Note: This post describes how I tracked down my deceased great-uncle Wilhelm “Willy” Bruck, my grandfather Felix Bruck’s younger brother.
In 1951, some months after I was born in New York, my parents received a congratulatory card from my father’s uncle, Wilhelm “Willy” Bruck, my grandfather Felix Bruck’s surviving younger brother. (Figures 1a, 1b & 1c) Regrettably, this card, mailed from Barcelona, Spain, has not survived. At the time I began looking into my family, I knew very little about this great-uncle; it turns out his only daughter, Eva Bruck, visited New York in 1967 (Figure 2), although her connection to our family was never explained to me at the time. Still, I remember her clearly. Having been a coin collector my entire life, Eva immediately endeared herself by bringing me an Austrian 15 Kreuzer silver coin from 1686, an item still in my possession.
Eva had a very distinctive look so when I carefully re-examined my father’s pictures from Ratibor and Berlin when he and Eva were younger, she was easily recognizable. I was also able to identify her brother, Edgar Bruck, in these same images. (Figure 3)
As previously mentioned, my father took scant interest in his family and often quipped, “thank heavens we don’t have family!” When he spoke of his relatives or friends, he often used a French or German sobriquet, such as “la Socialiste,” “la Vielle,” or “Die Schlummermutter,” never mentioning surnames for these people. Given my father’s rather casual attitude about family, it’s not surprising he lost touch with them, and why I never met or knew how many aunts and uncles he had. For that matter, I was never even told how many siblings my father had, as readers may recall from my visit to the Polish State Archives in Raciborz (Post 12), where I learned of an older brother named Walter who died in infancy.
From the Ratibor microfilm records and the Polish State Archives in Raciborz, I discovered my grandfather had seven siblings and learned their dates of birth; since I track only five of the siblings into adulthood, it’s likely two died in infancy. Finding out what became of the surviving brothers and sisters during the Nazi era and uncovering whether any had children or grandchildren became a priority when I started the forensic investigations into my father’s family.
I started with my great-uncle Willy, Wilhelm Bruck. The Ratibor birth records showed he was born on October 24, 1872, while a page in FamilySearch’s “International Genealogical Index (IGI),” indicated he died on May 18, 1952, in Barcelona, and was married to an Antonie Marcus on April 2, 1904 in Hamburg, Germany; Antonie was born on July 13, 1876 in Hamburg, Germany and died in Barcelona (as Antonia) on October 10, 1942. When I began my search into my great-uncle Willy, this is all I knew. (Figures 4 & 5)
Aware of my great-uncle Willy’s connection to Barcelona, I searched the city’s White Pages for people with the surname Bruck hoping to find some of his descendants. I was a bit surprised when none showed up, although when I broadened my search to all of Spain, I found 14 people with the surname Bruck. At that instant, I decided to write to all fourteen individuals, enclosing the only photo I had at the time of my great-uncle Willy. (Figure 6)
I’ve often used this approach, writing “cold letters” to people I think may have information about my father’s family and friends. Typically, I get a response rate of about 50 percent, often absent information, although, in this instance, only two people responded. The first response was predictably negative. The second, however, was different. Early one Saturday morning, I received a call from Haifa, Israel from a gentleman named Michael Bruck; this immediately caught my attention because I was unaware of any Bruck relatives in Israel. It turns out, Michael is the first cousin of someone I’d written to in Spain, a man named Ronny Bruck. Early in January 2014, Ronny received my letter, coincidentally, on his 65th birthday. Thinking an unknown Bruck relative in America was sending him birthday well-wishes, he instead found my odd request asking about my deceased great-uncle Willy. Ronny forwarded my letter to his first cousin Michael in Israel, the family genealogist, ergo the call.
While both Ronny and Michael recognized a family resemblance between my great-uncle Willy and their ancestors, to this day we have not connected our respective branches of the family; whenever we come upon a new family tree, we immediately share it hoping to eventually find a “link.” Regardless, both Ronny and Michael have been of enormous assistance in my family research. Ronny learned Sütterlin for only one year in school, and has translated countless historic birth, marriage and death records written in this obsolete German script; Michael helped me track down one of my father’s first cousins who immigrated to Haifa after WWII, an arduous search that will be the subject of a future post. While we can’t pinpoint our family ties, I consider Michael and Ronny nothing less than intimate kin. (Figure 7)
Having basically reached a dead-end on my great-uncle Willy, I turned to the Los Angeles Jewish Genealogical Society for help contacting someone in Spain’s Jewish community thinking they might be able to assist. They put me in touch with the Synagogue Librarian for La Javurá, Ms. Alba Toscana, in Valencia, Spain (Figure 8), who suggested I contact the Comunidad Israelita de Barcelona or CIB, and they, in turn, sent me to the Cementiris de Barcelona, S.A. I emailed them in February 2014, and, within a day, they responded and confirmed that my great-uncle Willy was indeed buried in Barcelona, at the Cementerio de Montjuïc, with his wife, son and daughter-in-law; they also provided specifics on where all were entombed. The Cementiris, however, was unwilling to provide a copy of any of the death certificates for family members unless I presented myself in person and paid for the documents on the spot.
Fortunately, my wife and I already had plans in summer of 2014 to visit the places connected to my family’s diaspora, including Barcelona, so when we arrived there in July we presented ourselves to the Cementiris. (Figure 9) Payment was made in this office, then we had to trek across town to a separate office, the Ministerio de Justicia Registro Civil de Barcelona (Figure 10), where actual death certificates are obtained. The Cementiris provided a letter telling me when my great-uncle Willi and his wife died, and where they are entombed in the Cementerio de Montjuïc. (Figure 11) I also received a separate document stating that payment for keeping the remains interred was current. As readers may know, it is a common practice in Spain and elsewhere in the world for relatives to pay to keep their ancestors buried, otherwise, the human remains are disinterred and placed in a charnel house after a certain number of years. The Cementiris, however, would not provide information on any living family members. Spain is a notoriously difficult place to obtain official documents and names of living and even deceased relatives because of its recent history of fascism; initially I was only able to obtain the death certificates for my great-uncle Willy (Figure 12), known here as Guillermo Bruck Mockrauer, and his son, Edgar-Pedro Bruck Marcus. (Figure 13)
A side note on Spanish names is relevant. In Spain, at birth, an individual is given two surnames, that of his mother and father. Thus, my great-uncle Willy’s father’s surname was Bruck and his mother’s maiden name was Mockrauer, so he was known in Spain as “Guillermo (Spanish for Wilhelm) Bruck Mockrauer.”
Armed with information on where my great-uncle Willy or “Guillermo” was interred, my wife and I set out to pay a visit to the Cementerio de Montjuïc. (Figure 14) I already knew Guillermo and his wife, who predeceased him by 10 years, were buried together, along with their son, Edgar and his wife, Mercedes. Interestingly, neither Willy’s son nor daughter-in-law’s names are inscribed on the headstone; this I had learned from the Cementeris before visiting the cemetery. (Figure 15)
Following our visit to the Cementerio de Montjuïc, I returned to the Registro Civil de Barcelona hoping to obtain official documents for additional family members I surmised had been born or died in Barcelona. I had the good fortune to land upon an English-speaking administrator who was enormously helpful; she asked me to come back after working hours, spent some hours on the computer, and provided me with some invaluable birth and death certificates that eventually enabled me to track down my great-uncle Willy’s grandchildren. It took some effort to decipher the significance of these documents. It was only after I returned home and correlated these documents with letters and pictures found among the personal papers of two of my renowned great-aunts, archived at the Stadtmuseum in Berlin, that I was fully able to connect the dots. This will be the subject of the following Blog post.