Note: This post though of limited interest is broadly speaking about “metadata,” data about data. Essentially, it’s structured information that acts as a “catalog” or “index” for other data, making it easier for me to find, understand, and use that information. Given that I plan to donate the silverware from the Bruck’s Hotel to the Muzeum w Racibórz (Museum in Racibórz), the town where my father was born, I want a record of this donation. While I hope my posts will be of use and interest to readers, I often refer to earlier articles to remind myself how and what I learned during my ancestral investigations.
The Bruck’s “Prinz von Preußen” Hotel (Figures 1-2), the family establishment my family owned in Ratibor, Germany [today: Racibórz, Poland] for about 75 years between roughly 1850 and 1925, has been the subject of multiple earlier articles. In these prior posts, I’ve discussed its location (Post 11), historically when the hotel was likely to have been built (Post 155), the family members linked to it (Post 11, Post 11, Postscript, & Post 11, Postscript 2), the layout of the building (Post 11), the police oversight of the business (Post 11, Postscript), various events hosted and dignitaries who stayed there (Post 11, Postscript), the final months of the family’s ownership of the hotel (Post 146), the various owners of the business after it left family hands (Post 11), its condition following WWII (Post 11), and its ultimate fate (Post 132).
Much of what I learned, and the associated documents and contemporary advertisements came from my dearly departed friend, Mr. Paul Newerla (Figure 3), who took a keen interest in researching the history of the hotel. Another Polish friend from Rybnik, Poland, Ms. Malgosia Ploszaj (Figure 4), was also instrumental in unearthing a historic portfolio on the Bruck’s Hotel at the Archiwum Państwowe w Katowicach Oddział w Raciborzu, The Polish State Archives in Racibórz.
Through Paul, I learned the hotel was largely intact at the end of WWII save for the bombed-out roof. (Figure 5) However, occupying Russian forces allowed it to burn to the ground after it was “accidentally” set on fire by drunken soldiers who prevented the local firefighters from extinguishing the flames. The reason the building was allowed to burn is rooted in geopolitics. Following the end of WWII, the ruling and occupying Communists expected that the border between Poland and Germany would be established along the Oder-Neisse River. Situated as the hotel was on the west bank of the Oder River, the Communists fully expected that Ratibor would remain in German hands. The Communists had no interest in turning over to the Germans anything useable or salvageable.
One telling historical document dated March 1950 Paul found in the archives and shared with me was a letter written to local authorities setting out a “quota” of 5 million bricks the town was expected to provide for Warsaw for its reconstruction. (Figure 6) The Bruck’s Hotel built constructed as it was out of bricks was an obvious and plentiful source of this material, particularly since it was expected to remain part of Germany. Sadly, the hotel which could easily and would likely have been restored was instead dismantled.
Given the reality that the hotel no longer exists, which could have been a fixture for a vibrant and historic downtown Racibórz, all that remains are scattered artifacts in my possession, specifically, some hotel silverware. As I am preparing to donate these heirlooms to the Muzeum w Racibórz in the coming months, I thought I would write a brief post about them and link them to the specific Bruck ancestors to whom I think they’re connected. Some of the markings on the silverware are monograms specific to the owners, others name the hotel. Hallmarks can be found on some pieces which are official stamps or marks that indicate the purity, manufacturer, and origin of the precious silver metal. They are too difficult to decipher, however.
My great-great-grandparents Samuel Bruck (1808-1863) (Figure 7) and his wife Charlotte Bruck, née Marle (1811-1861) (Figure 8) were the original family owners of the Prinz von Preußen. Arguably I have one piece of silverware that belonged to Samuel Bruck. It simply has the initial “S.” so may have been from his time. (Figure 9)
Silverware from the next two generation of owners are more clearly identifiable. Fedor Bruck (1834-1892) (Figure 10) and his wife Friederike Bruck, née Mockrauer (1836-1924) (Figure 11) were the second-generation owners. Silverware from this generation is marked by “Fe. Bruck’s Hôtel” (Figure 12) or “F. Bruck’s Hôtel.” (Figure 13) And, finally, my grandparents Felix (1864-1927) (Figure 14) and Else Bruck, née Berliner (1873-1957) (Figure 15) owned the hotel following Fedor Bruck’s death in 1892. Their beautiful interwoven monogram, while intricate, is clearly identifiable by the initials “EFB,” Else & Felix Bruck. (Figure 16)
Other silverware that cannot positively be connected to any specific generation is labeled simply as “Prinz von Preussen” (Figure 17), “Br. (for Bruck)” (Figure 18), or “Bankowsky Ratibor.” (Figure 19) Bankowsky, for which I can find no reference, is likely the local silversmith that produced the hotel’s silverware.
