop a recently acquired stallion. Quoting: “Stanislaus arrived on horseback; the horse was newly acquired, and we were supposed to inspect it. It was indeed a charming animal, and I was delighted to see my son as a rider.”
Figure 5. My uncle Dr. Fedor Bruck in 1926 atop his horse in Liegnitz [today; Legnica, Poland] dressed as Frederick the GreatTo help readers understand the link between the Bruck and Roosevelt families, I need to first review the link between the Bruck and von Koschembahr families. My great-grandfather Fedor Bruck’s (Figure 6) younger brother Wilhelm Bruck (Figure 7) married Margarete “Gretchen” von Koschembahr (Figure 8) and was henceforth known as Wilhelm Bruck von Koschembahr, as I discussed in Post 177. Wilhelm and Margarete and their five children were favorites of Margarete’s mother, Amalie von Koschembahr, née Mockrauer, who often mentioned them in her memoirs.
The oldest of Wilhelm and Gretchen Bruck von Koschembahr’s five children was Gerhard Bruck. In Post 177, I included a very poor-quality photograph of his wedding in 1914 to Hilda Zedlitz und Neukirch (Figure 9), with whom he would go on to have thirteen children (Figure 10), all of whom were known in America as von Koschembahr. As readers will surmise, Hilda von Zedlitz was the daughter of Baron Clemens von Zedlitz. Baron Clemens von Zedlitz married Cornelia Roosevelt in 1889 in New York as reported in the New York Times. (Figure 11)
One photo shared by Christopher von Koschembahr is an endearing one of Hilda as a child embracing her father. (Figure 12) Another photo shows Hilda as a baby with her mother, none other than Cornelia Roosevelt, a cousin of the former American President Theodore Roosevelt. (Figure 13) Another photo shows Cornelia standing alone. (Figure 14)
The “smoking gun,” so to speak, showing beyond a doubt the Bruck family connection to the Roosevelt family comes from Gerhard and Hilda’s 1914 wedding certificate where her parents are identified. (Figures 15a-b) Having none of my normally reliable translators currently available to me to translate the entire certificate, I’ve simply circled the relevant and very legible sections of it that show the Bruck and Roosevelt surnames. Interestingly, Gerhard Bruck, who would later adopt the von Koschembahr surname in America, still self-identified as a Bruck when he got married in 1914. Two of the witnesses at his wedding were his youngest brothers, Friedrich (1889-1963) and Heinz Bruck (1892-1915).
Christopher sent several photos of Baron Clemens von Zedlitz including one with his elderly father Benno von Zedlitz with his stepmother Anna (Figure 16), and a charming one of Clemens with his sister Hedwig as children. (Figure 17) I turned to ancestry seeking additional information, specifically about Baron Clemens von Zedlitz. Here’s where things took a completely unexpected and fascinating turn.
On one page of a document entitled “Roosevelt Genealogy” (Figures 18a-b), clearly part of a lengthier compilation, was a notation about Baron Clemens von Zedlitz claiming he died in 1901 in a boating accident involving none other than the last German Kaiser’s yacht. This fact alone made Clemens’ death of interest to me. The last German Kaiser was Wilhelm II, and he reigned until the end of WWI in 1918. Regular readers may recall him as my Bruck family had several interactions with him during his reign and following his abdication after German’s defeat during WWI.
The fact that Baron Clemens von Zedlitz, an aristocrat, would have been in the company of Kaiser Wilhelm II came as no surprise. As just implied, what was of far greater interest was that he was involved in a boating accident involving the Kaiser’s yacht during a regatta that resulted in his death in 1901, as the Roosevelt Genealogy claims.
Subscribers to ancestry may occasionally come across reference to newspaper accounts of contemporary events; typically accessing these articles requires a separate subscription to newspapers.com. I could tell from ancestry there are multiple articles about Baron von Zedlitz, so I asked a friend with a subscription if he could track these down for me, which he gratefully obliged to do.
Naturally, given the prominence of the Kaiser, I assumed newspapers of the time would have reported the boating accident. Sure enough, the Salt Lake Tribune published an article on the 19th of August 1896 describing the mishap in detail (Figure 19), and indeed a Baron von Zedlitz died as a result. The problem is that the news account was from 1896, not 1901 as the Roosevelt Genealogy reports. Also, a closer reading of the article showed that Baron von Zedlitz, notably no first name given, was crewing the boat with his brother, obviously another Baron von Zedlitz, again with no prename. Another detail noted in the 1896 article is that the Baron who died was not yet 40 years of age. Born in 1857, had Clemens died in a boating accident in 1901 as the Roosevelt Genealogy claims, he would have been over 40. Yet another clue something was amiss in the Roosevelt Genealogy is that his surviving daughter was supposedly named Olga; as implied above Clemens’ only child was named Hilda.
Since first names were not provided for either von Zedlitz brother, I was compelled to search elsewhere. Fortunately, I uncovered the death certificate for Baron Clemens von Zedlitz, and he did in fact die in 1901. (Figures 20a-b) Unable to read the certificate and ascertain his cause of death, I asked my German friend if he could decipher it. He found the cause of death not on the death certificate but on a contemporary Lutheran Church burial register, another document I’d downloaded from ancestry. (Figures 21a-b)
According to the church register, Baron Clemens von Zedlitz cause of death was supposedly “Lähmungsirrsinn,” what my friend thought might be “paralytic madness.” Having no idea what this means, I investigated on my own. I also asked my English fourth cousin, Helen Winter, née Renshaw, if a comprehensive German encyclopedia she recently purchased might have an explanation about this disease. Independently, we came to an identical conclusion, namely, that Baron Clemens died because of untreated syphilis, the final stages of which result in unpredictable behavior which manifests someone going mad. Since 1943, syphilis has been treated with penicillin or another antibiotic, though the first effective treatment was salvarsan (arsphenamine), discovered in 1909 by Paul Erhlich and Sahachiro Hata.
The realization that Baron Clemens died from untreated syphilis contracted much earlier in life recalled to me the movie “Scarface” about Al Capone starring Al Pacino. For readers who’ve seen the movie, towards the end of his life Al Capone exhibits increasingly erratic behavior, like what I assume Baron Clemens experienced. Helen’s own research had her learn that the famed French writer Guy de Maupassant suffered from and died from untreated syphilis. So apropos of trivial discoveries having virtually nothing to do with my family, Baron Clemens von Zedlitz, Al Capone, and Guy de Maupassant all died of the same condition. (Figures 22a-c)
One final thought about the misinformation I found in the Roosevelt Genealogy about the cause and timing of Baron Clemens von Zedlitz’s death. This is hardly the first time I’ve found incorrect ancestral information. The Russian proverb “Doveryai, non proveryai,” translated as “trust, but verify,” comes to mind. It was popularized by Ronald Reagan during nuclear negotiations with the Soviet Union during his presidency. As I’ve regularly stressed, I strongly urge ancestral researchers to logically and systematically analyze data found in ancestry.com and on ancestral trees. Little should be taken at face value absent primary source documents.
Note: In this post, I publish images of my great-great-grand-uncle Dr. Jonas Bruck (1813-1883) spanning the period from when he was a young man in the 1830s to sketches done of him by his son on his death bed on the 4th-5th of April 1883.
My great-great-great-uncle Dr. Julius Jonas Bruck (1813-1883) is buried in the Stary Cmentarz Żydowski we Wrocławiu, the Old Jewish Cemetery in Wrocław, Poland [German: Breslau], along with his son Dr. Julius Bruck (1840-1902), and their respective wives. Their restored headstones line an inner face of the wall surrounding the cemetery. (Figure 1) Jonas’ son Julius was the famed inventor of the stomatoscope, a water-cooled diaphanoscopic instrument for transillumination of the bladder via the rectum. (Figure 2) For this reason, his biography and photo can be found in Wikipedia, even on US Wikipedia. The Old Jewish Cemetery in Wrocław is one of the few places where graves of any of my Bruck ancestors can be found.
Dr. Jonas Bruck was in his own right an accomplished dentist and is considered one of the founders of scientific dentistry in Germany and the author of one of the first textbooks on dentistry in Germany. Originally published I believe in 1856, it is entitled “Lehrbuch der Zahn-Heilkunde,” which translates as “Textbook of Dental Medicine.” He published another book in 1857 entitled “Die scrofulöse Zahnaffection,” translated as “the scrofulous tooth extraction.” Quoting from AI Interview as to what I think this was about: “Scrofula, or tuberculous cervical lymphadenitis, is a type of tuberculosis infection primarily affecting the lymph nodes in the neck. While it doesn’t directly cause diseases of the teeth, it can manifest in the mouth and jaw area, and the presence of scrofula can complicate dental treatments and increase the risk of dental complications.” Clearly, Jonas was advancing a scientific approach to dental treatment of scrofula specifically as it related to its impact on the mouth and jaw area.
Despite Jonas’ prominence and my access to an extensive collection of images of my Bruck family, for the longest time I had no pictures of him. Relatedly, one of my cousins once gave me a picture arguably of Jonas. I never believed this photo was of him because it bears no resemblance to any members of my ancestral line. (Figure 3) Readers, I think, will agree that the person in question looks foreboding and menacing.
The first image I obtained of Jonas Bruck intriguingly came not from any member of my family but rather from someone I now consider a friend, Dr. Tilo Wahl, who stumbled across my blog. (Figure 4) Besides being a medical doctor in Berlin, he is a phalerist, that’s to say a person who studies and collects orders, fraternities, and award items, such as medals, ribbons, and other decorations. This field of study is known as phaleristics. In former times, the medals and decorations were attached to sashes worn over the recipient’s shoulder, especially as part of a uniform or official dress, or worn on the lapel. Many readers have no doubt seen old photographs of individuals wearing their award items thusly.
In any case, back in 2013, Tilo purchased at auction the medals and awards once belonging to my eminent Bruck ancestor from Breslau, Germany [today: Wrocław, Poland], Dr. Walther Wolfgang Bruck (1872-1937). (Figure 5) Walther was the subject of Posts 100 and 117. As I explained in those posts, Tilo acquired Walther’s medals and orders from Walther’s grandson, Nicholas Newman (1960-2015), whom he subsequently met in person. During their meeting (Figure 6), Tilo purchased additional items from Nicholas and took detailed digital images of Walther’s photo album. Tilo shared pictures with me of everything he acquired. Buried amidst all this paraphernalia was a high-quality photo of Jonas Bruck (Figure 7), Walther’s grandfather. This is the first picture I obtained of Jonas, but it would not be the last.
