The Underground Reporters (7 page)
“What if we don’t pay you?” shouted one boy, who was pushing to get close to the front of the line.
“If you don’t pay, I’ll close the place up,” the boy shouted back.
“Everyone has to pay to get in.” He did not really have the authority to close the swimming hole, but no one wanted to argue too much.
John (wearing the bandana) and his friends at the swimming hole.
“I’ll give you five cents,” a young girl countered, reaching into her pocket for the change.
“Ten cents, or you can forget about coming in.” That was the final word: everyone had to pay. And, like it or not, they couldn’t be in the swimming hole without the boy. He was also the lifeguard. He swam out to rescue the weaker swimmers, who were sometimes pulled away by the strong undertow.
When the weather was bad, the old shack was the place to go. It was rundown, with rotting boards that creaked if the wind blew too hard, but it provided much-needed protection from rain. There the children sang and played indoor games. John and Beda’s ongoing chess competition was fierce. Beda was quiet but very smart. Even though he was younger
than John, he was the one who usually won at chess.
Each day, on the way to the swimming hole, John would look for the candy vendor. The children called him old Mr. Papa, and his wagon was always full of candies, apples, and chocolate bars. He could be found in the shade of the large railway bridge, close to the swimming hole. Whenever he could afford it, John bought a chocolate candy ball from Mr. Papa. Children lined up to buy the treats, and those who had no money stood nearby, eagerly hoping for a bite of candy from a generous friend.
John and Karli Hirsch at the swimming hole.
At the end of every day, as evening approached, the children knew they had to get home. One by one they left the playground, reluctant to abandon their friends and their games. By seven o’clock, those on foot began their trek home. By seven-thirty, John and the others who rode bicycles knew that they had to leave as well. It was getting late, and the curfew would soon take effect; Jewish people caught on the street after eight o’clock were punished.
As John climbed onto his bicycle each evening, he looked back at the playground, and he knew he would return first thing the next day.
CHAPTER
9
R
UDA’S
I
DEA
A
UGUST
1940
Like all the other Jews in the city, fifteen-year-old Ruda Stadler was frustrated by the rules eroding his freedom, more and more, day by day. He hated the laws and the Nazis who had written them. Most of all, he hated not being able to go to school. Ruda was a tall, strong, and fit young man. He was talented and well-read. And he was smart. “How can we just sit by and obey all these rules?” he asked his sister, Irena. She was only one year older. He could say things to her that he couldn’t reveal to anyone else. “I want to stop this work I’m doing, and go back to school,” he announced defiantly. When Ruda was forced to leave school, he had become an apprentice to a confectioner, learning to make candy. It was nice to have sweet treats to bring home, but he didn’t like his work. He wanted to be in school. He wanted to learn, and to use his mind.
Irena smiled at her brother. She admired his feistiness. “Ruda, you think too much,” she said. “Why can’t you just follow the rules and stop questioning everything?”
“But you hate what’s happening as much as I do,” countered Ruda. “Do you like the fact that we had to change apartments because our father isn’t allowed to work?” Like the Neubauers and many others, the Stadlers had been forced to move out of their large flat to save money. They now lived in a single basement room.
Irena shook her head.
“Do you like the work you do?” he continued, confronting his sister. Irena was attending classes where – like Frances – she was learning dressmaking. But she hated the fact that a real education was being denied to her. Even though she was an excellent, creative seamstress, she could not take pleasure in her skill.
“You know I don’t,” she said, sighing. “I want to be back in school, just like you. I don’t like anything that has happened to us and our friends. But there’s nothing we can do about it.”
That wasn’t a good enough answer for Ruda. There had to be something he could do. He was not willing to give in to these endless new laws. He didn’t like it when grown-ups told him to follow unfair rules that made no sense. He had to find a way to speak out. But how?
In the meantime, the summer playground at the swimming hole was a welcome retreat, a place for Ruda to relax and, at least for a short time, abandon his frustrations. Like the others, he had become a frequent visitor. As soon as he finished his work, he would head there. Volleyball was his favorite sport. He was good at it, and admired by all the other players. He was nicknamed “Digger” because of the way he received a ball that
was served to him. Placing his hands together at waist level, he would scoop or “dig” the ball up from down low.
Meeting together every day, the young Jews of the city felt connected to one another. Ruda could see that, and he wanted to find a way for them to strengthen their bond, and feel even stronger.
There must be more we can do here,
he thought one day, as he lay in the sun close to the river. Behind him, the younger children were playing a wild game of soccer, running from one end of the field to the other, shouting and shoving one another playfully.
Playing sports is fine – but how long can we continue to just play,
thought Ruda.
We’re smarter than that. We may not be able to go to school, but everyone here has a brain and should use it well. Besides, the warm summer days will soon end and it will be too cold to come here. Then what will we all do every day? How will we stay connected to each other?
And then, one day in August 1940, the answer came to him. Ruda had been a talented writer in school. Reading and writing stories had been the activities he enjoyed most. Writing would be the perfect way to continue to use his mind, to provide an outlet for his energy and creativity. But this time, he would write not only for himself. He would write for the other young people at the swimming hole. He would start a newspaper – a magazine that would prove that Jewish youth could do more than just play. He would encourage the community, especially the children, to band together and use their imaginations.
The next time he came to the playground, he brought an old typewriter from home. Luckily, it still worked. He also brought some paper. He
took them into the old shack, and sat down and thought. First of all, he wanted to introduce the newspaper to the others and explain its purpose. He needed to convince them that there was a better way to spend their time.
He sat down at the typewriter and wrote this introduction:
Since we’ve exhausted every type of entertainment that can be done at our beautiful swimming area, I want to outline a few words about those who come every day, and add a few witty remarks about them.
Then he went to work, listing the names of all the young people who came to the swimming hole every day, and trying to think of something interesting to say about each one of them.
Karel Freund is the terror of the swimming hole. He shouts and threatens everyone.… We warn you not to ride a bicycle with him.