The monogram on a set of forks I’ll be donating is particularly intriguing. (Figure 20) Thinking I had possibly misread the letters in the monogram on this silverware as “SUB,” possibly for Samuel Bruck, I asked my German friend Peter Hanke, the “Wizard of Wolfsburg,” to confirm or refute my interpretation.
According to Peter, the monogram has the letters “B,” “P,” “V,” and another “P,” which obviously stands for “Bruck’s Prinz von Preussen.” Even with Peter’s explanation, I had great difficulty visualizing the letters, so he highlighted them using his grandchildren’s colored pens.
Comparing the forks side-by-side, here is what readers should look for. The monogram is written in a script font called “Kunstler Script.” On Figure 20, readers can see the letter “v” (what really looks like a large “U”) which is marked in red. Then, in red AND blue, there are two “Ps,” the left one facing backwards and the right one facing forwards. Finally, in brown the letter “B” is evident.
The monogram on a large soup spoon of the same vintage appears to read “T.B.” I know of no Bruck ancestor with these initials. (Figure 21)
Another unique coffee spoon that I initially mistook as silverware from the Bruck’s Hotel reads “O.B.,” which clearly stands for my father Otto Bruck. (Figure 22) This is the only example of this style of spoon. My father came from a secular Jewish family, so may have been christened or baptized upon birth. I surmise my father was given this silver spoon on this occasion. The tradition of gifting silver, particularly spoons, dates back as early as the Middle Ages. Initially, silver was seen as an investment in the child’s future, a financial asset to help cover costs or contribute towards significant life events. Interestingly, the phrase “born with a silver spoon in your mouth” originates from this period, referencing those born into wealthy families who could afford silvery cutlery.
In the Middle Ages, silver was believed to have protective properties against evil spirits. Its antibacterial qualities were also recognized, and it was thought that using silver utensils could reduce infections and promote better health, especially for babies.
Note: In this post, I discuss the fate of the hotel my family owned for three generations in Ratibor [today: Racibórz, Poland]. Largely intact following the cessation of hostilities after WWII, it appears to have been demolished for a combination of reasons, including geopolitical ones and the Soviet Union’s desire to remove historical traces of German connections to Silesia.
Regular readers know I periodically revisit topics or people I’ve talked about to amplify new findings. Since the process of learning rarely follows a linear path, one is often left to reevaluate previous findings or conclusions considering more recently uncovered evidence.
The family establishment in Ratibor [today: Racibórz, Poland], the Bruck’s “Prinz Von Preußen” Hotel, was owned for what I estimate are roughly three generations, from the early 1850s to around the mid-1920s. (Figures 1-2) A historic police file found at the “State Archives in Katowice Branch in Racibórz” indicates the business was sold in around 1926, and subsequently went through a series of owners. (Figure 3)
I thought I had previously laid to rest the issue of why the building does not stand today. It would be reasonable to assume the structure was destroyed during World War II, by Allied bombing of the city prior to its capture or in the waning days of the war when the Soviets encircled and seized the city. However, a post-WWII photo given to me by a curator at the Muzeum w Raciborzu proves the structure was largely intact possibly apart from the roof; the photo, while of high resolution, is taken at too great a distance to ascertain how badly the roof was damaged. (Figure 4)
Realizing the Bruck’s “Prinz Von Preußen” Hotel, which oddly retained its name throughout its existence despite its Jewish origins, outlasted the cataclysmic events of WWII, I sought another explanation for why it might not have survived. This was provided, so I thought, by Mr. Paul Newerla (Figure 5), my friend from Racibórz, a retired lawyer who now researches and writes extensively about the history of Silesia and Ratibor. Paul sent me a copy of a letter he found in the Racibórz Archives dated the 27th of March 1950 from the so-called Racibórz Municipal Board to the Municipal National Council in Racibórz (Figure 6); in essence, the letter states that damaged buildings in the town had been evaluated for their “historic character” and found lacking, so that parts of or all a structure could be dismantled to provide 5,000,000 bricks needed for the reconstruction of Warsaw.