Fast forward, a few years ago I was contacted through my blog by an English lady from Wolverhampton, Helen Winter, née Renshaw (1948-living), a lady I eventually determined is my fourth cousin. (Figure 8) Jonas Bruck was her great-great-grandfather, and her great-grandfather was Felix Bruck (1843-1911), brother of the previously discussed Julius Bruck; Felix was another of Jonas’ three legitimate sons.
Regardless, amongst the voluminous family materials she’s inherited are multiple paintings and photographs of Jonas, which I’m reprinting here with Helen’s kind permission. (Figures 9-13) Two even show Jonas on his death bed on the 4th and 5th of April 1883 limned by Helen’s great-grandfather Felix Friedrich Bruck (1843-1911), a gifted sketch artist. (Figures 14-15) In a future post, as a guest writer, Helen will discuss an endearing and detailed birthday card her grandfather Eberhard “Hardy” Bruck (1877-1960) drew for his father Felix’s 50th birthday, identifying all the family members illustrated. It seems that a talent for drawing ran in the family.
Note: This is a brief postscript to a post I published in late 2023 including several images sent to me by Mr. Jan Krajczok, the Polish gentleman from Rybnik, Poland who assisted me in finding primary source documents about the inn once owned by my great-great-grand-uncle in the town of Zyttna, Prussia [today: Żytna, Poland].
Readers should refer to Post 145 for the background on the story of an inn that Dr. Jonas Bruck, my great-great-grand-uncle, owned in Zyttna, Prussia [today: Żytna, Poland], 120 miles away from Breslau, Prussia [today: Wrocław, Poland] where he lived. This was likely an investment property since he was a renowned dentist in Breslau.
Following publication of Post 145, Mr. Jan Krajczok, the Polish gentleman who assisted me in tracking down primary source documents for that post, sent me three images. Two of them show events that took place at the inn; one was the celebration of a national holiday (Figure 1) and the second was a wedding. (Figure 2) The third is an image of an old beer glass from the inn dating from the 19th or 20th century. (Figure 3) Jan estimates the pictures of the inn were taken in the 1920s. Both pictures include advertisements for Tyskie, a Polish brand of beer that originated in Tychy, Poland that has been in continuous production since 1629, making it one of the oldest breweries in the country. Polish flags can also be seen in both images.
In the picture of the national celebration in front of the inn, the deteriorated state of the inn is clearly visible. The contemporary owners of the plot where the inn used to stand purchased it in the 1950s, tore down the dilapidated inn, and built their own house.
PICTURE POSTCARD OF CROWN PRINCE’S WEDDING ADDED ON 4/26/2025
Note: Drawing upon the diary of an Amalie von Koschembahr, née Mockrauer, a relative by marriage, I highlight some observations she recorded between 1897 and 1918 about contemporary events.
Wilhelm Bruck (1849-1907) (Figure 1) was my great-great-grandfather Fedor Bruck’s (1834-1892) younger brother. (Figure 2) As discussed in Post 173, upon his marriage in 1884 to the aristocratic Margarete “Gretchen” von Koschembahr (1860-1946) (Figure 3), Wilhelm adopted her surname in the hyphenated form, Bruck-von Koschembahr. With the family’s arrival in America, the “Bruck” name was forever dropped. I ruefully think I’ve gone from what could have been a very large family to a smaller one on account of this.
Margarete’s parents were Leopold von Koschembahr (1829-1874) (Figure 4) and Amalie von Koschembahr, née Mockrauer (1834-1918). (Figure 5) Curiously, Amalie’s younger sister, Friederike “Fritzel” Mockrauer (1836-1924) (Figure 6) was married to Fedor Bruck; in other words, Amalie’s sister was married to her son-in-law’s older brother. In former times, such cross-generational “hookups” were not altogether uncommon.
Significantly the von Koschembahrs were not Jewish, though this did not prevent Wilhelm and Gretchen’s mischlinge children from being persecuted and forced to flee Germany during the Nazi Era.
Beginning in 1897 and continuing intermittently until roughly a year before her death in 1918, Amalie kept a diary. I became aware of the roughly 50 pages of her journal while researching Post 173. I obtained a typed German transcription of it from my third cousin and subsequently translated it using Google Translate. This resulted in a mostly very readable document.
Leopold von Koschembahr died at 45 years of age, but not before he and Amalie had 11 children born between 1855 and 1873. Amalie never remarried and reverted to her Mockrauer maiden name following her husband’s death. The children Amalie acknowledges in her diary are Hans (1858-1874); Stanislaus (1859-1914); Margarete (1860-1946); Leopold (1862-1908); Adolf (1863-1895); Elisabeth (1865-1865); Mathilde (1866-1931) (Figure 7); Max (1868-1890); Susanna (1869-1903); Erich (1871-1938) (Figure 8); and Friedrich Wilhelm (1873-1873). A 12th child I’ve documented elsewhere, Alexandra Mathilde Isidore von Koschembahr (1 June 1855-14 July 1855), died in infancy; this is a child I reckon was born before Amalie and Leopold were married. Two other children, Elisabeth and Friedrich Wilhelm, also died in infancy. Of the other children, Hans, Adolf, Susanna, Max, Leopold, and Stanislaus predeceased Amalie, with only Margarete, Mathilde, and Erich outliving her.
Select observations and noteworthy events from Amalie’s memoir will be discussed in this post.
A few comments before I launch into this presentation. In writing my posts, I’m ever mindful of the fact that I’m writing about my distant ancestors who are unknown to most readers. For this reason, unless the people’s stories are compelling, I’ll focus on the social and political context in which they lived and on noteworthy events or global developments they may have witnessed or written about that may be familiar and possibly of greater interest to readers. For example, Amalie’s observations on Germany’s expansionist aspirations are intriguing because they speak to Europe’s colonial past.
Another balancing act I have to tightrope is how much of the family “skeletons” to reveal. It is significant that Amalie self-censored her journal so that she removed some pages considering them in retrospect too inflammatory or disparaging. An example of pages she removed relate to the dissolution of her son Leo’s brief first engagement in 1901. Enough survives elsewhere, however, so that even more than 100 years after the journal was written, living descendants may retain some of the same sensibilities. I prefer to think that I’m not whitewashing my ancestors’ stories as much as soft-pedaling uncomfortable truths. I concede this may be a distinction without a discernible difference.
Many of Amalie’s observations speak to the weather, her belief in God, her health, and her relationships and visits across Germany to see her children and family; she also touches on the connection among her children. I consider these to be of limited interest to readers. Except where Amalie’s reflections relate to my great-great-uncle Wilhelm Bruck and his family, I won’t dwell on them.
Amalie appears to have been particularly fond and close to Wilhelm and Gretchen, and their five children, Gerhard (1885-1961) (Figure 9), Charlotte (1886-1974) (Figure 10), Marianne (1888-1975) (Figure 11), Friedrich 1889-1963) (Figure 12), and Heinz (1892-1915). Her brief vignettes of family gatherings with them are particularly memorable since so few written accounts survive of my Bruck ancestors. Wilhelm appears to have been very much adored by his family and mother-in-law. This reinforces the impression I have of some of my Bruck ancestors, namely, that they were charismatic, warm, funny, and extroverted.
At the time Amalie started to record her memoirs in 1897 she was already 63 years old. Until she moved from Berlin to Dresden in April 1902 to live with her unmarried daughter Mathilde “Tilchen,” her entries were recorded in Berlin. Her oldest son was Hans von Koschembahr (1858-1874) who died at sixteen and whom she lovingly remembered in an 1898 entry on what would have been his 40th birthday. Following his father Leopold’s death some months earlier in the same year, Hans would ordinarily have inherited the mantle as patriarch of the family. Instead this role was assumed by the next oldest son, Stanislaus “Stasch” von Koschembahr (1859-1914).
Notably, Stanislaus von Koschembahr was permanently transferred on the 1st of April 1898 to the German General Staff, also known as the Great General Staff [German: Großen-Generalstab]. This was a very big deal, as this was the full-time body responsible for military planning and strategy, initially for the Prussian Army and later for the German Army. Stanislaus was killed in Mulhouse in Alsace-Lorraine on the 9th of August 1914. At the time, General von Koschembahr was commanding the 84th Infantry Brigade.
An entry that Amalie records on the 6th of May 1898 speaks indirectly to Stanislaus’ negative attitude towards some of his sibling’s partners. When his younger sister Susanna Friederike von Koschembahr (1869-1903) got engaged to her future husband Friedrich “Fritz” Otto Freiherr von Ripperda (1864-1922), Amalie remarked that happily this marriage would not cause any conflict among her children because Susanna and Fritz would behave as relatives to Wilhelm and Gretchen Bruck. The implication is that contrary to the marriage of the latter, which Stanislaus opposed, he favored Susanna’s marriage. There are two ostensible reasons he did not approve of Gretchen’s alliance. First, Stanislaus considered Wilhelm to be non-aristocratic and second, he disapproved because Wilhelm was Jewish.
Stanislaus apparently held the same negative views towards his younger brother Leo’s selection of the “commoner” Alice Auerbach as his spouse; she too was Jewish. Here is what Amalie writes: “Since Stanislaus did not agree to this marriage, he behaved with reserve and, unfortunately, not in a friendly manner towards Alice. It was certainly painful for Leo to bring about a rift, but he had no choice, as he had to remain loyal and steadfast to his Alice. So there was another rift between the siblings, and it hurt me immensely. Of course, there was nothing we could do about it—we had to bear it and wait to see whether time and insight would help bring about a reconciliation.” Amalie later notes that Stanislaus and Leo eventually reconciled.
It is also noteworthy that Stanislaus (Figure 13) attended the wedding of Wilhelm and Margarete Bruck’s eldest son, Gerhard Bruck, when he married Hilda von Zedlitz und Neukirch (Figure 14a-c) on the 21st of March 1914. This suggests Stanislaus may also eventually have reached an “accommodation” with his sister and her husband, possibly because his nephew married an aristocrat.
