It's You (13 page)

It’s finally been decided that it’s Mother accompanying me, not Father. I can’t say anything to them, but I’m secretly disappointed. I have far more fun with Father. And he doesn’t get migraines.

July 3, 1937

The radio news broadcast tonight said that Amelia Earhart is missing. It’s been twenty-four hours since anyone has heard from her. She was supposed to have landed for refueling. Instead she’s disappeared over the Pacific. So sad.

July 4, 1937

The search is underway to locate Amelia and her plane. There is still a good chance she could be alive . . . or at least, that’s what Mother and I were saying before Father said he thought it most unlikely, considering the location of the island and the wide expanse of sea.

Tonight the entire family attended a picnic and outdoor concert at Iona in honor of the nation’s birthday. Patrick McDougal was there. He pretended I wasn’t there.

It’s after two now and I can’t sleep but I refuse to cry. He’s not worth it. He’s not.

July 12, 1937

We leave tomorrow. Can’t wait. I am so ready to leave all of this behind.

Patrick dropped by tonight to say good-bye. I was shocked to see him here and everyone quickly found other things to do so he and I could be alone. He didn’t stay long and he was oddly formal and aloof while here, but just before he left, he kissed my cheek and told me to be careful. Perhaps I’m imagining it, or only wanting to imagine it, but as he leaned in to kiss me, I thought he looked quite sad.

July 13, 1937

On the ship and settled into our room. The luggage was here when we arrived and our butler introduced himself. I think he’s Greek. Mother thinks he might be Turkish or Croatian. Both of us agree that he’s quite handsome, as well as most out of bounds. Mother doesn’t need to worry about me falling for a handsome foreigner. I’ve had enough of men. I’m ready to focus on my music studies.

July 14, 1937

Being at sea makes me think of Amelia Earhart. There has still been no sign of her plane, but now that we are in the middle of the ocean with just water, water everywhere, I can’t imagine how one would ever find her plane. It’s so morbid but I find myself wondering if she was even aware she was in trouble . . . did she know she was going to crash? Did she try to save herself at all . . . ?

I don’t like these thoughts. They are not cheerful at all, but I don’t feel cheerful when I think about poor Amelia and selfish Patrick and how very disappointing life can be.

July 15, 1937

Mother and I spent the day reading in deck chairs and then came in to dress for dinner. It was a lovely dinner, too, and Mother was in such good spirits. She seems so gay on this trip, as if she’s just a girl and not a forty-year-old mother of two.

July 16, 1937

Can’t write much, far too seasick. We were woken in the night by the groaning and rocking of the ship. Even this morning it continues to list. Our cabin steward said it is quite normal and Mother puts on a brave face, but I think even she is a little afraid.

July 17, 1937

Thank goodness it’s just a six-day crossing. The weather is terrible and the ship is rocking so much that if the furniture weren’t fastened to the floor, everything would be flying across the room.

Mother and I spent most of yesterday in bed, but because our cabin is in the middle of the ship, we are mostly queasy but not as violently ill as some.

This afternoon the ocean was a little calmer and Mother and I roused ourselves and went outside to sit on the promenade deck and get some fresh air. While sitting there, she’d commented that she wishes we had splurged and taken the
Queen Mary
over, certain we would have been more comfortable. One of the gentlemen seated on the deck near us overheard and corrected Mother, saying it’s not the ship’s fault, it’s the sea’s. Mother was most irritated, murmuring to me that men always
thought they knew everything and yet isn’t it ironic that women bring life forth.

July 21, 1937

We’ve reached Southampton but we don’t disembark here. We have another few days before we’ll reach Hamburg. We are both ready to get off the ship!

July 24, 1937

Have checked into a hotel in Hamburg. Mother has one of her headaches and is in bed resting. I’m eager to go explore but don’t feel right leaving Mother alone.

August 9, 1937

We can’t possibly attend everything at the Salzburg Music Festival, but Mother and I are certainly going to try! We were poring over the program and we’ve missed quite a few things, but there is still so much in the final three weeks of the festival.
Don Giovanni
,
Faust
,
Elektra
. . . 9 concerts, 4 recitals, 7 serenades and so much more I can’t list now, as I’m very sleepy but also very relaxed. Lovely, lovely Salzburg. So glad now that Mother insisted on bringing me!

August 17, 1937

Mother says the revival of
Falstaff
was the best she’s ever seen. She is enjoying herself enormously. We attend every concert and then when we leave, Mother hums the music for the rest of the evening.

August 21, 1937

Saw the most gorgeous production tonight of
Die Zauberflöte
. Eight more days before our little holiday together ends.

August 23, 1937

Mother was crying tonight during the concert. At intermission I tried to get her to tell me what’s wrong. She said this has been the happiest she’s been in a long time. I didn’t know what to say. I had always thought she was so very happy with Father.