Indicative of the method used to clear burned and destroyed houses and buildings in Racibórz, Paul found another letter dated the 12th of January 1948 sent from the Konservator of the Voivodeship, essentially the province, to the Technical Department of Racibórz’s Municipal Department. (Figure 7) The province was reminding the Municipal Board that the use of explosives to clear these damaged structures in the vicinity of historic edifices such as the Church of the Blessed Virgin Mary in Racibórz was prohibited. It is safe to assume that explosives were similarly used to take down the Bruck’s Hotel.
Why the city of Racibórz would have agreed to or recommended the dismantling of perfectly functional structures like the former family hotel probably requiring only minor reconstruction at a time when housing was likely in short supply seems to defy logic. Paul jumped to my assistance to explain broader geopolitical factors that apparently dictated why the former family establishment was torn down. I will attempt to explain this to readers.
The address for the Bruck’s “Prinz Von Preußen” Hotel was Oderstraße 16 (Figure 8); the hotel was located on an east-west street that terminated along the west bank of the Oder River [Polish: Odra]. (Figure 9) The historic walled city of Ratibor lay along the west side of the Oder River, as does much of the current central part of Racibórz. The location of the hotel along the west side of the Oder River is significant, as I will demonstrate. Spoiler alert. The destruction of the Bruck’s Hotel may be partially related to the anticipated location of the German-Polish frontier following the end of WWII.
The subject of Poland’s western frontier was brought up by the Soviet leader Joseph Stalin as early as late 1943 at the Tehrān Conference; this was a meeting between U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt, British Prime Minister Winston Churchill, and Soviet Premier Joseph Stalin held in Tehrān between November 28–December 1, 1943. The chief discussion centered on the opening of a “second front” in western Europe. Stalin agreed to an eastern offensive to coincide with the forthcoming Western Front. On the Polish question, the western Allies and the Soviet Union were at sharp odds. While the Americans were not interested in discussing any border changes during the Tehrān Conference, Roosevelt agreed in principle that Poland’s western border should be extended west to the Oder River.
At the Yalta Conference, during the second of the Big Three conferences between Roosevelt, Churchill, and Stalin held in February 1945, American and British officials agreed on the basics of Poland’s future borders. In the east, the British agreed to the Curzon line, the proposed demarcation line between the Second Polish Republic and the Soviet Union, two new states emerging after World War I; this line was first proposed in 1919. The British acknowledged that the Americans might push for Lwów, current-day Lviv in western Ukraine, to be included in post-war Poland. It was generally agreed that Poland should receive part of East Prussia, Danzig, the eastern part of Pomerania, and Upper Silesia; for reference Ratibor, present-day Racibórz, was in Upper Silesia.
In terms of this blog post, the following observation in Wikipedia is relevant: “With respect to Poland’s western frontiers, Stalin noted that the Polish Prime Minister in exile, Stanisław Mikołajczyk, had been pleased when Stalin had told him Poland would be granted Stettin/Szczecin and the German territories east of the Western Neisse [River]. Yalta was the first time the Soviets openly declared support for a German-Polish frontier on the Western as opposed to the Eastern Neisse. Churchill objected to the Western Neisse frontier, saying ‘it would be a pity to stuff the Polish goose so full of German food that it got indigestion.’ He added that many Germans would be shocked if such large numbers of Germans were driven out of these areas, to which Stalin responded that ‘many Germans’ had ‘already fled before the Red Army.’” The question of Poland’s western border was ultimately left to be decided at the Potsdam Conference.
Let me digress briefly to give readers a sense of geography regarding the whereabouts of the Western and Eastern Neisse Rivers in relationship to the location of Racibórz. The Neisse River, in Polish Nysa, is two rivers in present-day southwestern Poland. The better-known Nysa Łużycka, or Lusatian Neisse, is the more westerly and longer of the two rivers running 157 miles or 252 km; the Nysa Kłodzka, or Glatzer Leisse or Neisse of the city of Kłodzko (Glatz), is the shorter is 113 miles or 182 km and lies entirely within Poland. Both rivers rise in the Sudeten Mountains, flow northward, and empty into the Oder River. (Figure 10) Near the village of Ratzdorf, the Lusatian Neisse discharges into the Oder River.
