Escape from War

My name is Kurt Lenkway. My children, Peter and Brenda, Donald and Margaret, asked me to record for them this small piece of history, the escape from Germany and three years later, the successful immigration to the United States. I hope their children will hear this story and in this way, know something about their grandparents.

1938: Prelude to War

The department store I worked for was "Gleichmeschalted," which meant aligned with existing laws against Jewish ownership and Jewish employees. A "good German" was designated by the Nazis to dispossess the Jewish owners and assume ownership. The German Supreme Court had upheld, as requested by the Nazis, a law, declaring that anything in the interest of Germany and Hitler, was legal. I was informed one day, that I no longer had a job.

In July 1938, what we all had dreaded happened to us. Father's business manager came to father with a letter from the Gleischaltungsamt, the office to legalize the theft of Jewish property. This letter demanded that father and the family sign over the ownership and the entire stock of merchandise, pay all outstanding bills and do all this within a few weeks. Trying to oppose these orders was punishable by death.

Many Jews in Germany, including my family, believed that Hitler and his gang could not last. England and France would not sit on their hands while Hitler marched the German army into the demilitarized zone, the part of Germany bordering France and Belgium...We tried very hard to be optimistic...Every day new instructions against the Jews were published. One of those gave Germans the right to rescind any contract or purchase made with Jews. All they had to do was declare they did not know they had been dealing with Jews. We had to return the money they paid, but we had no right to get our furniture back.

We all knew that eventually we would have to get out of Germany, but we also were afraid to face reality and uncertainty. If we wanted to apply for an American visa, we would have to travel to Stuttgart in southern Germany where the nearest consulate was located. We also knew that the waiting time for an immigration visa, according to the quota system, could be several years. (Refugee visas did not exist at that time.) It was known that the consul was not too helpful and furthermore, was greatly impressed by the Nazi government. Looking back, I realize that we did a lot of wishful thinking; they were pipe dreams. We were trying to find something to hold onto.

At the time, I was very active with my Falt Boot, a folding boat or kayak. I belonged to a club, went on river rapid trips in the mountainous region of the Rhine River. We finally decided that I would take the train to the last railroad station on the Rhine river, just before the Dutch border. I would be able to reach Holland without drawing too much attention. I began my exodus in September 1938. Because I was the only one who did not have an exit visa, I had to leave first. I took my folded kayak, tied it to a small two-wheel luggage carrier and walked to the train station in Cologne. (Kayaks were very common and I was dressed for the sport.)

When I arrived at the Emmerich railroad station, an SS asked, "Where are you going?" I told him I was going to Xanten across from the Rhine with my kayak. The attendant in the baggage car brought my boat out. He must have believed me because he told me to go ahead.

I pulled my boat to a small harbor connecting to the Rhine and assembled it. Everything I had with me, including my passport, was stowed inside the hull. It was eight to ten miles to the border.

During the trip, the German Coast Guard came toward me at high speed. They were watching me through their binoculars, possibly checking my boat registration number. They came very close, less than fifty feet. At the last moment, the cutter changed course away from me and slowed down to idle speed. Their wake hit me and I performed a wild dance. The crew laughed as waves went partially over my boat and then took off to the South; I continued North.

I paddled slowly to the right bank of the river and checked my navigation chart for the markers, indicating the Dutch border.

As soon as my parents knew I was out of Germany, they began their trip by car to Basel, Switzerland. This was about a three hundred eighty mile trip. They crossed the border to Switzerland the next morning without any difficulties and drove to Basel. The next morning, I took a train to Amsterdam and drove to the Schiphol airport to take a plane to Basel. Two planes flew to Basel simultaneously; one would fly over Paris, the other over Frankfurt. I had to make sure the plane I took flew over Paris, or I would have been sent back to Germany during the stopover. I made it to Basel and reunited with my family.

1939: The War Began

The tension was rising, everybody knew something was about to happen. On September 1, 1939, Germany invaded Poland. The Germans occupied Poland in no time and met up with the Russians. On September 2, 1939, France and England declared war on Germany.

The more I think about it, the more I have to admire my parents. What they figured out, Father and Mother, and what they accomplished, is so unbelievable. We were Germans, traveling with a German passport through Spain, which was an Axis partner to Hitler and Mussolini. We would have been immediately arrested; we were military age and considered draft dodgers. The Spaniards would have shipped us right back to Germany. (You can't get to France unless you travel through Spain. At the time, no airplanes flew from France to Portugal; France was at war.) My parents figured out that the only way was to get a passport from a neutral country, Romania. Romania had been occupied by the Germans, and the Romanian consul in Beziers in the French Pyrenees was willing to make some extra money. I don't know how much my parents paid for it, but I'm certain it wasn't cheap.

When the train for Barcelona pulled in, customs looked at our passports for a long time, took them to a back room, came out, gave them to another man--then they accepted them. Our visa for Portugal was only good for two weeks. The Portuguese international police renewed my residence permit a few times, but warned me that once the last renewal expired, my family would have to leave the country. If we didn't, we would go to jail. We tried to explain that we were waiting for our American visa. We tried for another extension but were arrested, fingerprinted, and searched, put in a large holding cell. It was dirty and filthy. They transported us to a political prison, "Forte Norte de Cascais" near the Atlantic Ocean. We were put in a cell, unbelievably dirty and primitive. The food was disgusting. Because all the prisoners spoke different languages, it was impossible for us to communicate.

We finally received assurance of the U.S. visa on May 26, 1941. The American consulate requested that we complete the documents. It took awhile before we received the priceless American visa. I don't remember how we managed to get the accumulated dirt and filth out of our skin and how we got used to using civilized bathroom facilities.

The American Shore

After nine days we approached the American shore. We passed within a few hundred feet of the Ambrose lightship and we knew, we had read about it, that we were near the New York harbor. The date was June 21, 1941.

America became involved in World War II on November 7, 1941, not quite five months after we arrived in the USA.

A Teacher's Guide to the Holocaust
Produced by the Florida Center for Instructional Technology,
College of Education, University of South Florida © 2000.