August 27, 1937

Today is our last day in Salzburg. The porter has taken our luggage already to the train station so we are off to buy a few souvenirs for Mother to take home with her.

On the train in our car. While shopping earlier, Mother confided that as much as she loves Father, she wishes she had continued her music, and would have if I hadn’t come along (!!). No wonder she is so excited that I am enrolled at Hoch.

September 3, 1937

Settled into my little apartment in Frankfurt. Mother takes the train tomorrow to Hamburg and then sails home soon. We had a silly argument today about jazz music, of all things. Mother commented that she didn’t like swing and jazz and found it grating to the ear. I told her that America loves big band and
jazz and swing, just look at the popularity of Tommy and Jimmy Dorsey but she dismissed Tommy as merely a trombonist, not a true musician.

I don’t mind if she doesn’t like new music, but she doesn’t have to be such a snob.

September 9, 1937

Mother has been gone for six days now and I’m settling in. Food is simple but tasty. The Germans like to eat. And drink.

September 14, 1937

I can see why Father spoke well of Frankfurt am Main. It’s a large city and well located with an excellent train station for travel. He, of course, would appreciate the convenience. I’ve enjoyed discovering the city on the weekends, and would find it easier to fall in love with Frankfurt if one wasn’t subjected to all the politics. In the US, no one expected Hitler to find any real support, but he is still here, and seemingly more influential than ever.

September 28, 1937

Much discussion this afternoon among the students during tea about the legitimacy of women conductors and composers. According to Walther there have been very few truly gifted female musicians. Renate retorted that she supposed Clara Schumann was no one?

Everyone laughed (except for Walther) as Clara was one of the most famous of all Hoch’s faculty, and helped the conservatory achieve international acclaim. Renate and I boldly replied there have been a number of great women musicians to have
studied, or graduated, from Hoch like Ethel Leginska, and Ruth Schönthal, but Walther crushingly shot back that Schönthal attended the Stern in Berlin, not Hoch, and from all the crowing of the boys, Walther had apparently won that round.

I dislike Walther more and more. And yet he is a brilliant composer.

October 6, 1937

One of Father’s friends, Henry Rich, who once worked with Father in Cairo, but now works at the American embassy in Hungary was in Frankfurt and he took me to dinner last night as Father asked him to check on me. We had a very nice dinner, even if I did have a little too much wine and woke up with a headache.

Mr. Rich gave me his number at the chancery and made me promise to call should I need anything.

I told him thank you, but I didn’t expect to have any problems. He gave me a long look and said quite flatly, “Things are going to get much worse here, before they get better.”

October 18, 1937

It’s my 18th birthday today. Several of my classmates surprised me with an impromptu birthday concert this morning. Herr Volk disapproved but at the same time, he didn’t stop the brief concert. After class ended, a number of us went for coffee and cakes. One of the girls presented me with a small gift from everyone—a locket wrapped in a lace handkerchief, and the locket is lovely with intricate locks and silverwork. It looks quite old, too, and the girls tell me they got it for an excellent price at the flea market last weekend as the seller was desperate. She was trying to buy a ticket on one of the steamer ships for her son, so he could
go to Chicago to join her brother there. She wanted to send all her children but she could only afford to send the one.

I do love the locket but the story behind it is quite sad. I am quite sure the mother desperate to sell the locket is a Jew, but I say nothing to the girls. They were trying very hard to do something nice for me.

October 21, 1937

Had a very unpleasant exchange with Walther who thinks any music that is not German should no longer be taught in Germany, and holds Wagner and Bruckner up as the greatest composers of the 19th century. I personally don’t respond to all the Teutonic heaviness but then again, as Walther mentioned, I’m not German.

October 30, 1937

It is Walther’s life ambition to write a symphony for “der Führer.” I shouldn’t be surprised. He is a rabid nationalist.

Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil!

Sigh.

I should probably care more about politics but I’m uncomfortable with the zealots surrounding me.

November 15, 1937

Not sure why I thought Hoch would be the best music program for me. There is no freedom, and certainly no freedom of expression. Creativity is unheard of here. One can’t do something new. One must only copy the “German masters.” Yes, it’s the thing to study music here in Europe, particularly in Germany, and all the important American composers continue to come here to study
the dead “Bs” (Bach, Beethoven, and Brahms), but I’m not a dead German man and I don’t even know if I want to compose music anymore. But if I do, this isn’t where I want to study.

November 25, 1937

I wrote a long letter today to Mother and Father about my studies here in Frankfurt. I don’t want to leave Europe, but I don’t think the Hoch is the right place for me with its emphasis on Wagner. I so much prefer German romanticism and am hopeful the Stern Conservatory in Berlin might have room for me.

I am writing to Herr Kittel, the Stern’s director today, and am enclosing some of the pieces I have composed, along with some of my papers from Hoch.