From Russia with Love? Time will tell.

 

The last month has swallowed up my existence.  It's hard for me to find the words. My mind is still calculating all the info I have found. And it's hard to breathe. 

It's been building over the last 6 or so months, I've felt it- but it really has been in the last three weeks the floodgates have opened. My little reflections of history and how the fit into my life, my traumas and even my smiles, opened up a world that is, well, surreal. My father left clues, many, and they tell a story about our history -what his eyes saw, and what to watch our for -a love letter not only to me , but also all of you. 

It has been playing out on my Facebook page- there's too much for my fingers right now to type out and quite frankly, I do not know how to format even that first paragraph of introduction.  I thought it was my childhood in California, and then Evanston, IL. But, I was wrong- it goes back further than that and not even just with the birth of my father, but further and I am unsure what those shoes looked like walking it, but there's a path loaded with deep imprints. My father lived a covert life -beyond the military, beyond an alphabet agency or any of one of the many operations they've had, especially during the cold war. 

I don't know what to do with all of this but to me, his message is clear. 

Mow it down, baby girl, mow it down. When Daddy was president of his local UAW working at Mark Controls in Evanston -I remember two distinct things about his leadership -don't pretend to be anything but who you are and do not bow to the corporate office and everyone needs to know about the things that have a direct impact on each member- his leadership was to be a force, but one that brought everyone to the table. During contract negotiations once the guys all left straight from the factory -they had a shower facility there and they were wanting to clean up. My father told them not to, that they needed to show up in that Chicago high rise at the company's attorney's office in their work clothing and with the grease of hard work on their skin. That was who they were. Plus they left some stains on the pristine white chairs and table, a reminder in case anyone forgot. That was my dad. I am his daughter. 

So, as I find a way to tell this story over however long it will take- it begin in my mind with this photo, my father, a small man baby sitting on my sweet grandmother's lap. She is in the floral dress with a dark hat on. I think it was taken in Evanston, IL in the 30s. 

Like I said, a man baby -even then a large presence. A man baby that would travel the world, join the USAF and then take my grandma back to Rosengarth, East Prussia the late spring and early summer of 1961. Yes, a trip made right before the wall went up, when stasi were thick, and Gary Powers was in Russian hands after his plane crashed in their territory. I'm learning a lot, and it came from going through grandma's photo album capturing the details -the clues he left.

1961- Spring/Summer trip to Rosengarth East Prussia (Rozynka, Poland as we know it today) and then Dortmund -a sample. 

                                                                        Yes, pigeons.

and then a few years later he is in Burbank, California with who appears to be Gary Powers and Jay Sebring, and friends, living it up. 

All of this happening before I was born in 1967 and soon after was baptized by someone identified on the photo Fr. Patrick Peyton with two very at attention Godparents named McGill. Thing is, I understand now that the operations being run back then were all about mind control and creating illusions - top it off with Daddy leaving clues, well,you figure it out. One key tidbit is he should have had a dishonorable charge for the guys and him swiping passes to go out and end up in a bar fight where he got gangrene - they called it the Battle of Nottingham. He spent a lot of time in military hospitals healing from that and then that all happened. Did I mention he collected bluebirds? 

But now I have more questions to all of this -Klara Keuchel, aka Sr. Wilfreda popped up in my searches, my personal ancestry ones and then I noticed some other things, including a photo -a few- that have me scratching my head and led me to Russia - I did already know I do have some slav in me, my dads side is heavy Eastern Europe/Germany - I have since learned about the baby networks after WWI and how children or pregnant woman were protected by the ethnic immigrants for a chance at life - meaning sometimes paperwork was changed, adoptions were not logged as such. And I am learning this was happening back in Evanston during those years. Sr. Wilfreda traveled the same yr my father was born -she landed in the Evanston area and was from the village next to Rosengarth, where my grandmother had lived until 1929, and grandma's maiden name is Keuchel. And then- I saw this photo. 

                 I do not know who they are,but I do know, they look like me and my father- 1957, I believe.

Then I did this -I inlaid my photo , my dads and my son. I finally look like someone other than them. The darker skin, olive and that woman in the center? She's in other photos and I do not know who she is...

           She is in this photo from 61, dad resting his hand on her- my grandmother on the bench between her siblings. 

What's going on right? I can see it all happening back then, we know it did and I know what life was like after WWI for the people where my grandparents had lived, it makes sense and I am good with that- but when I tried to pinpoint who it could be in the lineage, some surprising names popped up - my grandmother's mother was a Gerigk and from there..well - and while Gerigk does make history as having someone on the wrong side of WWII - the name pops up through the connected to names like Penquitt, and Rehaag. I really don't want to say where it all took me, just yet - but it was significant and definitely would explain some things in that album like this - completely out of place- positioned to stand out. 

England. 

He wouldn't have left these crumbs unless there was a reason -

I know my father and he knew I would ask why?

Who?

What?

Where?

When? 

I've always been that way...