Rolf Fischer Sr

Bible believing, no nonsense family. Through the years I lived at home, my parents verbally fussed and fought with each other. It seemed like a daily event. Until this day, I have no idea why they fought. I am one hundred percent certain that there was no infidelity, that neither of them mistrusted the other. If it was not love, it had to be faith in Jesus. At one time, my mother ran away with me. We did not get far. She commented we had to return home or dad may wreck the furniture. He never did. I was tired of hearing them fuss. I remember thinking I would run away and live with Gene Autry or Roy Rogers, if I could.

Looking back, I do not think mom realized the extent of dad’s knowledge or how hard he worked.  He was a hard worker and provided for his family. He took us to church every Sunday and mom and dad were committed to the family way of life.

However, as in all families, there were many times of peace. It was not all bad. Dad’s brother, Uncle Al, took me and some friends to the Broadway show “Oklahoma” for my sixteenth birthday. The families shared dinners and picnics together. On one of these picnics, mom asked me to take a bottle and have it refilled with milk for the baby. As I ran to do so, I fell and the glass bottle broke. I received several glass slivers in my wrist. Years later, a sliver worked its way out.

Ma, Ernie, Herb, Walter, and Bill, my mom’s brothers, each lived in various parts of the city and met weekly at our home for a night of pinochle. I had the audacity to introduce poker. “That is a street game.” Grandmother was appalled until she gave in to play. She loved it. Poker was played more often. Dad and my uncles had on Tuesday nights, a standing reserved bowling alley where I also went and munched while watching. One time, Ernie took me to watch a soccer game. At the game, we met with my uncle’s Bill and Herb. I enjoyed watching the three bothers playing together on one team. This inspired me to join the Samuel GompersTechnical High School soccer team.

Al, mom’s fifth brother, lived in Ellwood city; about 35 miles north of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. My parents knew of some friends driving near him and arranged for me to travel with them. It was almost all country roads. The Pennsylvania turnpike was still in planning stages. I met Al’s family. They were in the pizza business. His wife had a large family. When she cooked, they always had two different meals on the table; all delicious and no one ever left the table hungry. 

There was a wide river near by where all went swimming. Upstream was a boulder from which they would dive. I did not swim well and was embarrassed. They offered to swim along side of me. I still declined. I fell in love again. I do not know if she was related in any way, all I know is that I was attracted to her. When it was time to return home, as the kid that I was, I was very sorry to leave; tears and all. Since I am on the topic of mom’s brother Al, let me continue.                                                                                           The mother of my children, Joan, and I were invited to a formal event by Uncle Al. He had purchased two twenty-five dollar tickets. We were living in Irwin, 30miles east of Pittsburgh. Uncle Al explained the event. It was sponsored by the Wolf Organization, a part of the Mafia. The orchestra, which played at the local Holiday Inn, was hired away from their weekly Saturday night engagement. Tables were all spread around the ballroom, leaving dancing space. Each table sat about 20 people.

Each table had four bottles of, red and white wine. When empty, waiters kept replacing them. Each table had at least two waiters. Guests had a choice of red or white sauce for their spaghetti. Seconds were available. A table was set up with running alcohol and one for the youngster with non-alcoholic drink. You knew those who sat at the table with the best view by their attire. They were the Don, his wife, and family. The music was great for dancing and the Don and his wife were first. Even the youngsters danced; so did Joan and I.     

The purpose of the organization became evident. The dean of the local high school introduced the progress of students; all who were being sponsored by Wolf. Names of high school, college, and advanced students; their grades and plans were given. Some of the students were also introduced. The information was awesome.

I do not know how Uncle Al managed tickets. I know Al had many friends and was a likeable person. Joan and I were delighted to be there. It was a once in a lifetime experience. My mother’s five brothers, and mother, came from Salzburg, Austria to settle in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania. Mom, born in 1907, also came from Austria, a little later. This is where dad stole mom’s heart. She was a beauty with many dates; sometimes one after another on a single night. My uncles told me how the siblings would leave a window unlocked for whoever came home later then expected.

Mom and her mother, I heard, did not get along. It was evident over time. I never asked why. I still do not know why. At an older age, when able to travel alone, mom had me visit my grandmother every Sunday; even take her out for dinner a couple times. One of those times, I found myself short of cash. She laughed and picked up the tab. Ma, as I called her, was up in age, worked as a tailor at a local hotel, and maintained her own apartment. Quite alert, she was well read and strong minded. Ma inherited, and her genes passed on, musical abilities. She played the zither. Music was in our family. Her grandfather was Franz Gruber who wrote what became a world wide and timeless song. He was music minister at the Lutheran church. At the Christmas service, his music, “Silent Night” was meant to be played on the organ, but instead, was introduced on his guitar. Because of electrical problems, as many plans made in a lifetime, it did not happen.                                                                                                                           

 Mother played the mandolin and piano. When I began lessons on the violin, mom said it was too squeaky. With the trumpet, it was too loud. I began strumming on a guitar a friend gave me. Well, mom gave the guitar to a boarder who expressed an interest in it. I had a Russian Balalaika. That also disappeared. Finally, mom got what she really wanted for me, piano lessons. I probably had as many piano teachers as schools I attended, including one time at Julliard in N.Y.C.

