Peterson appeared on the screen. She eerily reminded Zach of the old lady in the Titanic movie.
“My name is Ellen Peterson, but my maiden name was Ellen Sarowitz. I was born in Munich, Germany in 1918. Before I get into the events of my life, I have a confession to make. This project is about family and heritage, and I have not been truthful about my past with my own family.”
This got Zach’s attention. A little scandal might not be a bad thing, he thought, perhaps livening up the tedious school project. He looked at TJ, searching for a hint of inside information. TJ just shrugged. Zach wasn’t sure what it meant, mainly because TJ responded to most things these days with a shrug.
Ellen continued, “I came to America as part of the underground railroad that helped deliver persecuted European Jews to the safety of the West. But I came under the false pretenses of being a survivor of the Terezin concentration camp.”
Zach noticed a tear on Ellen’s overly blushed cheek. He glanced again at Youkelstein and Sterling; now wondering if their presence might be connected to this confession.
“My mother, Etta, had been a prostitute, so my formative years were surrounded by drug abuse and my mother’s loose morals. Strange men would gravitate to our apartment and would often beat and rape my mother. They would also try the same on me, so I had to learn how to defend myself at a young age.”
Mrs. Foss looked shell-shocked—rape, drugs, and prostitution probably wasn’t what she had in mind when she concocted this project. That’s what you get for opening up the scary can of worms called family, Zach mused.
“I came to think of our ghetto as hell on earth, and the Jews who lived there were the devil’s children, even if I carried the same blood as them. When I was around Maggie’s age, my mother began to show the symptoms of a deadly form of syphilis. At the end, she couldn’t get out of bed and I became her caretaker.
“It was the fall of 1932 when a young man running for German Chancellor came through our neighborhood on the campaign trail. He stopped by our home to see my sick mother to help promote his plan for national health insurance, building on the system that began with Prince Otto von Bismarck, after Germany united in the nineteenth century. The candidate was so taken by our plight that he openly wept and promised my mother he’d care for me when she died. And unlike most political candidates, he lived up to his campaign promise.
“That man’s name was Adolf Hitler.”
Chapter 8
Veronica watched them march one by one into the principal’s office and be seated like a jury. The last person to enter was Maggie—the defendant. Her face was rigid, ready to fight authority. She had rebelliously removed her sweater, displaying her against-the-rules political T-shirt supporting Jim Kingston.
Maggie’s teacher had a look on her face like she signed up to teach sixth-grade social studies only to find herself tricked into a ponzi scheme.
There were also two older men in the line-up. One that Veronica had never seen before, while the other she was well aware of.
The mystery man was rail-thin with a wispy mustache, and a few snowflakes of white hair on top of his head. He reminded her of the Obi-Wan Kenobi character from the original Star Wars movie, sans the beard and goofy robe, and had traded his light saber for an umbrella. Veronica found this odd considering that no rain was anticipated, although, a few unexpected thundershowers had already interrupted her morning. The umbrella matched his dapper black suit, which reminded Veronica of her father’s look when he used to work at Reader’s Digest, back when it was headquartered in Pleasantville.
The man she knew was named Aligor Sterling. He was Carsten’s boss when he worked at Sterling Publishing. In fact, he was everybody’s boss—he was the founder, owner, and overall head honcho. She didn’t know him that well—mainly from the
“My name is Ellen Peterson, but my maiden name was Ellen Sarowitz. I was born in Munich, Germany in 1918. Before I get into the events of my life, I have a confession to make. This project is about family and heritage, and I have not been truthful about my past with my own family.”
This got Zach’s attention. A little scandal might not be a bad thing, he thought, perhaps livening up the tedious school project. He looked at TJ, searching for a hint of inside information. TJ just shrugged. Zach wasn’t sure what it meant, mainly because TJ responded to most things these days with a shrug.
Ellen continued, “I came to America as part of the underground railroad that helped deliver persecuted European Jews to the safety of the West. But I came under the false pretenses of being a survivor of the Terezin concentration camp.”
Zach noticed a tear on Ellen’s overly blushed cheek. He glanced again at Youkelstein and Sterling; now wondering if their presence might be connected to this confession.
“My mother, Etta, had been a prostitute, so my formative years were surrounded by drug abuse and my mother’s loose morals. Strange men would gravitate to our apartment and would often beat and rape my mother. They would also try the same on me, so I had to learn how to defend myself at a young age.”
Mrs. Foss looked shell-shocked—rape, drugs, and prostitution probably wasn’t what she had in mind when she concocted this project. That’s what you get for opening up the scary can of worms called family, Zach mused.
“I came to think of our ghetto as hell on earth, and the Jews who lived there were the devil’s children, even if I carried the same blood as them. When I was around Maggie’s age, my mother began to show the symptoms of a deadly form of syphilis. At the end, she couldn’t get out of bed and I became her caretaker.
“It was the fall of 1932 when a young man running for German Chancellor came through our neighborhood on the campaign trail. He stopped by our home to see my sick mother to help promote his plan for national health insurance, building on the system that began with Prince Otto von Bismarck, after Germany united in the nineteenth century. The candidate was so taken by our plight that he openly wept and promised my mother he’d care for me when she died. And unlike most political candidates, he lived up to his campaign promise.
“That man’s name was Adolf Hitler.”
Chapter 8
Veronica watched them march one by one into the principal’s office and be seated like a jury. The last person to enter was Maggie—the defendant. Her face was rigid, ready to fight authority. She had rebelliously removed her sweater, displaying her against-the-rules political T-shirt supporting Jim Kingston.
Maggie’s teacher had a look on her face like she signed up to teach sixth-grade social studies only to find herself tricked into a ponzi scheme.
There were also two older men in the line-up. One that Veronica had never seen before, while the other she was well aware of.
The mystery man was rail-thin with a wispy mustache, and a few snowflakes of white hair on top of his head. He reminded her of the Obi-Wan Kenobi character from the original Star Wars movie, sans the beard and goofy robe, and had traded his light saber for an umbrella. Veronica found this odd considering that no rain was anticipated, although, a few unexpected thundershowers had already interrupted her morning. The umbrella matched his dapper black suit, which reminded Veronica of her father’s look when he used to work at Reader’s Digest, back when it was headquartered in Pleasantville.
The man she knew was named Aligor Sterling. He was Carsten’s boss when he worked at Sterling Publishing. In fact, he was everybody’s boss—he was the founder, owner, and overall head honcho. She didn’t know him that well—mainly from the
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