As previously noted, Gretchen and Wilhelm Bruck had five children. Amalie remarks on Wilhelm’s appointment to the Justizrat, Judicial Council, on the 17th of December 1897. Gretchen and Wilhelm appeared to have had a warm relationship. On his 48th birthday in 1898, and on subsequent birthdays, Gretchen wrote short plays for the children to perform that were the source of great merriment. The scenes are so intimate they are easily imagined.
Amalie’s diary, written as it was in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, reflects societal approval of Germany’s colonial expansionism. She remarks very favorably on Germany’s 1897 takeover of Jiaozhou Bay [German: Kiautschou Bucht] in China. In 1898, a formal lease agreement was reached between the Germans and the imperial Chinese government. The Kiautschou Bay Leased Territory was a German leased territory in Imperial and Early Republican China from 1898 to 1914. It covered 213 square miles and was centered on Jiaozhou Bay on the southern coast of the Shandong Peninsula. The Russian Empire resented the German move as an infringement on their ambitions in the region.
Germany was a latecomer to the imperialistic scramble for colonies. Germany had two primary objectives, using the German colony to support a global naval presence and to support the economy of the mother country. Densely populated China was viewed as a potential market to be exploited with expansionist thinkers demanding an active colonial policy from the government. China was made a high priority because it was deemed to be the most important non-European market in the world.
Amalie remarked on how she was closely following the Spanish-American War of 1898, which had not yet been decided at the time she wrote. She may have oversimplified the cause of the war attributing it to “Spain’s poor economics.” The mysterious explosion of the USS Maine in Havana harbor, which killed 266 American sailors, was the major catalyst for war. While the cause of the explosion has never been fully determined, many Americans blamed Spain. Sensationalized news coverage by American newspapers, referred to as “yellow journalism,” exaggerated Spanish atrocities in Cuba and inflamed public opinion, pushing for intervention. American business interests, particularly in the sugar industry, may also have played a part in intervention by America, prodded by businessmen who sought stability and continued profits.
Another contemporary conflict Amalie followed and remarked disapprovingly upon was the Second Boer War (1899-1902), also known as the Boer War, Transvaal War, Anglo-Boer War, or South African War. This was a conflict fought between the British Empire and the two Boer republics, the South African Republic and the Orange Free State, over the Empire’s influence in Southern Africa. The Boers were descendants of Dutch colonists, along with French Huguenots and other European settlers, who established a colony at the Cape of Good Hope in 1652. The descendants of the Dutch colonists are known as Afrikaners.
Amalie remarked the following: “It is the most unjust war that nations have ever waged, and the English are losing respect and prestige. How outrageous is their cruelty against a peaceful people who, through toil and tireless work, have created a flourishing empire.” Seen through a modern-day prism, the mistreatment and subjugation of the native population would render a more negative assessment of the Afrikaners.
Of scant interest to readers but of personal curiosity was that Gretchen and Wilhelm’s eldest son Gerhard was allowed to take a vacation to Ratibor [today: Racibórz, Poland] during Easter 1900. Ratibor in Upper Silesia, as regular readers may recall, is where my father was born and where my family had a presence that lasted more than 100 years. Gerhard visited his widowed great-aunt Friederike “Fritzel” Mockrauer (i.e., Amalie’s sister married to Fedor Bruck, already deceased at the time Gerhard visited) while his father and sister relaxed in Krummhübel [today: Karpacz, Poland] near today’s Karkonosze National Park, which straddles the Polish-Czech border. This is a popular ski resort, and near where my father went skiing with friends many years later. (Figure 15) Given this is a place various members of my family vacationed over the years, my wife and I have decided to include it as a destination during our upcoming holiday in Poland and the Czech Republic.
I’m interested in this for two reasons. My famed ancestor Dr. Walther Wolfgang Bruck (1872-1937) from Breslau [today: Wrocław, Poland] was the personal dentist to Kaiser Wilhelm’s second wife Princess Hermine Reuss of Greiz (Figure 16), possibly the Kaiser himself, and other members of the Prussian aristocracy. More directly, the German Crown Prince’s wife, Duchess Cecilie of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, visited the flower shop and school owned by my great-aunt Franziska Bruck in Berlin. Official postcards and photographs exist of this visit, one I guess took place in the early to mid-1910s. (Figure 17)
Amalie describes the Berlin scene preceding the Crown Prince’s marriage (Figures 18 & 21): “Even though, at my advanced age, I couldn’t see much due to the associated exertion, the general enthusiasm filled me with joyful participation, especially when my grandchildren returned home from their outings and spoke with delight about all the splendors they had seen. But at least I was able to admire the Unter der Linden boulevard, as Gretchen took a carriage for a ride. The street was transformed into a rose garden, and Pariser Platz, with its tall masts adorned with rich rose tufts in the sun, looked like something out of a fairytale. And the Opera House was beautifully decorated above all else. Long, yellow-tinted garlands of rhododendrons hung from top to bottom, and large bushes on balconies, windows, and corners, as well as the Crown Prince’s Palace, were framed with pink roses and greenery, even all the window frames. One can imagine there was no way there could have been such an abundance of natural, precious roses at the beginning of June, so everything was decorated with artificial ones. Despite the tremendous heat that had prevailed here for days, masses of people gathered in the streets and squares, participating in the event in our Imperial Palace with astonishing stamina and such sincere, enthusiastic joy that every heart had to rejoice. The young bride was immensely popular. The young couple, in general, won the full sympathy of the crowd through their friendliness they gratefully extended to the enthusiastic people. Our Emperor was also very pleased by his people’s joyful participation in the joy that moved his father’s heart. He expressed it in a wonderful speech at the wedding banquet; few can speak like this ruler with his great understanding, spirit, and kind heart.”
In an entry Amalie recorded on the 13th of October 1906 she reflects on her life. In part she writes:
“My upbringing was such that I lacked any practical experience, and this became particularly detrimental to me now that, at the age of 21, when I married, I found myself in circumstances of which I had no idea. My upbringing at home was, in terms of education and the formation of the heart, the best imaginable and even astonishing for that time in the early 19th century, in a simple middle-class home. . .My parents valued decency and morals, raised us very modestly and unpretentiously, but never discussed in depth our future and our destiny in the event of marriage [Editor’s note: this is a criticism of the complete lack of knowledge in sexual matters]. Such matters were strictly kept at arm’s length, as was business knowledge, which must be important to a woman.”
She continues, characterizing her husband’s equal level of idealism and inexperience, and the detrimental effects:
“The great inclination and enthusiasm of youth prevailed. My husband, at 26, was just as idealistic and inexperienced as I was, and we lived like children in fairy tales. The awakening was very bitter, and since my husband never explained or confided in me the financial situation we were living in, I only learned in outline about the situation, which had already been poor when I married. The estate of Mittel-Sohra near Görlitz was too large for the means available to my husband, and since I received only a very small dowry, it was too difficult to maintain myself there. The estate was beautiful and, as I imagined, a profitable property, but it required a great deal of diligence, energy, and enthusiasm to make progress, even with extreme frugality. My husband lacked all of this, and I was far too inexperienced to support and encourage him as a loyal companion.”
Ultimately, notwithstanding the fact that Leopold von Koschembahr’s mother gave him money to pay the usurious rates to which he was subjected, creditors repossessed their home in 1856-57. Having saved the capital the couple had received from Leopold’s mother, they began to search for a house in Amalie’s hometown of Tost [today: Toszek, Poland] in Upper Silesia. While waiting for the proper opportunity to buy another estate, Amalie ruefully notes Leopold was led “. . .to the incredible idea of investing the money in speculative securities. At the time, the Union War was raging in America, and American securities were being traded. My husband speculated with these securities and lost all his money. That was a terrible blow—for we were not only penniless, but there were also differences to be paid, for which we didn’t have the money. Now, the courts were still at risk of seizing all our belongings.” Friends and relatives, fortunately, pooled money to help the couple pay their debts and lease a property near Posen [today: Poznań, Poland]. However, because of Leopold’s character, as Amalie describes it, “. . .a serious, steady mind was out of the question. He was composed of kindness and great weakness, an invincible stubbornness and idealism.” Because of Leopold’s failings, the couple eventually also lost the lease on the estate near Posen. Suffice it to say that while Leopold may have been an entitled member of the aristocracy, he was imbued with a terrible business sense.
Given her fondness for her son-in-law, my great-great-uncle Wilhelm Bruck, expectedly Amalie remarks on his sudden death on the 15th of February 1907, then again in 1909 on the anniversary of his death. Naturally, she records the deaths of her daughter Susanna in 1903 and her son Leo in 1908, bemoaning the fact she’s outlived them.
Interestingly, Amalie remarks on the celebration of Kaiser Wilhelm II’s birthday on the 27th of January 1909, a fact that will seem curious to an American audience. Unlike our American President, the German Kaiser was seen as the embodiment of German national identity and the leader who would guide the nation towards greatness. Initially, the Kaiser was seen as a symbol of national unity and strength, but his personality and policies, particularly as they impacted the First World War, led to a shift in perception.
Among Amalie Mockrauer’s siblings was a younger sister named Rosalie Mockrauer (1844-1927) (Figure 19) who was married to Dr. Josef Pauly (1843-1916) (Figure 20), the subject of Post 56. Rosalie and Josef lived in Posen [today: Poznań, Poland] and had nine children, eight of whom were girls. Suffice it to say, that many of the distant cousins whom I’ve found and am presently in contact with, are related to me directly or indirectly through the Mockrauers or their in-laws (e.g., Pauly, Kantorowicz).
Amalie died in August 1918, shortly before World War I ended in November 1918. Surprisingly, she makes no mention in her diary of the war, only a passing reference in 1909 of the unrest among Serbian nationalists against Austro-Hungarian rule. World War I was later sparked by the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary in Sarajevo on June 28, 1914.
There is so much more I could extract from Amalie’s memoir, but I’ve simply highlighted a few items to discuss that transcend my own family, hoping this might be of slightly greater interest to readers.
Note: This post is yet another example of a reader supplementing what’s known about some person, event, or place I’ve written about. In this case, the reader directed me to the website of the Bureau of Aircraft Accidents Archives (B3A) where he astonishingly found contemporary plane crash photos of the aircraft my great-uncle Rudolf Löwenstein was traveling on when he was killed on the 22nd of August 1930 in then-Czechoslovakia.