Görlitz, located on the more westerly Lusatian Neisse River, is the easternmost town in Germany (easternmost village is Zentendorf), and lies opposite the Polish town of Zgorzelec. Görlitz is slightly less than 200 miles west-northwest of Racibórz (Figure 11), while Kłodzko along the Eastern Neisse is only about 90 miles to the west-northwest of Racibórz. (Figure 12)
As readers can easily discern for themselves, the Soviet proposal to establish Poland’s western frontier along either the Western Neisse or Eastern Neisse would have resulted and did ultimately result in considerably more land being included within Poland. However, at the time of the Yalta Conference, the precise location of Poland’s western border was still an open question. The western Allies accepted in general that the Oder River into which both the eastern and western Neisse rivers emptied would be the western border of Poland in that area. Still in doubt at the time was whether the border would follow the eastern or western Neisse. The western Allies sought to place the border on the eastern Neisse closer to Breslau [today: Wrocław, Poland]. Suggestions of a border on the Bóbr River (Bober) were also supposedly rejected by the Soviets.
At the latitude at which Racibórz is located, the eastern and western Neisse are situated much further to the west of the Oder River. In none of the materials I’ve read have I seen any mention that the Allies were seriously considering establishing the border between Germany and Poland along the Oder at this latitude; as mentioned above, the discussion always revolved around establishing the western frontier along the Neisse rivers or conceivably along the Bober River. (see Figure 10) While this may be true, as far as the local authorities in Racibórz may have been concerned, there may have been sufficient uncertainty as to where the final frontier would be established. Thus, to hedge their bets, the Communist authorities may have decided to dismantle the Bruck’s Hotel and salvage the bricks fearing it would remain on the German side of the border.
A recent citation sent to me by Paul Newerla sheds additional light on how the Bruck’s Hotel was destroyed. On page 69 of a book entitled in Polish “Od Joannitow Do Ratownikow–Czyli Dzieje Strazakow Ziemi Raciborskiej,” translated roughly as “From the Joanites to the rescuers or the history of firefighters of the Racibórz Land,” there is an eyewitness account by a former firefighter who worked for the fire brigade in Racibórz. (Figures 13a-c)
“One day (it was 1945, without further date) the fire brigade was alerted and ordered to the fire of the Hotel Bruck on the corner of Oderstraße and Bollwerkstraße (now Reymonta-Straße). The hotel was in unusually good condition after the war. When the firefighters appeared with their firefighting trailer in front of the burning hotel, they met Russian soldiers equipped with weapons. They refused to have the hotel deleted [sic]. The Polish administration was also powerless. So the beautiful hotel burned.”
It would appear, based on this account, that perhaps an evening of drunken debauchery by occupying Russian soldiers “accidentally” led to the Bruck’s Hotel being set on fire and to the establishment’s ultimate destruction; clearly, the soldiers had no interest in seeing the fire extinguished when the firefighters showed up. Depending on the intensity of the fire, it’s likely the bricks would still have been usable and likely salvaged.
Time and again through history, we have seen foreign invaders attempting to destroy traces of earlier history and culture in places they occupy, to rewrite the past, so to speak. The Nazis sought to eradicate Jewish culture. Currently, we are witnessing in the Ukraine Russians plundering museums in places like Kherson and Mariupol, because, above all, according to Putin’s propaganda, “Ukraine as a country doesn’t exist, it’s part of Russia—so they can grab anything they want.” Thus, like today, it’s probable the orders to wipe out evidence of earlier cultures in Racibórz following WWII were coming from someone high in the Kremlin, likely Stalin himself. Later, during the Communist Era, the headstones in the former Jewish Cemetery in Ratibor were removed and sold off because again, after all, Jews were never considered a part of the cultural fabric of the city.
In closing, let me make a few observations about the frontier between Germany and Poland, and the territorial losses that both suffered because of WWII. The Potsdam Agreement between the United States, the United Kingdom, and the Soviet Union concluded on the 2nd of August 1945, in anticipation of a final peace treaty, placed the German territories east of the Oder-Neisse line under Polish administration. All Germans remaining in the old and new Poland, it was decided, should be expelled. The Oder-Neisse line marked the border between the former East Germany and Poland from 1950 to 1990. The then-two Communist governments agreed to the border in 1950, while then-West Germany, after a period of refusal, conceded with reservations in 1970. Notwithstanding West Germany’s misgivings about this frontier, with the reunification of Germany, they eventually agreed to it when the German-Polish Border Treaty was signed on the 14th of November 1990.