I never met my grandfather. The only knowledge I have of him was that he traveled a lot, and that he was a publisher who died of blood poisoning. He had the habit of scratching his neck with a pencil, causing blood poison. In those days, there was no penicillin. They were affluent in Europe. I do not know, but I suppose what assets they had were the cost of coming to the land of opportunities and setting up housekeeping. Ma and I had a good relationship. She showed an interest in me and was aware that my mom asked me to visit her. It did not matter, she was glad when I visited. She read tarot and other cards but would not read for me nor would she tell me why. I mentioned having attended many grade schools. There was also a private night school. My parents enrolled me to learn their native tongue. Although they were fluent and spoke English mostly, they were definitely more fluent in German. The night class was in preparation for us going to Germany. A young friend met up with me in front of our apartment building. He invited me to go to a movie that weekend. I told him I could not go, that we were going somewhere. “where to?” He asked. “do not know,” I told him. 

This shows that a long boat trip has little interest to a child. At least to a child who moved around as much as I had? My next move was going to Europe.                                                  

Dad was a physically powerful man, very intelligent and as handsome as any movie star, I have yet to see. One day I saw him strap a large refrigerator to his back and carry it up several flights of stairs to an elderly woman’s apartment. In those days, appliances were much heavier; no plastics. Another time, I was told, he had picked up two full size men, grasping them in each hand by their collar. In addition, at another time, he knocked out the trainer of prizefighter Max Schmelling to protect mom’s honor. No, dad was not a brawler, but believed in self-defense. When the neighborhood bully kept picking on me, dad held his arms and told me to hit him. I think that when I refused to do so, I showed up as a coward in dad’s eyes.
Nor was he ever intoxicated. Only once did I ever see him drunk. This was during the time of depression. I remember the day when dad took me with him. Together we made the rounds of employment agencies, but to no avail. Every place we went had men sitting around, waiting in hope for a job.
It was major depression, when the stock market caused investors to jump out of windows and when many businesses went bankrupt. Not many were working. Money was very scarce. Dad was always a good provider for our family. When mom took a job at a local diner, cooking, and waitressing It did not help dad’s manliness.(I believe that is what we consider pride.) When jobs were not available, he kept looking until he got a job
It was a while before he succeeded in finding employment. It was that long a period of unsuccessful job hunting when my dad was depressed and lost it. I do not remember ever seeing liquor or beer bottles at home, so I do not know what he drank to get drunk. We did have wine on the dinner table when entertaining. It was during this stupor he reprimanded me for using too much toilet paper; “it cost money,” he yelled. This was somewhere during the long waiting between jobs. This never happened before, or since. This hit me hard. He had always been gentle with me. It hit me so hard, that it raised its furious face later in my married life. . My dad took me with him to one of his temporary jobs. We had to climb down a vertical iron ladder attached to the wall. It was the boiler room for a commercial laundry. It was his job to keep his eyes on the many gages. I was very glad when it was time to go home. Not only did the size of the boilers scare me, they also gave off an enormous amount of heat.
I wondered where dad learned his different trades, among them, driving semi-tractor trailers loaded with timber, dynamite, and nitro; marine engineer, and chief electrician at the Lenox Hill Hospital when my tonsils were removed. He was on call for all major surgeries in the event of electrical problems. He was raised on a farm and only attended, to my knowledge, the school in his hometown; the same I was later to attend.

The furthest back I can recall is when I was small enough to be bathed in the kitchen washtub. While sitting in it, the water was running. Mom left me to see a neighbor. The water was about to over-flow so I stood up to turn off the faucet. Instead of turning it off, I turned on the hot water. Mom returned in time to hear me screaming; I was not injured, just scared. My mother had been partially blind, on and off, mostly off, a good part of her life. The eye problems began when she was young. The cap of a bottle of cleaning fluid was loose. As she put down the bottle, fluid splashed up into her eyes. She had several cornea transplants in my early years; none of which helped; three to be exact on the same eye. There was a time my mother cooked chicken in a pressure cooker. She was standing at the stove when it blew. Mom was scalded across the chest and there was chicken on the ceiling. I also recall my mother being the dominant parent. It was evident at the dinner table, especially when we had visitors. My dad was subdued when he tried contributing to conversations. “roosh Mox” mom would say in German under her breadth to quiet him, as though no one could hear her.

Writing the episodes of my life, which lead to my present age of 79+ years are events i find myself looking forward to recall. It is amazing what the memory banks of the brain retain and I highly recommend this task. So many memories forgotten and recalled, both the good and bad. You hear people say that if they could, they would do things differently. I wonder. It is not until something occurs that you can wish you did things differently. The only true way is to walk in god’s wisdom always.  

It started with mom and dad. Really? I was born in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania in January of 1931. My birth certificate still reads “Kurt max Fischer”. It seems mom and dad had one of their spats again. It must have been concerning what my name was to be. They evidently talked and came to a compromise. Ever since, I have been known as “Rolf”. At an early age, while walking the streets of N.Y.C. With my uncle Ernie, I learned to whistle and overlook the bad; not forget them. If you are smart, much of the past becomes a learning experience. There is nothing I could do to change things. There must have been more bad than good, because my whistling got so good, I was the only one of the 200 + congregation allowed to do so in church. Actually, an elder named Gordon Strongitharm was also a fantastic whistler. Sometimes we did it together. I recall hearing someone else being hushed and told that only Mr. Fischer was allowed to whistle. In a cashier’s line in stores, people thought my whistling was part of the store radio. Any bragging to be done belongs to Jesus. Whistling was one of the many talents my lord gave me; and my uncle Ernie, nine years my senior. While walking side by side on the city streets of New York, he taught me to whistle. 

“Not that way, this way”, he would say until I got it right. Of all my six uncles, I would be hard put to say which my favorite was. Ernie probably is the favorite. Because of our closeness in age, and he lived in the same apartment building we did. In addition, if you wanted to visit anyone, you just did it. I do not recall a telephone at the home of any of the families; as a matter of fact, not at the home of any of our friends either.