In the recently published Post 174, I discussed the Rudolf Mosse “Annoncen-Expedition-Reklame-Büro,” the advertising expedition/agency for which my great-uncle Rudolf Löwenstein was the General Agent. I think he worked for Rudolf Mosse & Co. in Danzig [today: Gdańsk, Poland] from around 1905 until his untimely death in a plane crash on the 22nd of August 1930 in what is today the Czech Republic.
Following publication of Post 174, my friend Peter Albrecht von Preußen, sent an email with some positive words. He included a link to information about the accident. Several years ago, my “other” Peter friend, Peter Hanke, the “Wizard of Wolfsberg,” had previously found and sent me and translated news clippings from several contemporary German newspapers with accounts of the August 1930 plane accident. I erroneously assumed the new link was merely to another article. It turned out to be something much more engrossing.
This is a good moment for a brief digression to give another “shout out” to the readers of my blog. It has happened on more occasions than I can recall that readers have found and/or brought to my attention information, websites, visuals, artifacts, etc. related to people, events, and places I’ve written about. In many instances I would never have found these on my own nor knew they exist.
In the current instance, Peter Albrecht included the link to the website of the so-called Bureau of Aircraft Accidents Archives (B3A), which according to the founder of the website, Mr. Ronan Hubert, was established in 1990 for the purpose of dealing with all information related to aviation accidentology. Mr. Ronan self describes as a “Historian in aircraft accidents. Aviation accidentologist. Specialized in psychological preparedness for mass disaster and human factor.” He further writes that “The primary goal of the B3A is to collect, manage and archive all information relating to aviation accidents worldwide since 1918 till [sic] today. Therefore, its records is [sic] currently composed of thousands of documents, reports, photos, etc. representing to date more than 34,400 events.”
Astonishingly, the B3A website includes one photo of the Ford 5 aircraft (Figure 1) on which my great-uncle Rudolf was traveling on the fateful day he died, plus six contemporary photos of the crash. (Figures 2-7) The plane crashed near Jihlava, Czech Republic [German: Iglau]. Details of the plane, the year it was made, the operator of the airline, the number of crew and passengers, the number/of fatalities among the crew and passengers, the captain’s hours of flying experience, the itinerary, etc. are provided. (Figure 8)
The circumstances surrounding the plane accident are also described:
“The aircraft departed Prague-Kbely Airport at 1505LT on a flight to Bratislava with an intermediate stop in Brno. While cruising at a height of 700 metres, weather conditions worsened, and the captain decided first to reduce his altitude. Shortly later, he realized the weather conditions were becoming worse and worse with thunderstorm activity. Due to low visibility, he decided to make a 180 turn to go back to Prague. While flying at a height estimated between 15 and 20 metres in limited visibility, he saw the chimney of a brickwork and made a sharp turn to the left to avoid the collision. Doing so, the aircraft stalled and hit the roof of a farmhouse then crashed half in a garden. While a passenger (Professor Vojtěch Kraus) was seriously injured, all 12 other occupants were killed. Up to date, this accident was considered as the worst involving CSA Czech Airlines since its creation in 1923.”
The names of the crew and passengers are given.
Crew: Josef Sedlář, pilot, Josef Trafina, mechanic.
Passengers: Ing. Mirko Káš, Ing. Vojtěch Jokl, Anton Müller, Vladislaw Müller, Rudolf Vonka, Boh. Jarolímek, Ing. Bernard Eimann, Judr. Anton Hamrle, Prof. Vojtěch Kraus, Marie Rybníčková, Mr. Lowenstein.
As readers can see, my great-uncle “Mr. Lowenstein” was among the passenger fatalities.
According to the contemporary newspaper accounts, translated in Post 71, of the aircraft accident which killed Rudolf and the other passengers and crews, the impact of the plane drilling into the ground was so violent that the petrol tank exploded. The plane was enveloped in a sea of flames. Even though it was raining heavily at the time, the roof of the house into which the plane crashed also caught fire. While the fire brigade extinguished the fire, help came too late. Of the 13 passenger and crew on board, 12 were killed. While the plane’s fuselage appears to have been largely intact, the engine was completely destroyed.
Most people are not apt to have had relatives, friends, or acquaintances killed in a plane crash, but for those rare readers who have lost someone in this manner, it’s intriguing to realize that a website exists which tracks this information.
Note: In this post, I discuss so-called Litfaßsäulen, German advertising columns, that were once ubiquitous in cityscapes across the country but are rapidly being removed.
This post is a spinoff of the previous one where I discussed “Annoncen-Expedition und Reklame-Büro,” advertising expedition or agency. My great uncle Rudolf Löwenstein was the local General Agent for the largest German advertising expedition, Rudolf Mosse & Co., in Danzig [today: Gdańsk, Poland] from around 1905 until his untimely death in 1930. Other than being inspired by my great uncle’s involvement in advertising, this post has nothing to do with my family’s history.
This article is about plaster-postered pillars invented in Berlin in 1854. In German, the advertising columns are known in the plural as Litfaßsäulen. Though I have no reason to believe that my great uncle was involved in the placement of advertisements and posters on these columns on behalf of his clients, it stands to reason he might have been, particularly as a provider of a full-service advertising campaign.
The columns have a colorful history and have even entered the realm of pop culture; more on this below. Though quickly being removed and disappearing from the German cityscape, a low-key, grassroots movement has arisen to save them from removal; it has sparked a fad of writing messages, poems, and heartfelt tributes on the columns, and having two or three people group hug a Litfaßsäule to highlight a reluctance to let them go. I remember having come across these advertising columns during multiple European trips and imaginatively being captured by their quirky, bulky shape. For this reason alone, I’ve decided to make them the subject of this post and explore a little of their history.
A Litfaßsäule is a tall cylindrical advertising column, roughly 3 meters high (i.e., ~ 9 feet), usually placed on sidewalks. (Figure 1) Although several European cities use this type of structure for advertising, they were invented in Germany. The word Litfaßsäule is uniquely German. It comes from the words Litfaß (pronounced Lit-fass) and Säule. The word Säule means “column” or “pillar.” Litfaß is not actually a German word, but instead the surname of the man who ostensibly invented this type of column, the German printer Ernst Litfaß (1816-1874) in 1854. Litfaß was not only a printer but also an actor, poet, impresario, and events manager. He made most of his fortune as the “Reklamekönig,” or advertising king, during the industrial revolution of the mid-19th century.
The Litfaßsäule and the concept of public advertising behind it was inspired by a trip Litfaß took to Paris in 1843. He was completely taken by the advertising he witnessed there, the unlikely inspiration being a circular pissoir bedecked with advertisements. Litfaß saw an opportunity where others saw only a public toilet. Another purported source of inspiration was supposedly advertisement columns in England that were lit with a lantern from the inside and drawn around the city on a wagon. So, while Litfaß did not per se invent advertising columns, he promoted the idea of permanent, cylindrical pillars.
In mid-19th century Berlin, advertisements, signs, notices, and political announcements were randomly affixed to trees, building facades, and what have you. Things looked completely disorganized. Appalled by these excessive and random postings, Litfaß suggested to the chief of police of Berlin that columns be erected all over the city on which people could hang their posters. Perhaps he deemed that these columns would fulfill or contribute to Germany’s stereotypical orderliness?
After years of negotiations, Litfaß received the first permit for his “advertising columns” on December 5, 1854. He received a monopoly from the city of Berlin for the erection of his columns that was valid until 1865. In 1855, the first 100 advertising columns were erected in Berlin and named Litfaßsäulen in his honor; another 50 columns were erected in 1865. In exchange for the monopoly, the contract also called for the installation of up to 30 public urinals in exchange for the monopoly, though none were ever built.
Initially, Litfaßsäulen were used to advertise cultural events. To ensure that no inappropriate ads were posted and that the posters were hung in an orderly fashion, an inspector was responsible for examining the columns daily.
The authorities and advertisers quickly recognized the advantages of the new advertising medium. The state could censor the content beforehand, while advertisers who purchased space were assured their advertisements would remain uncovered and visible for the entire rented period without being pasted over.
Created in Germany, the advertising medium quickly spread to neighboring European countries and eventually to the rest of the world. Paris got its own version of the ad pillars in 1868, where they are called “colonnes Morris,” Morris columns. They were named after the printer Gabriel Morris who implemented an idea like his German counterpart’s.
The columns took on a new purpose in 1870 when the Franco-German war broke out. Litfaß convinced city leadership that these columns, typically located in central locations and busy plazas, would be an ideal place to disseminate crucial information about happenings on the Front. It’s not entirely clear to me whether this condition that the latest news be published on the columns originated from the outset of the 1854 monopolistic arrangement or evolved over time. Regardless, an advantage is that people could gather around these columns and catch up on ongoing wartime developments much quicker than from newspapers, which took longer to print. Interestingly, Litfaß was also given the monopoly by the Prussian Emperor to print so-called Kriegsdepeschen, telegrams from the Front, and post them on his pillars.
After the two world wars, the columns were used to post notices by people looking for missing loved ones, as well as help-wanted ads for rubble clean up, as well as other public advertisements. Modern Litfaßsäulen publicize concerts, performances, and other cultural events from around the city.
Until 2019, there were slightly more than 2,500 columns remaining in Berlin. However, since then, many more have been removed. Historically, Berlin’s Litfaßsäulen were spread throughout the city from the busiest plazas to the most remote suburbs. The city plans to preserve 50 of the classic columns as historic monuments. Part of the justification for their removal is they require constant upkeep, for example dealing with erosion caused by dogs urinating against them. An upkeeper’s nightmare but an archaeologist’s dream is that periodically the columns need to be scraped after an average of 150 layers of posters have been pasted on them! Suffice it to say, archaeologists have a way of individually separating and reading those layers and, so inclined, could learn a lot from their study.
Ironically, while the traditional columns will effectively be removed, a new company from Stuttgart has acquired the advertising rights for 15 years to build 1,500 new columns of a newer type that will be larger and have lighting.