Ultimately, Poland for its loss to the Soviet Union of 72,000 sq. miles (187,000 sq. km.) of lands east of the Curzon line was compensated with 43,000 sq. miles (112,000 sq. km.) of former German territory. The final borders resulted in Germany’s loss to Poland of most of Silesia, half of Pomerania, the eastern portion of Brandenburg, a small part of Saxony, and part of East Prussia. The northern part of East Prussia, including Königsberg [today: Kaliningrad, Russia], was annexed by the Soviet Union, while Memelland became part of the Lithuanian Soviet Socialist Republic, today Lithuania. (Figure 14)
Thus, while we may wish to believe frontiers and borders are immutable, as we’ve seen in just the past nine years since Russia annexed the Crimean Peninsula, they are ever-changing and much more fluid than we would expect.
REFERENCES
Dafoe, Taylor. “Before Retreating from Kherson, Russian Troops Emptied One of Ukraine’s Top Museum of Nearly 15,000 Objects.” Artnet News, 14 Nov. 2022, https://news.artnet.com/art-world/russian-troops-loot-kherson-museum-2209777
Geanous, Jacob. “Russian art curators have reportedly helped loot dozens of Ukraine museums.” New York Post, 4 Feb. 2023, https://flipboard.com/article/russian-art-curators-have-reportedly-helped-loot-dozens-of-ukraine-museums/f-1f12bf14a5%2Fnypost.com
Grutchot, Katarzyna (ed.) “Od Joannitow Do Ratownikow—Czyli Dzieje Strazakow Ziemi Raciborskiej.” (“From the Joanites to the rescuers or the history of firefighters of the Racibórz Land”). Nowiny Publishing House.
Note: This short postscript provides additional historic context about the events that ultimately led to the demolition of the Bruck’s “Prinz Von Preußen” Hotel in Ratibor, Germany, information obtained from Mr. Paul Newerla, retired lawyer and Racibórz historian.
Unlike Tiegenhof, in the former Free State of Danzig (today: Nowy Dwor Gdanski, Poland), where my father practiced dentistry between 1932 and 1937, where many elegant buildings from the German era still stand, in Ratibor (today: Racibórz, Poland), where my father was born, few of the classic German structures still exist in the city center. I touched on the reason for this in my original post, as well as in the first postscript.
As too often happens, when one is not a student of European history or when one relies too heavily on Wikipedia or other superficial Internet sources, the nuances of history are lost or distorted. Such is the case with the explanation of why the Bruck’s “Prinz Von Preußen” Hotel, owned by three generations of my family, was torn down after WWII. In the interest of setting the record straight and of adhering to my principle of being as historically accurate as possible, I’m adding another postscript. I owe clarification of the actual historic events to Racibórz historian, Mr. Paul Newerla (Figure 1), although I assume full responsibility for any mischaracterization or inaccuracy surrounding the exact circumstances that sealed the hotel’s fate.
Readers will recall a post-WWII picture of the Bruck’s Hotel included in the original post capturing at a distance a view of the still standing hotel. (Figure 2) To the untrained eye, it appears the hotel was largely intact, and could easily have been rebuilt. This was confirmed by Mr. Newerla, who observed that only the roof had been burned but that the walls and the vaults between the floors seemed to be in good condition, and that the building could have been restored. Mr. Newerla explained why this never occurred, which gets to the crux of why one sometimes needs to probe more deeply into the explanation of historic events.
Ratibor was “conquered” by the Soviets on March 31, 1945. Naturally, some sections of the city had been destroyed by air raids and street-by-street fighting in the final stages of WWII. Nonetheless, during April and even into May, following German capitulation, Soviet soldiers continued to routinely destroy parts of Ratibor, systematically burning houses. Mr. Newerla sent me a 1949 map of Ratibor’s city center, showing in red buildings that were burned or damaged, and in yellow structures that had been demolished. (Figure 3)
According to the findings of Polish authorities, Ratibor’s city center had been 80 percent destroyed, although Mr. Newerla estimates the actual percentage was closer to 60 percent. Following WWII, however, no construction work was carried out, and one building after another was torn down. The goal was to obtain bricks for the reconstruction of Warsaw. Even houses that had suffered only minimal damage that could have been rebuilt with limited financial resources were torn down. In the Racibórz Archives, Mr. Newerla discovered a letter dated 1950 from the city administration justifying their plan; in a section entitled “Demolition,” city administrators established a “quota” of 5,000,000 bricks Ratibor was expected to provide for the reconstruction of Warsaw. A poor reproduction of this letter written in Polish is included. (Figure 4) Mr. Newerla told me it took the city several years to amass this number of bricks.
