How Did I Miss This??

I know I’m a “big-picture” kind of girl, but—geez—this was a BIG MISS! My daughter Meghan is reading her advance copy of the book. She called me a bit ago, asking about the scene where I write about Sigmund and his suitcase. Meg has a stack of family suitcases showcased in her upstairs hall and she wanted me to know that Sigmund’s initials were stamped in gold, not painted on in white, as I described in the book.

That, of course, prompted another look at the three suitcases in the stack. Turns out, the suitcase with SRL stamped on it could not have been the one Sigmund took to Paris. According to the label, the bag was made in New York. Whoops- chalk that one up to “artistic license.”

Then Meghan asked about the meaning of the labels on another case. “What labels?.” I asked. She called back on FaceTime so we could explore together. What??? The initials SL were stamped on the case. Okay, cool. So the bag belonged to Sigmund.

Then she panned to the large oval she was curious about. I couldn’t believe it. The label was clearly from the shipping company that owned the Serpa Pinto, the ship Sigmund and his wife, Rosa, escaped from Vienna on. It was one of the last ships allowed to leave the port of Lisbon in 1941. How in the world did I never see that before?

That means this is definitely the suitcase that Sigmund carried from Vienna to Lisbon to his new home in Manhattan, New York. That suitcase and its contents were the only possessions Sigmund and Rosa had to their name after arriving in New York. (You’ll have to read the book to find why!)

Throughout the process of writing the book, I experienced several “serendipitous finds.” (Again, read the book! I write about those instances in the “Afterword.”) Was this another case of an ancestor making sure I get my facts straight? I see you out there, rolling your eyes and shaking your heads! Read the next paragraph…

The third suitcase? That one had an address label on it. Also a suitcase that once belonged to Sigmund, it apparently had been shipped from the Hotel Knickerbocker to Sigmund and Rosa’s residence in Manhattan, New York. That might have meant nothing to me three days ago. But—the day before yesterday, I was organizing a bunch of letters written to my Aunt Vally by her parents, Sigmund and Rosa. Many were written to her in April 1954, while her parents were staying in… wait for it… the Hotel Knickerbocker in Miami, Florida. Coincidence that I just found those letters and now read the suitcase labels? You decide.

Of course, the letters are written in German in Sigmund’s difficult to read script. Looking at them quickly, I recognized a few names that indicate some of these letters reference Sigmund’s quest for reparations. More work to do!

I have a feeling that, like the story of Meghan’s hamster that saved our lives*, this will be a story that never ends. As it should be. That is the reason we write our family’s stories. To remember. And never forget.

*You can read that story HERE.