Germany’s most famous Litfaßsäule is in the Berlin district of Wilmersdorf. It was featured on the cover of a 1929 German children’s book, entitled “Emil and the Detectives” by Erich Kästner. (Figure 2)
In Vienna, Austria, numerous advertising pillars in the vicinity of the Vienna River cover the stone spiral staircases leading to the surface from the depths; they protect unauthorized entry into the understructure. The advertising columns are equipped with a door that can be opened from the outside with a key and from inside without one. In a 1949 Orson Welles film, entitled “The Third Man,” the protagonist Henry Lime escapes into the Viennese sewers through an advertising column. (Figure 3)
Another use of the advertising columns has been practiced in Nuremberg, Germany since 2015. Public toilets have been installed inside which can be used for a small fee. In Görlitz, Germany, on the border with Poland, the mayor has tried to stem their demise by looking into their possible use as 5G signal masts. Since 2021, in Düsseldorf, Germany, the historic advertising pillars are already being used for this purpose. They have a barely recognizable door that provides access to the technology, and an aluminum-colored radio mast “hood,” reminiscent of a woman’s hat from former times. These 5G signal masts improve reception and provide higher network stability within a radius of 400 meters (i.e., ~1,300 feet).
A 1979 German stamp (Figure 4) and 2016 20 Euro German coin (Figure 5) have been issued to commemorate Litfaßsäulen.
Note: In this post, I discuss my great-uncle Rudolf Löwenstein and the Rudolf Mosse “Annoncen-Expedition-Reklame-Büro,” advertising expedition or agency, for which he worked.
In an imagined account that may have taken place in my father’s life almost 95 years ago, in Post 71 I pictured the day he learned that his uncle, Rudolf Löwenstein, had died in a plane crash. (Figure 1) The date was the 22nd of August 1930, when his uncle was returning to Danzig [today: Gdańsk, Poland] in the Free City of Danzig from visiting family in then-Czechoslovakia. At the time, I’m certain my father was living with his uncle and his paternal aunt, Rudolf (1872-1930) and Hedwig Löwenstein, née Bruck (1870-1949), and likely two of their three children, while apprenticing as a dentist. My father would eventually open his own dental practice in April 1932 in a town 40km (i.e., ca. 25 miles) to the east of Danzig in Tiegenhof [today: Nowy Dwór Gdański, Poland], also located in the Free City of Danzig.
As mentioned, Rudolf and Hedwig Löwenstein had three children, the eldest, Fedor Löwenstein (1901-1946), who died in 1946 before I was born. Hedwig passed away in 1949, also before I was born. However, as a child I met Rudolf and Hedwig’s two youngest offspring, Jeanne Goff, née Löwenstein (1902-1986) and Heinz Löwenstein (1905-1979), in Nice, France. (Figure 2) If the Löwenstein surname sounds familiar to regular readers, it’s because I’ve written multiple posts about Fedor Löwenstein and his brother Heinz Löwenstein.
As a reminder, Fedor Löwenstein was an accomplished artist, 25 of whose artworks were intercepted and confiscated by the Nazis at the Port of Bordeaux in December 1940 as they were being shipped to New York: Long time readers know I’ve been engaged in a more than 10-yearlong battle with the French Ministry of Culture to recover the three surviving paintings. Heinz Löwenstein, by contrast, fought as a member of England’s Royal Pioneer Corps and was captured in the Battle of Greece in 1941, and incarcerated and escaped from German stalags no fewer than five times. His story is truly movie-worthy.
In any case, based on what I know, Jeanne and Heinz Löwenstein were the two cousins my father was closest to. (Figures 3-4) He lived with them in Danzig, then later near Jeanne and her mother in Nice, France. The fact that these are my father’s only cousins whom I met growing up supports the notion they were close. Another of my father’s first cousins lived in New York City, where I grew up. Because my father didn’t bother to tell her about my birth, she never again spoke to him. Suffice it to say, I never met her. With rare exceptions my father was not into family, a phenomenon I don’t fully comprehend.
A brief digression. I have an ancestral tree on ancestry.com with around 1,200 names. I use it to orient myself to the people I write about on my blog. Where available, I attach images or pictures of family members, though for long-ago ancestors sometimes the best I can do is find a painted rendering of them. In the case of Rudolf Löwenstein, I’ve not yet uncovered a picture of him though I remain optimistic one or more survive. The difficulty is that none of Rudolf and Hedwig’s children had children of their own so tracking down who may have inherited Löwenstein family photos and personal papers and where they may have wound up, assuming they’ve survived, is challenging.
My paternal grandfather Felix Bruck (1864-1927) and his seven siblings including Hedwig Bruck were all born in Ratibor [today: Racibórz, Poland], the same place as my father. Hedwig and Rudolf Löwenstein were married there in 1899. For reasons that are unclear to me their first child Fedor Löwenstein was born in 1901 in Munich, Germany. Their two younger children, however, were born in Danzig, respectively, in 1902 and 1905.
It’s safe to assume that no later than 1902, Rudolf and Hedwig Löwenstein had relocated to Danzig, presumably from Munich. However, contemporary Danzig address books first list Rudolf Löwenstein in the 1905 directory. (Figure 5) His occupation at the time was “Generalvertreter fur Rudolf Mosse und Paul Stabernack & Co., Berlin,” or General Agent for Rudolf Mosse & Co. The 1905 address book identifies this as the “Zentral-Bureau fur jederlei Reklame,” or the Central office for all kinds of advertising. Above the bolded ad Rudolf Löwenstein is identified as a “Kfm. (=Kaufman), Vertreter d.(=der) Annoncen-Expedition,” or translated literally as “merchant or businessman, agent for advertisement expedition.” Curious as to what precisely an advertisement expedition is, I investigated.
In German Wikipedia, I learned about Rudolf Mosse & Co., the company for who Rudolf Löwenstein was an agent. Rudolf Mosse (1843-1920) was a German-Jewish publisher, company founder, and businessman. He founded Rudolf Mosse Zeitungs-Annoncen-Expedition on the 1st of January 1867 in Berlin. He started by advertising his own business in advertisements but quickly went from being a mere intermediary to being a provider of advertising space, which he sold to advertisers. As one of the first publishers, he accomplished this by leasing entire advertising pages from several newspapers. This was a highly successful business model, so much so that five years after he founded his company it had 250 branches in Germany and abroad. Obviously, one of these branches was in Danzig and Rudolf Löwenstein was its local General Agent.
Let me say a little more, generally, about “Annoncen-Expedition,” but more specifically about Rudolf Mosse & Co. This is also drawn from German Wikipedia (i.e., U.S. Wikipedia does not include mention of these advertising expeditions). In the 19th and first half of the 20th centuries, advertising expeditions mediated the placement of advertisements between newspapers and advertisers. This was only possible after the abolition in Prussia of the so-called “insertion obligation” on the 1st of January 1847. Prior to this date, advertisements were only allowed to be published in intelligence magazines. After the abolition of the insertion obligation, advertisements could also be placed in daily newspapers.
While Rudolf Mosse was a major player in the German advertising landscape during the late 19th and early 20th centuries, his company was not the first advertising expedition in Germany. In 1855, the first advertising expedition was founded in Altona by the Haasenstein advertising agency. Similar companies had already emerged earlier in the Anglo-American world, as well as in France. Haasenstein collected advertisements from advertising customers, sold them to newspapers and collected a commission.
In Frankfurt am Main, Berlin, and in many other cities, advertising expeditions were also founded as pure intermediaries of advertising space. Soon newspapers financed more than 50 percent of their operations by advertising, which made them attractive capital investments.
At first, the advertisements differed only slightly from the rest of the paper, forcing advertisers to find a suitable publication environment for their ads. In the decades after the founding of the German Empire in 1871, however, and amid industrialization and mass production, advertisements began to stand out and be distinctive. The advertising expeditions, above all Rudolf Mosse as mentioned above, leased the entire advertising space of some newspapers and thus went from simply being an intermediary to being a provider of advertising space. In addition, the advertising expeditions now also advised their customers on the design and placement of the advertisements.
In 1872, Rudolf Mosse founded the “Berliner Tageblatt,” followed in 1889 by the founding of the “Berliner Morgenzeitung.” Mosse purchased printers and expanded his expedition to become a newspaper publisher, thus competing with other publishers. Effectively, the advertising expeditions had grown into large media companies and were accused of favoring (their own) newspapers and influencing the content of the other publications in which ads were placed.
Between 1918 and 1929, there were fierce price wars between the advertising expeditions. Some became the objects of speculation for investors. By the mid-1920s, branches of American advertising agencies first opened in Germany, all of which operated as full-service companies. By 1932, Rudolf Mosse & Co., which had grown into the largest advertising expedition at the time, ran into financial difficulties and was acquired by a German GmbH (i.e., “Gesellschaft mit beschrankter Haftung,” a “limited liability company (LLC)” which offers limited liability to its owners and is comparable to an American LLC).
On the 12th of September 1933, the Nazis passed the Gesetz über Wirtschaftswerbung, the “1933 Commercial Advertising Act.” This created the legal basis for the establishment of an “Advertising Council of the German Economy.” This Council served to synchronize the advertising industry in the Nazi state. The advertising expeditions were de facto brought into line and were now under the control of the Ministeriums für Volksaufklärung und Propaganda, the Reich Ministry of Public Enlightenment and Propaganda.
Following Rudolf Löwenstein’s untimely death in 1930, his son Heinz took over the business although the business was still listed under his father’s name. (Figure 6) The 1933 Danzig address book list introduces a slightly different business term, namely, “Reklame-Büro,” which translates literally as “advertising agency.” As opposed to an advertising expedition, I think this was a company that created and managed advertising campaigns for other businesses, developing marketing strategies to promote products or services across media channels. In other words this was a full-service company versus one that merely helped facilitate the placement of advertisements in newspapers and elsewhere.
While Heinz Löwenstein appears to still have been the General Agent for Rudolf Mosse advertising expedition in 1933, I strongly suspect it was probably the last year he was in business. The 1933 Commercial Advertising Act would have severely limited his ability as a Jew to freely run his advertising agency. Based on an unclear reference on one of his military papers, I have reason to believe that he and his wife immigrated to Palestine ca. 1935, whereupon he joined Britain’s Royal Pioneer Corps.