The question of why Ratibor was expected to ante up 5,000,000 bricks, however, requires further examination.
Racibórz, administratively once part of Upper Silesia, Germany and now in the southwestern part of Poland, is located on the western banks of the Oder River. In the post-WWII period, Polish authorities were still not certain where the German-Polish border would be established. It was assumed the line would be set along the Oder River, so that Ratibor would remain a part of the “new” Germany. Operating under this assumption, the Poles probably felt it was their “due” to retrieve what they could from Germany, the country that had been largely responsible for widespread destruction throughout Poland during WWII. Ironically, though, the boundary with Germany in southwestern Poland was established not along the Oder River, but further to the west along the Neisse River (Oder-Neisse Line); Polish authorities never dreamed the border would be established this far west. Thus, towns in what became Poland were needlessly destroyed, idiomatically-speaking, a case of “cutting off one’s nose to spite one’s face”; this included not only Ratibor, but also Oppeln (today: Opole, Poland), Breslau (today: Wrocław, Poland), etc. By contrast, Mr. Newerla explained that former German towns on the right bank or east of the Oder River, such as Gleiwitz (today: Gliwice, Poland), Beuthen (today: Bytom, Poland) Hindenburg (today: Zabrze, Poland), etc. that authorities knew would remain Polish, were never dismantled.
The impact of the wholesale demolition of Ratibor’s city center in the early 1950’s is visible even today. Most of the city center is not built up, and there are green spaces or concrete squares where German buildings once stood. The systematic demolition of German-era buildings impacted yet another structure associated with my family’s connection to Ratibor, specifically the Berliner Brauerei, subject of Post 14. This brewery was located on Neumarkt, and in historic photographs and postcards of this square, one can see the monument to John of Nepomuk in the foreground. (Figures 5 & 6) Interestingly, this column still stands today, in the middle of a parking lot, while the family brewery is long gone. (Figures 7 & 8)
Note: Since publication of Post 14 in October 2017, three different readers sent me information related to the M. Braun Brauerei. All three have graciously allowed me to update the original post using visuals they provided.
In the original Blog post, I included a postcard showing the M. Braun Brauerei in the early 20th Century. (Figure 1) The postcard was written on July 28, 1912 from Ratibor, by my great-grandmother Olga Berliner, née Braun, and addressed to my great-aunt Franziska Bruck in Berlin. Within the past week, my third cousin, once-removed, Larry Leyser, sent me a different postcard of the front of the same brewery. (Figure 2) While this image is rather less clear, what makes it so informative is that it names the square on which the M. Braun Brauerei was located, namely, “Neu Markt.”
Combined with an 1891 map of Ratibor (today: Racibórz, Poland) that a different reader, Mr. Paul Newerla, sent me, showing Neu Markt, I now know precisely where the M. Braun Brauerei was situated. This 1891 map even pinpoints the location of the brewery on the square, while a 1927-28 plan map of Ratibor shows the square. (Figures 3 & 4) Mr. Newerla, has written a book on Raciborz, entitled “Ratibor einst und jetzt,” translated roughly as “Ratibor, then and now.” (Figure 5). In addition to the map from 1891, Paul also sent me a treasure trove of information on the Bruck family hotel in Ratibor, the Bruck’s “Prinz von Preußen” Hotel, which will be the subject of an upcoming postscript.
A different Polish gentleman, Mr. Grzegorz Miczek, contacted me after seeing my original post. He asked whether I had any additional documents related to the brewery as reference for a book he’s writing on the “Raciborskie Brewery.” He mentioned he possesses a few bottles from the brewery, and graciously sent me images of them that he’s allowing me to share with readers. These elegant old beer bottles speak for themselves. (Figures 6-9)
My cousin Larry Leyser made another interesting discovery. The brewer Markus Braun, after having a dozen children by his first wife, Caroline Spiegel, remarried a Johanna Goldstein and had two additional children, a daughter Wanda Eugenia Braun (Figure 10; Translation) born in 1869, followed a year later by a son Markus Braun. (Figure 11; Translation) It appears the elder Markus passed away in 1870 at the age of 53 before his youngest son was born some months later.
Note: This postscript discusses additional information obtained about the Bruck’s “Prinz Von Preußen” Hotel from a Polish gentleman who has written a book on the history of Ratibor.
