From time to time I will post stories about my family. Some of these posts may be entirely true, others may be partially true, and some may be completely false. I write to entertain. So, I will apologize to any family member who may see themselves in my story(ies). This is strictly coincidental (unless the story is true).
I also plan to share this blog with my siblings, (there are six of them.) So you may read a story with a byline other than Ed Hausen. That is perfectly ok, it is one of my brothers or sisters or other close family member.
With that said, I present my first short story.
I also plan to share this blog with my siblings, (there are six of them.) So you may read a story with a byline other than Ed Hausen. That is perfectly ok, it is one of my brothers or sisters or other close family member.
With that said, I present my first short story.
Victor David VonHausen.
by Ed Hausen
My cousin, Victor David VonHausen comes from the part of the Hausen family that remains enamored by the fact that in Germany, just a couple of decades before World War I, the Hausens' were nobility — the actual name was VonHausen. By the time my direct ancestors came to Ellis Island, in 1910, they were lucky to have the few items from the family's past that they were able to pack in their personal belongings for the long steam to America. I have seen the old photographs of my great-great grandparents, with my great-great grandmother and my great-grandmother wearing a tiaras; which my grandmother assured me were set with real precious stones and made of gold. When asked for the last name at the point of embarkation, my direct ancestors replied -- “Hausen, h, a, u, s, e, n,” in prefect English, I must add to stay consistent with my politically-incorrect nature.
Cousin Victor's part of the family had come to America in the 1870s. They were able to bring many, many more items with them. They, while sensing the changing political culture of Germany, left in much better economic times for nobility than did their brothers, sisters and cousins who immigrated later. These proud, heel-clicking Germans kept many of the ways of the old country and were also more reluctant to speak English – although they did know the language – than were my direct line. They were not, however, any better at saving money than my direct line. In many way they were not nearly as astute, economically speaking. By the time my father was born in 1924 my great-grandparents and my great-uncles were working, many times side-by-side, for companies like Prudential Insurance, Edison Labs, Singer Sewing Machine and Sears and Roebuck.
Victor, who liked to spell his name Viktor, loved to hear the stories about Germany — though he had never been there. He would scold my sister when she had tea parties for her brothers, sisters, cousins and stuffed animals, because she had not set the table correctly and was serving the tea from the wrong side. When we were ordered to clean up our rooms, it was Victor who put on Uncle Willhem's (Uncle Willie to my side of the family) white gloves and inspected the room before announcing to the adults that the rooms were indeed clean. Come to think of it, Victor, while quick to point our everything that needed to be cleaned, usually disappeared into the bathroom for majority of the time the room was being cleaned.
When Victor started school, he had what he considered a brilliant idea. He thought that individuals who were addressed by their initials instead of their names somehow were instantly given more respect and were thought to be individuals of greater prominence. Indeed, now that I think back on it, he was correct. For example, J. P. Morgan, J. S. Bach, T. S. Elliot, etcetera. On his second day of second grade he turned in a class assignment to his teacher with his name in the top right-hand corner, as he had been instructed, “V. D. VonHausen.”
The next day, he was called up to the teacher's desk, handed his paper and told by his teacher, Miss Klumpher, “Victor, in this class, you shall use your first name. I do not want to see you sign your name in this manner again. Do I make myself clear?” Victor, although outraged, said meekly, “Yes ma'am.” She continued, “And, to make sure you do not forget, you shall, as part of your homework assignment for this evening, write your name, Victor VonHausen, twenty-five times, double spaced, on a sheet of paper.”
That evening, my mother was visiting with Victor's mother. I went up to his room and found him, hard at work writing. I asked, “Wie ghets, Herr Viktor, was ist los?” (Victor's house and my grandmother's house were two places where it was perfectly acceptable to speak German instead of English.) Victor replied, “Oh Edgar, its horrible. I am being made to do an assignment simply because I have a German name. He explained the situation to me and I immediately shared his indignation. What was that teacher thinking? She should be the last person to make someone do extra work because of a German name. I had heard my mother and father talking and I know that Miss Klumpher and her family had immigrated to America in 1938, when she was an infant, to escape the horror of Hitler and the Nazi regime. Victor and I never spoke of the incident again, We instinctively knew that if the grownups heard this it would somehow be Victor's fault anyway.
Many years later, around my 14th birthday, out of the clear blue, while sitting in health class and discussing diseases, it all became clear. I started laughing out loud, which caused me to have to write twenty-five times, “I will control myself while in class.”
Miss Klumpher, who spoke fluent German, knew immediately that V. D. VonHausen, translated directly into German means, Venereal Disease from our house.