There is one final thing I want to discuss regarding Heinz Löwenstein’s occupation as indicated in the 1934 Danzig address book, namely, the use of the German term “propagandist.” Like me, given the years in which Heinz operated the “Reklame-Büro. Annoncen-Expedit.” after Hitler came to power, readers might erroneously assume he was a mouthpiece for the Nazi government. “Propagandist,” in the English sense is defined as “someone who creates and spreads propaganda, which is communication used to influence or persuade an audience, often with a specific agenda or viewpoint, and may not be objective.” I can’t emphasize strongly enough how implausible it would have been for Heinz to parrot Nazi ideology, given his life history. Heinz clearly saw the handwriting on the wall and, in my opinion, departed for Palestine as soon as he was able to after Hitler came to power.
Given what I believe to be true about Heinz, I turned to German Wikipedia to understand the use of the term “propagandist” in German. A German synonym for propagandist is Verkaufsfördererung. Expectedly, the term means something very different in German, a sales promoter, who is involved “in sales promotions, namely, all temporary activities with a promotional character [that] are combined within the marketing communication policy, which serve to activate the market participants (sales bodies, dealers, customers) to increase sales results, and support other marketing measures.” Use of this term in the context of running an advertising agency makes much more sense to describe the work that Heinz Löwenstein was involved in.
This suggests one final thought. Growing up my German-born father would occasionally use a German aphorism or saying to make a point. Asked to explain, he would tell me there was no comparable saying in English. While the difference between use of “propagandist” in English versus German is not quite the same thing, it is worth bearing in mind that online translators may occasionally give you inaccurate translations so further investigation may be required.
Note: In this post, I discuss a so-called “castle” presently located in southwestern Poland that was once owned by the noble von Koschembahr family. My great-granduncle Wilhelm Bruck married into this family and adopted his wife’s matronymic. The manor house which survives in dilapidated condition was once the home of his father-in-law’s two widowed sisters.
In Post 115, I introduced readers to Wilhelm Bruck (1849-1907) (Figure 1), one of my great granduncles, who married Margarete von Koschembahr (1860-1948) (Figure 2) on the 14th of September 1884 in Berlin, Germany. Wilhelm was the younger brother of my great-grandfather Fedor Bruck (1834-1892) (Figure 3), the second-generation owner of the family business in Ratibor [today: Racibórz, Poland], the Bruck’s “Prinz von Preußen” Hotel.
Upon their marriage, Wilhelm added his wife’s matronymic to his name. The unusual adoption of a wife’s surname most typically happened when the wife was a so-called peer, that’s to say, was a hereditary titled noble in her own right. The result was that Wilhelm and his descendants became known as “Bruck-von Koschembahr,” though the Bruck surname was dropped entirely upon the family’s arrival in America.
By all measures the von Koschembahr descendants are my distant relatives though until the year before last I’d never been in contact with any members of this branch. While my uncle Dr. Fedor Bruck was particularly impressed with links to nobiliary members on our ancestral line, took special pains to note them in his hand drawn ancestral trees, and may even have been in touch with members of this branch, this has never been of explicit interest to me. Regardless, in December 2023, I was contacted by an American descendant of this offshoot of my family, Christopher von Koschembahr. Christopher mentioned his mother had stumbled upon my blog. He also explained he was the son of Dieter von Koschembahr (1929-1995), who I knew to be one of the grandsons of Wilhelm Bruck and Margarete von Koschembahr.
As an aside, during our exchanges, Christopher asked when my father changed his surname from “Bruck” to “Brook.” I didn’t know at the time. However, in connection with my ongoing German citizenship application, I’ve since learned my father became Gary Otto Brook upon becoming an American citizen in July 1955. I think Christopher’s question stemmed from the fact that he serendipitously named his daughter “Brookes,” so had the original surname been retained, she would have been known as “Brookes Bruck.”
In March 2024, Christopher mentioned to me his intention to visit one of the former family estates currently located southwestern Poland, a short distance northeast of the German border town of Görlitz. Embedded in this email was a message from my third cousin, Kurt Polborn, to Christopher with some of the historical background on the property and the name of the Polish town where the estate is located, Żarki Średnie. Like Kurt and me, Christopher and Kurt are third cousins. A brief digression before I discuss what I know of the von Koschembahr family property and its former residents.
As I explained in the previous post, Post 172, upon learning that Christopher’s family once owned a “castle” in what is today called Żarki Średnie, Poland (Figure 4), I turned to a comprehensive 1893 map of Silesia once sent to me by Paul Newerla. I had discovered the town was called “Kesselbach” during the Prussian era, though was unable to find it on the detailed Silesian map. This is when I turned to the 1:25,000 scale “Urmesstischblätter” military maps discussed in my prior article. (Figure 5) After learning Żarki Średnie/Kesselbach was located 7.5km or 4.66 miles northeast of Gorlitz, I located it on map number “4756-Penzig/Pieńsk.” (Figures 6a-c)
I was unable to find Kesselbach in the meyersgaz.org database even by using “star as a wildcard” in the “Search” bar. This points out the advantage of having several different map sources one can turn to. It was only after I found an old postcard on eBay referring to the castle as “Schloß-Mittel Sohra” (Figure 7) that I found “Mittel Sohra,” in meyersgaz.org. (Figure 8)
Based on the picture in Wikipedia of the von Koschembahr “manor house,” as they refer to it, the mansion appeared to be maintained and in very good shape. (Figure 9) Other pictures found online seemed to corroborate this. (Figure 10) This was a grand illusion as Christopher discovered when he visited the former family estate in July 2024. (Figure 11) While the structure is still standing, the floors and roof are collapsing, the windows and doors are missing or broken, and roots are growing through the foundations and openings. (Figures 12a-b) When Christopher used hand gestures to communicate with Polish laborers working nearby on the day he visited, they gesticulated that tossing a hand grenade into the building would solve the problem.
As a retired archaeologist I have come across multiple such historic structures over the years while conducting pedestrian surveys on the public lands in the western United States. This is one reason the deteriorating mansion holds a peculiar fascination for me, different than it may for the average reader. Adding this to the history that my cousin Kurt Polborn told me about the place, I’ve been able to relate it to specific individuals who lived there. This is not always possible even with recent historic era ruins.
Let me relate the part of the story I’ve been told and connect it to historic documents I’ve uncovered.
I told readers at the outset of this post that my great granduncle Wilhelm Bruck married Margarete von Koschembahr and added her matronymic to his surname. Margarete’s father was Leopold von Koschembahr (1829-1874) (Figure 13) married to Amalie Mockrauer (1834-1918). (Figure 14) As a quick aside, my Bruck ancestors are related by marriage to Mockrauers over several generations, but that’s a story for another day.
Leopold von Koschembahr was Kurt Polborn’s great-great-grandfather. According to Kurt, Leopold filed for bankruptcy on a few occasions, and his large family would likely not have survived without the help of his mother and his Jewish in-laws. Amalie Mockrauer wrote in her diary about the financial disasters of her married life.
As a reflection of the self-perceived “superiority” of the nobility vis a vis the bourgeoisie, upon Wilhelm Bruck’s death in 1907, his widow Margarete dropped the Bruck surname and reverted to her maiden name.
Returning to the ruined manor house in Żarki Średnie, according to Kurt, Leopold von Koschembahr’s had two sisters. The older one was Julie Leopoldine Anna von Koschembahr (1827-1883), referred to as “Anna”; the younger was Isidore Mathilde Helene von Koschembahr (1833-1887), familiarly called “Isidore.” Though they were six years apart, both got married the same year in 1859. Anna married Adolph von Blankensee (1812-1871) (Figures 15a-b), while Isidore wed Major Otto von Heugel (1826-1871). (Figures 16a-b)
Their respective husbands fought in the Franco-Prussian War, also known as the Franco-German War of 1870-1871. Both died during this conflict in France within weeks of one another. Adolph von Blankensee died from Typhus on the 11th of January 1871, while his brother-in-law Otto von Heugel died on the 29th of January 1871 in a place called La-Queue-en-Brie (Figures 17a-b), a commune in the southeastern suburbs of Paris. Following their husbands’ deaths, the widows apparently lived together in the family manor in Kesselbach until their deaths. Both are recorded as having died in Görlitz, the largest nearby town.
The only known depiction of Anna von Koschembahr is an endearing painting from ca. 1830 standing alongside her younger brother Leopold. (Figure 18) The original of this painting is owned by the descendants of Kurt’s recently deceased uncle, Clemens von Koschembahr, Chistopher von Koschembahr’s uncle. In Post 75, I wrote about this Biedermeier-style painting because my third cousin, Agnes Stieda, née Vogel, owns a replica of this painting. (Figure 19) How a copy of this painting came to be made is unknown.
No images are known of Isidore. However, given the extensive von Koschembahr family, it is probable that a likeness of her survives among the family’s ephemera. It is my hope that one of her von Koschembahr descendants may stumble upon my blog and scrutinize their family photos.
The history of the von Koschembahr manor house is unknown. Discovery of the so-called “grundbuch,” the German land register that records property ownership and other details that would have been maintained by a special division of the local court, would provide details on the castle’s construction and ownership. Whether the grundbuch survived the devastation of WWII is also unknown.
I can only surmise what happened to the manor house following Isidore’s death in 1887. Neither Anna or Isidore had any children, However, a younger von Koschembahr sibling, Erich Wilhelm Adolf von Koschembahr (1836-1890), had two daughters, and one may have inherited the property. I would posit the estate continued to be owned by Anna and Isidore’s descendants since titled families tended to own multiple estates around the country. Regardless of what happened to the property following the death of the two widows, there can be no doubt the family lost ownership of the estate at the end of WWII when the family fled the area as the Russians were approaching.
Pictures of the manor house, including the one on Wikipedia, show the shell of the castle still in restorable condition. These pictures, probably taken in the last 10-15 years, suggest that someone lived in and maintained the property until shortly before then. I strongly suspect I’ll eventually write a postscript to this post as I learn more about the history of the von Koschembahr manor house.
The dilapidated remains of the von Koschembahr castle in Żarki Średnie holds a particular appeal to me as a retired archaeologist. Because most historic era remains found throughout the United States are not related to titled families or known individuals and are assuredly not connected to my family, learning of a surviving structure that is piques my interest. I’ll leave it at that.
Note: In this post, I draw readers’ attention to several sources of detailed topographic maps of the German Reich, including areas that are today within Poland. I will briefly discuss the origin of these maps and explain how to access the databases.