Following publication of Post 11, Mr. Paul Newerla from Raciborz, Poland, author of a book on Ratibor, entitled “Ratibor einst und jetzt” (“Ratibor, then and now”) (Figure 1), contacted me. He shared a lot of information and visuals from his book and other sources, including historic maps, to round out my understanding of the Bruck’s “Prinz von Preußen” Hotel, the inn owned by my family for three generations. Mr. Newerla also made me aware that my family’s connection to Ratibor extends a generation earlier. According to land registers from the city of Ratibor, Jacob Bruck (1770-1832), father of the original owner of the Prinz von Preußen, Samuel Bruck, was an arrendator, a lease-holder, on two properties within Ratibor. Jacob owned properties on Jungfernstrasse and Stockhaus-Gasse prior to construction of the family hotel; interestingly, an 1812 city map sent to me by Mr. Newerla shows the exact parcels owned by Jacob. (Figure 2)
Ratibor’s city walls, towers (Figure 3) and gates, surrounding the town, were only demolished in 1828, after which the Prinz von Preußen was constructed at the corner of Oderstraße and Bollwerkstraße. (Figures 4, 5, & 6) The same 1812 map just alluded to shows the city walls and gates. Approximating the position of the family hotel, it appears it was built almost atop where one Odertor, city gate, once stood.
A historian, Ms. Katrin Griebel from Zittau, Saxony, who has studied the surviving personal papers of two of my great-aunts, Franziska Bruck and Elsbeth Bruck, archived at the Stadtmuseum in Berlin, has gleaned some anecdotes about the family hotel. According to Ms. Griebel, the building occupied by the Bruck’s Hotel was the former palace of a marquis. Upon the nobleman’s death, the palace became known as the “Prinz von Preußen.”
By 1850, the marquis’s palace was assuredly a hotel. Mr. Newerla sent me notices related to two orchestral performances given by Johann Strauss the Younger at the “Prinz von Preußen.” In October 1850, Johann Strauss had plans to perform in front of the Russian Czar, and on his way to Russia he performed at the hotel the evening of October 17, 1850, spending the night. (Figure 7) On his return from Warsaw, he again stopped in Ratibor, giving an orchestral performance “im Saale des Prinzen von Preußen,” the “Hall of the Prince of Prussia,” on the afternoon of November 17, 1850 (Figure 8), leaving that same evening for Vienna.
The Bruck’s Hotel’s “Saale des Prinzen von Preußen” (Figure 9) served other community functions. Mr. Newerla has found records indicating that on October 31, 1859, Ratibor’s fire department held a large carnival ball there; the fire department also organized a theatrical performance, the proceeds of which were earmarked for the assistance of an injured fire brigade colleague.
Several pages from Mr. Newerla’s book discuss the founding in Ratibor of the “Peace Lodge XVII No. 361”of the “Independent Order B’nai B’rith” on May 9, 1886, which met at the “Prinz von Preußen.” B’nai B’rith was originally founded in 1843 in New York, and became established in Berlin, Germany in 1882. My great-grandfather, Fedor Bruck, was a member of Ratibor’s Lodge. Even though the statute of the Lodge specifically excluded politics from its field of activities, they were under police surveillance. While the Lodge continued to meet at the Bruck’s Hotel until at least April 1934 and steered clear of political matters, they appear to have been under pressure to disband.
Page 39 from Ratibor’s 1889 Address & Business Book (Figure 10), sent to me by Mr. Newerla, lists residents along Oderstraße, including number 16. Both my great-grandfather, Fedor Bruck, and grandfather, Felix Bruck, are listed at this address. Fedor is the “Besitzer,” or owner, and Felix Bruck the “Geschäftsführer,” the Managing Director (Figure 11); by 1892 Fedor Bruck was deceased. Under business listings, there are none for hotels, but Fedor Bruck is listed under “Gasthöfe 1 Classe,” first-class inns, and, oddly, under “Bade-Anstalten,” or bathing establishments. (Figure 12)
Mr. Newerla sent me a series of advertisements for the Bruck’s Hotel. (Figures 13-19) They appear to extend from the time the hotel was owned by my great-grandfather, Fedor Bruck, possibly through the 1930’s and later. Throughout its existence, it was known as the “Bruck’s ‘Prinz von Preußen’ Hotel,” even though it was no longer owned by my family.
