Bruce Teicholz: January 2008 Archives
Last June, I wrote a column about my father that was published as a cover story in the Jewish Journal, and that I posted to the Tommywood website called "My father who said he was not a hero."
About four months later, I got an email from a woman in Melbourne, Australia, who had been my father's assistant and translator in Vienna at the Rothschild Spital from 1946-1951.
We corresponded by email, and she sent me photos of my father during that era. I then called her and interviewed her by phone for about two hours.
For me, it was not so much that there were great revelations -- she was discrete and I certainly wasn't armed with enough facts to push any deeper than I did-- but what impressed me was the consistency of my father's personality -- in all the anecdotes she told, I could perfectly see my father completely in character.
She has a wonderful personality and through our conversations we became friends. I shared with her information I had about other people she knew of that era. We exchanged holiday cards and now stay in touch.
Around the same time, also through an email exchange with a childhood friend who also found me on the internet and whose parents were close friends of my father I found out about a memoir written in Hungarian by a man who had worked briefly at the Rothschild Spital as a cook -- and who I remembered meeting several times with my parents. He had become a very successful businessman, first in Australia, then in England where he now lived.
I found the website for his company and sent them an email. I received a reply from one of his sons -- his father was vacationing in Thailand at the time -- and he sent me the book.
Although I really don't know Hungarian, I had no problem finding the chapter on the Rothschild Hospital and then saw my father and my mother's name in it.
I then scanned those pages and emailed them to a friend's mother in New York who translated them for me.
Then, just this morning, I received a phone call from England from the man in question. We talked for 45 minutes or so -- about my parents (he knew my mother in Hungary), about his children, his business, about my life. I promised to email him some info he was interested in, and we promised to stay in touch.
Maybe all this could have happened without the internet. But it didn't. And because of the internet it was possible -- before time ran out, AMAZING, isn't it?
About four months later, I got an email from a woman in Melbourne, Australia, who had been my father's assistant and translator in Vienna at the Rothschild Spital from 1946-1951.
We corresponded by email, and she sent me photos of my father during that era. I then called her and interviewed her by phone for about two hours.
For me, it was not so much that there were great revelations -- she was discrete and I certainly wasn't armed with enough facts to push any deeper than I did-- but what impressed me was the consistency of my father's personality -- in all the anecdotes she told, I could perfectly see my father completely in character.
She has a wonderful personality and through our conversations we became friends. I shared with her information I had about other people she knew of that era. We exchanged holiday cards and now stay in touch.
Around the same time, also through an email exchange with a childhood friend who also found me on the internet and whose parents were close friends of my father I found out about a memoir written in Hungarian by a man who had worked briefly at the Rothschild Spital as a cook -- and who I remembered meeting several times with my parents. He had become a very successful businessman, first in Australia, then in England where he now lived.
I found the website for his company and sent them an email. I received a reply from one of his sons -- his father was vacationing in Thailand at the time -- and he sent me the book.
Although I really don't know Hungarian, I had no problem finding the chapter on the Rothschild Hospital and then saw my father and my mother's name in it.
I then scanned those pages and emailed them to a friend's mother in New York who translated them for me.
Then, just this morning, I received a phone call from England from the man in question. We talked for 45 minutes or so -- about my parents (he knew my mother in Hungary), about his children, his business, about my life. I promised to email him some info he was interested in, and we promised to stay in touch.
Maybe all this could have happened without the internet. But it didn't. And because of the internet it was possible -- before time ran out, AMAZING, isn't it?
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