It may surprise readers to learn I often derive as much or even more pleasure writing about subjects that transcend my immediate and extended Bruck family. The current publication is one such post. Here I discuss and explain to readers where they can locate historic topographic maps of towns and areas in the former German realm where their ancestors may have come from, including areas that are today part of Poland. Much of Silesia where many of my German ancestors come from is today in Poland; learning where historic maps of the various places associated with them can be found has been invaluable in my work.
I want to begin this post by acknowledging my dear friend, Paul Newerla, who sadly passed away in January 2024. (Figure 1) Like many people with whom I’ve corresponded with on ancestral matters over the years, Paul found me through my blog. He was a lawyer who devoted himself to researching and writing about the history of Ratibor and Silesia in retirement. As a brief aside, Silesia is today divided principally into four Polish województwa (provinces): Lubuskie, Dolnośląskie, Opolskie, and Śląskie. The remainder of the historical region forms part of Brandenburg and Saxony Länder (states) of Germany and part of the Moravia-Silesia kraj (region) of the Czech Republic.
Paul was a tireless researcher (Figure 2), very generous with his time and sharing his knowledge and resources. I miss his help, insights, and kindness. Paul didn’t speak English, and I don’t speak Polish nor German, so our communications involved using an online translator. Still, his warm, self-deprecating humor came through clearly. Case in point. One day, while trying to explain some nuance to me, he prefaced his remarks by using the German word “besserwisser,” basically translated as “know-it-all,” saying he wasn’t trying to sound like one. My wife and I often jokingly use this word which just rolls off the tongue with such ease. I have fond recollections of Paul and all he taught me. I could only hope to be remembered thusly. I was very happy when Paul once told me how much pleasure he took from my research interest in my ancestors from Silesia.
Over the years, I’ve been asked by readers or family members about towns in Silesia where their ancestors come from or found places in ancestral documents citing obscure towns. Being a basically visual person, I’m curious where these places are located and how far distant from Ratibor [today: Racibórz, Poland], where my father was born, they are. This is typically a two-step process. The first step normally involves finding the Polish place names for former German towns. Fortunately, a Wikipedia site cross-referencing the German/Polish town names exists. The obvious second step involves using Google or other resources to see what you can learn about the place, particularly if you’re curious about the history of the town over the ages.
During my email exchanges with Paul Newerla, he sent me many maps, including multiple historic ones of Ratibor and a very detailed 1893 map of Silesia. (Figure 3) In the case of the street maps of Ratibor, this has often allowed me to precisely pinpoint places associated with my family. In any case, I recently discovered to my dismay that a small place that one of my cousins asked me about is not on the 1893 map. This sent me scurrying through saved emails searching for a link to historic topographic maps of the German realm Paul had once told me about. I vaguely recalled these cover the northern and southern parts of Poland. Being of higher resolution, 1:25,000 (see below), I’ve never failed to find any old German town if a map of the area survives.
I eventually found the 2019 email from Paul with links to the maps. And, predictably, I located the German/Polish town my distant cousin had asked me about. This will be the subject of an upcoming blog where I’ll introduce readers to a distinguished branch of my Bruck family that no longer retains the Bruck surname for a surprising reason. I digress. Thinking the website and the maps might be of interest to readers, I decided to write the current post and explain to readers how to access this database.
As Paul was wont to do and which I so appreciated was provide some historical perspective. In the case of these 1:25,000 scale maps, Paul explained that on these maps, one kilometer, roughly 0.621 mile, is equal to 4 centimeters, about 1.575 inches. The production of these so-called “Urmesstischblätter” began ca. 1822 for the entire territory of Prussia, all at the scale of 1:25,000. The maps were hand-drawn unique specimens. They were not published; they were only intended to form the basis for smaller-scale maps. In German, “Messtischblatt” refers to the specific type of topographic map drawn at the 1:25,000 scale, which translates to “survey table sheet” due to the method used for creating these maps. These sheets or leaves marked the beginning of topographical cartography, which has evolved in various stages but is still based on these roots today.
Because of their military importance, the 1:25,000 scale maps are extremely accurate. These maps from the period 1822-1850 were further developed and refined until 1944. This scale allowed for a detailed depiction of features like roads, buildings, rivers, and elevation contours. These maps are valuable historical sources for studying the landscape and development of the German Empire, particularly in the Prussian era.
Maps intended for “civilian” purposes, which obviously could also have a military application, were drawn at a different scale, even down to 1:500. Indicated on each map is the scale at which it was drawn. Postwar maps showing Polish towns indicate the German-era map upon which the Polish version is based. The entire German realm, extending far into neighboring countries including current Polish counties, is covered by these 1:25,000 scale maps.
Let me provide some explanation. Each numbered square corresponds to one map at a scale of 1:25,000. (Figure 4) As readers can see, each square is numbered and named according to the largest city in the area. So, for example, Gdansk in the northern part of Poland, is numbered and named “1677-Danzig/Gdansk.” (Figure 5) The square nearest to the east is one number higher, thus “1678-Weichselmünde/Wisłoujście,” while the one nearest to the west is one number less, thus “1676-Zuckau/Zukowo.” The map to the south of the one you’re researching is always larger by a factor of 100, for example in the case of Gdansk, “1777-Praust/Pruszcz Gdański.”
Below is what a fragment of the northern directory looks like. If you click on a corresponding square, a directory appears. The headers (Figure 6) read: “Pliki” (file); “Godlo” (map number); “Tytul” (designation of the largest city based on the original German version of the map); “Nazwa wsp.” (current Polish town name); “Rok wyd.” (year of publication); and “dpi” (resolution in dots per inch). By tapping on the yellow icon in the upper left, you’ll open the corresponding map; more than one map be listed. The map can be enlarged, then navigated, by simply clicking on it, then scrolling around.
Map number “1780-Tiegenhof/Nowy Dwór Gdański” (Figure 7a-b) corresponds to the town where my father had his dental practice in the Free City of Danzig from April 1932 until April 1937. After you click on the square, you will note there is a map that includes Tiegenhof which was originally published in 1925. Once you click on the yellow icon in the upper left, then on the map itself, and scroll to the bottom, you’ll see some information about the map. In this instance, the 1925 map is based on a topographic survey the Prussian State conducted in 1908. (Figure 8) Having been to Nowy Dwór Gdański a few times and being very familiar with where my father’s dental practice was located, I can immediately find the street on which it was situated.
I discussed another source of maps of the German Empire in Post 156, the Meyers Orts- und Verkehrs-Lexikon des Deutschen Reichs, the “Meyers Geographical and Commercial Gazetteer of the German Empire.” (Figure 9) I refer readers to this earlier post. As ancestry.com points out about the Meyers Gazetteer: “This gazetteer of the German Empire is the gazetteer to use to locate place names in German research. It was originally compiled in 1912. This gazetteer is the gazetteer to use because it includes all areas that were part of the pre-World War I German Empire. Gazetteers published after WWI may not include parts of the Empire that were lost to bordering countries. Overall, this gazetteer includes more than 210,000 cities, towns, hamlets, villages, etc.”
The maps in the Meyers Gazetteer also appear to originate from the 1:25,000 Urmesstischblätter maps. I recommend anyone researching German Empire town names to look at the links above to the Urmesstischblätter maps, as well as the Meyers Gazetteer. The meyersgaz.org website remarks: “This is the most important of all German gazetteers. The goal of the Meyer’s compilers was to list every place name in the German Empire (1871-1918). It gives the location, i.e. the state and other jurisdictions, where the civil registry office was and parishes if that town had them. It also gives lots of other information about each place. The only drawback to Meyer’s is that if a town did not have a parish, it does not tell where the parish was, making reference to other works necessary.”
“The archive currently (as of June 13, 2020) contains 29,930 different world atlases, country maps, topographic maps, road maps, panorama maps, railway maps, postal code maps, city maps and special maps. The Atlas Novas Indicibus Instructus by Matthäus Seutter, with its 52 copper engravings, is the oldest original in the map archive. Furthermore, there are several thousand topographic maps of Central Europe. The oldest maps are from 1820. The newest map, on the other hand, is the map of the Hockenheimring from 1999, which shows the old Hockenheimring before the reconstruction. There are many highlights, such as the 89-page Dunlop Autoatlas from 1927, the Conti Atlas from 1938, the general maps from 1954, the clear B.V. Aral maps, the very rare Reichsautobahnatlas from 1938 and the beautiful old French Michelin road maps for France, Spain and Germany. Our special exhibitions, such as the fantastically beautiful Soviet military maps or the Reymann´s Special Map of Central Europe are also worth a click. . .”
Naturally, the landkartenarchiv.de includes the 1:25,000 Urmesstischblätter maps. However, given the vast collection of maps in the archive, readers may find it easier to seek out 1:25,000 scale maps at meyersgaz.org or in the links to the Polish websites listed above. However, if readers are more interested in maps at a grosser scale such as 1:50,000, 1:75,000, and 1:100,000, scroll the vast collection on the landkartenarchiv.de. For readers particularly interested in German Empire maps, I draw your attention to the following:
Using the “Search” function, there appears to be an overlap between the maps that are listed. Given the enormous number of maps archived in this database, perhaps this is not surprising.
Note: In this post, I discuss some previously unknown details about my father, Gary Otto Brook (Dr. Otto Bruck), and his life before and during WWII uncovered in a file I was given by a staffer at the German Embassy in connection with my German citizenship application. The staffer ordered this file from an office in Saarburg, Germany, where my father’s 1950s dossier wound up after his compensation petition was processed.
In Post 166, I related to readers my ongoing endeavor to obtain German citizenship. The process is moving apace thanks to the assistance of an extraordinarily helpful staffer at the German Embassy in Los Angeles. I recently delivered the preliminary application and only require one additional certificate to complete my submission. For reasons I will explain below obtaining citizenship could take 18 months or more. The recovery of an unexpected document is a direct result of my ongoing efforts and is the subject of this post.
Based on my vague childhood recollections of my father’s attempt to obtain some measure of recompense for the loss of his dental practice in the Free City of Danzig during the era of the National Socialists, I would have expected an application to exist supporting his petition. I was just not sure where I might find it. However, I’m now in possession of my father’s 13-page compensation file he originally submitted in the 1950s to the then-Federal Republic of Germany. (Figure 1) The file was ordered by the staffer at the German Embassy from Saarburg, Germany, from an office I did not know existed. While alone insufficient to fulfill application requirements, it bolsters my petition. I will discuss some of the contents below.
Though not particularly revelatory in a broad sense, the petition pinpoints some of the chronological events in my father’s life providing a more nuanced understanding of their timing. The events are told firsthand in a matter of fact-style chronicling when they took place. However, they mask an undercurrent of extreme loss that leaves me almost 90 years later deeply saddened. It’s not what’s written but what’s implied about how my father’s life and by extension the lives of so many other Holocaust victims were extinguished or upended that reverberates to this day. Possibly because of the fragmented nature of our ongoing political discourse this seems even more relevant.
A related issue I’ve been grappling with is the question of success versus justice. Suffice it here to say that for most Holocaust victims or their descendants no amount of financial compensation, what could be construed as a “successful” outcome, can ever make up for the loss they suffered. Ergo, they can never obtain real justice. This is an existential question that merits further consideration outside of my blog. However, it’s a question I’ve been pondering in the context of my longstanding claim against the French Ministry of Culture to obtain compensation and repatriation for paintings confiscated by the Nazis from one of my father’s first cousins in December 1940. Notwithstanding the fact that I’m the closest surviving relative to my father’s cousin, because France has a civil law legal system, I’ve been denied the opportunity to obtain justice on behalf of my family. As my petition nears resolution, this will be the subject of an upcoming post.
Back to the subject of this post. As I proceed, I’ll describe a few of the documents attached to my father’s petition which shed further light on what I know. I need to emphasize that much of the new information about my father comes from a dry recitation of events, not from any detailed discussion about what my father thought or felt about these events. Still, reading between the lines conceals disappointment and resignation to his fate. In fact, growing up, my father often used the word “kismet,” which comes from the Arabic word “qisma” which literally means “to divide” or “allot.” As a practical matter “kismet” is used to describe something that happens by chance like it was meant to be.
One document in my father’s petition is titled “Lebenslauf” (Figure 2), translated as curriculum vitae. Most often, a curriculum vitae summarizes a job applicant’s qualifications from the standpoint of work experience, education, and skills. In terms of what my father includes, it harkens back to its original Latin meaning, “the course of one’s life.” My father, born in 1907 (Figure 3), indicates his schooling involved three years in elementary school followed by nine years in a Humanistic Grammar School. He passed his so-called “Abitur,” basically his high school-leaving examination, in 1926. Then, from 1926 to 1930, he studied dentistry at the universities of Berlin, Breslau [today: Wrocław, Poland], and Munich. He qualified to be a dentist on the 8th of May 1930. During 1930 and 1931, my father apprenticed, assisted, and temporarily filled in for dentists in Königsbrück, Berlin, Allenstein [today: Olsztyn, Poland], and Danzig [today: Gdańsk, Poland].
Let me digress for a moment. As implied above, the broad outline of my father’s life was previously known to me. Still, there are a few surprises. I was aware my father studied dentistry at the University of Berlin since I have his diploma from there, but it was a complete revelation that he studied at the universities of Breslau and Munich. His link to Breslau is less surprising given that the Bruck family had longstanding ties with this city, including the fact that my father’s older brother, Dr. Fedor Bruck, received his dental degree here. However, the fact that my father studied dentistry in Breslau makes me wonder whether he apprenticed with his renowned relative, Dr Walther Wolfgang Bruck (1872-1937) (Figure 4), dentist to Kaiser Wilhelm II, the last German Kaiser, his family, and other royalty. This would strongly suggest my father trained with a family member who was exceptionally skilled in his craft.
Munich and Breslau are about eight hours apart today by car. There is no indication how long my father studied in Munich, although this merits further investigation.
As far as the four places where my father apprenticed in 1930 and 1931, none are surprising. I have in my possession letters of recommendation from the respective dentists in Königsbrück (Figure 5) and Allenstein (Figure 6) commending my father on his exemplary work in their absence. Furthermore, since my father attended dental school in Berlin, then later lived in the Free City of Danzig, I would have expected he would have apprenticed in these places. In the case of Danzig, I even have a picture showing him there in his dental scrubs. (Figure 7)
Let me continue. I know from a note in my father’s surviving papers that he had his own dental practice in a town in the Free City of Danzig named Tiegenhof [today: Nowy Dwór Gdański, Poland] from April 1932 through April 1937; this town is approximately 40km (25 miles) east of Danzig. While it is technically accurate to say my father maintained an independent dental practice until April 1937, as a practical matter because of the Nazi imposed boycott of Jewish businesses, he’d ceased having patients by 1936.
My father’s compensation file includes another informative document, an “Eidesstattliche Erklaerung” (Figures 8a-b), translated as affidavit. Here my father writes that he sold his dental equipment and instruments at less than ten percent of their market value. To compound the affront, patients whom my father had treated before the boycott went into full effect stiffed him to the tune of what today amounts to many thousands of dollars.
One particularly intriguing document included with my father’s compensation application is titled “Fuhrungszeugnis,” a “Certificate of Good Conduct.” (Figure 9) It is dated the 28th of April 1937 from Tiegenhof, and signed by “Die Polizeivertbeltung,” Tiegenhof’s “Police Bureaucracy.” It gives the precise dates my father’s dental practice was in business, from the 14th of April 1932 until the 28th of April 1937. Why my father would have wanted such a document is completely understandable, though why authorities would have felt compelled to document his service when they no longer wanted it in Germany, or the Free City of Danzig is mystifying.
Following the sale of his dental equipment in Tiegenhof, my father moved to the city of Danzig in April 1937, where, in his own words, “he took over the representation of dental colleagues until March 1938.” I presume the anonymity of this larger city, where my father had multiple professional colleagues, allowed him to continue working for a while. This is like what my uncle Dr. Fedor Bruck did after he was forced to shutter his own dental practice in Liegnitz [today: Legnica, Poland] in Lower Silesia after Hitler came to power in January 1933. He moved to Berlin, working under the auspices of non-Jewish dentists until that too became impossible.
I’d always been uncertain where my father spent the period between April 1937 and March 1938. I mistakenly thought he might have joined his brother in Berlin, possibly working there. Based on photographs in his albums, however, I knew that by early March 1938 he’d permanently left Germany since photos show him transiting through Vienna, Austria following his departure. (Figure 10) He was headed to Fiesole, Italy, outside Florence, to join his sister and brother-in-law, who were then operating a bed-and-breakfast there.
What caused my father to leave Germany before Kristallnacht on 9-10 November 1938 is not entirely clear, though I have no doubt he clearly saw the handwriting on the wall. The absence of a wife and any children made his departure a relatively easy decision.
A stray sentence in the affidavit accompanying his compensation petition suggests my father may have had a plan. The two first cousins with whom my father was closest were Jeanne “Hansi” Löwenstein (Figure 11) and her brother Heinz Löwenstein. (Figure 12) Both were born in Danzig, and I strongly suspect that while doing his dental apprenticeship in Danzig in 1930-1931, he lived with his aunt, Hedwig Löwenstein, nee Bruck (Figure 13), and these two cousins. Following the death of her husband Rudolf Löwenstein in a plane crash on the 22nd of August 1930, subject of Post 71, Hedwig and the family moved to Nice, France, along France’s Côte d’Azur. The precise date of their move is unknown.
Following his departure from Germany, I don’t think my father ever permanently intended to stay in Fiesole, Italy. I think his intended destination at the time was Nice, France. My father writes in his affidavit that he was unable to obtain a work permit in France so finally enlisted in the French Foreign Legion in November 1938.
Suffice it here to say that as I learn more about France’s complicity with the Nazis during WWII, I never fail to get angry anew at France’s treatment of my father and his family before, during, and after the war. For me this still seems very relevant, particularly as France has fought for ten years since 2014 to retain paintings rendered by Fedor Löwenstein (older brother of Hansi and Heinz) confiscated by the Nazis in December 1940 in Bordeaux and stored in Paris since, the provenance of which was only uncovered in 2010. I digress.
Though of no particular interest to readers, the exact dates of my father’s engagements in the French Foreign Legion (FFL) and England’s Pioneer Corps are mentioned. My father was in the FFL (Figure 14) in Algeria from the 9th of November 1938 until the 9th of November 1943. He was in the English Army (Figure 15) from the 19th of November 1943 until the 5th of May 1946, thus for two years 224 days. I have a picture of my father in his English Army uniform with his comrades-in-arm, taken in September 1945 in Rome, Italy. (Figure 16) Appearing to be almost a farewell gathering, I mistakenly concluded that my father had been demobilized from the English Army in Rome. Contrary to my assumption, in his affidavit my father writes he was demobilized in Nice, France.
For readers interested in knowing what I’ve learned about my father’s time in Nice, I discussed this in Post 26. After his discharge from the English army, my father procured a permit to work as a dental technician but was unable to work as a dentist. Because he had no connections, he could barely make ends meet.
Other information of personal interest is the precise date my father left France, the 2nd of June 1948, and the exact date he landed in America, the 7th of June 1948. Having previously found my father’s naturalization card (Figure 17) on ancestry.com, I knew he became an American citizen through Court Order #7509013, dated the 19th of July 1955. Though both the “Bruck” and “Brook” names appear on the card, I’d never been sure if he changed his name upon landing in America in 1948 or upon becoming an American citizen. Well, as it turns out, my father changed his name to Gary Otto Brook in 1955.
The final document in my father’s compensation file I’ll discuss is titled “Staatsangehorigkeitsausweis.” (Figure 18) Issued in Berlin on the 22nd of November 1927, this is my father’s German nationality card. I have the original among my father’s surviving papers, and as implied above it bolsters my claim for German citizenship.
As to the restitution my father received for the loss of his dental practice and livelihood, it amounted to a pittance, approximately $2,500. in 1966. Unlike my uncle Fedor who miraculously survived the entire war hidden in Berlin, my father never received a regular pension from the German government.
Let me return to something I alluded to above, namely the reason for the lengthy delay in processing German citizenship applications. The explanation is rich. Because of the tragic events of October 7, 2023, in Israel, Israelis of German descent are applying in droves for German citizenship.
In closing, let me be clear that I don’t expect the above to be of much interest to readers. However, it highlights that occasionally one happens upon a primary source document related to one’s ancestors that fill in some gaps in one’s understanding of their lives. In my case, the recovery of my father’s compensation petition was a fortuitous outcome of my German citizenship application.
