Chapter 25

Once more we returned to the railroad station. We boarded a third class train with hard, wooden benches. The train was clean. We weren't long, only one hour on the train. Sadly, we got off in Breslau [Bresc]. While on board the train, we could see the moving landscape as we passed from city to town and through well-kept villages. The windows of the train were not covered, because the German populace traveled in them.

By this time we knew how to get on and off the trains, silently and quickly forming a column of two's. As this convoy of women prisoners, with guards in front and in the rear, trudged through the town of Breslau in broad daylight, the local inhabitants hustled by to their work and in their search for food. As we approached them, they turned their heads aside, so that they could truly say they never saw any transports passing through their town, and that they did not know what was happening in their country. Of course, they would not know, because we felt they neither cared, nor were they concerned about anyone but themselves. Scowling, they disappeared, while we passed through from one railroad station to another.

All this time I held on to my black leather bag with the Polish sausage in it. We had no knife. We had eaten the bread by breaking it off in chunks; we tried not to waste any of the precious crumbs.

Again, we were en route to somewhere. While in the train we talked about the ill will of the inhabitants of the towns. No smiles, no greetings, only sullen faces.

A short trip on the train and we were in Dresden. Once again guards escorted us. Here in the women's dungeon we had experiences, which to this day have left very vivid memories. The matron, a middle- aged woman with a sharp, cutting voice, bestowed harsh treatment to her newly-arrived prisoners. Her mouth twisted as she shrieked commands at us. So far, she was the most cruel of the guards we had encountered.

As soon as we entered, she began bossing us. She yelled commands at us, "Stand up straight. Form a row of two deep. Whatever you have in your possession like bags, boxes, etc., place them on the table; all jewelry comes off; rings, watches, chains and crosses, along with wallets and money."

Suddenly the woman standing in front of her rebelled. She bristled and shouted madly, "You are not Americans. You are all Polish pigs. Who ever heard of Americans with names ending in s-k-i?"

Some of our number, however, were native-born citizens of the United States, like myself. I was born in Chicago of Polish parents. I lived there, was educated in that great city, and after graduating from the University of Chicago in 1921, I went for a short trip to Poland. I liked it enough to remain in the country, and this German witch claimed that I was not an American! Even the German police in Torun acknowledged that I had dual citizenship, Polish descent and American by birth.

We let out a howl, and she pointed to the stairs. "Up you go and you better behave."

Madge, one of our group, wore a very pretty hat, which she had worn all through her plight. I happened to be at the rear of this column as it started up the steel stairs. Never had she any problem with the hat. She had no reason to give it up.

All of a sudden, as if prompted by an exploding firecracker, the matron ran up the stairs, pushing the women aside, and shrieking out loud, "You verfluckten Polaken [damned Poles]!" and jerked the pretty hat off Madge's head. Unheard of! This was a calamity!

All of us, as one, defended Madge's hat; we wanted it back. Yes, it was a pretty hat! The nerve of this German matron, deliberately snatching it. Unheard of! We were herded now into a large, dark cell, the door slammed behind us. We were by ourselves.

We planned a hunger strike; we refused to eat whatever was sent up to us to show the boss of the Dresden prison that we were Americans and would fight for the rights of each other. So, when the matron sent up the watery-gray soup and chunks of black bread, we sent it back.

"Tell the matron we are not going to eat this soup or any other soup, except under one condition: that she recognizes us as U.S. citizens."

She refused, and we refused to eat her soup.

Surprisingly, about three hours that same afternoon, the matron received an urgent notice. Thirty U.S. citizens who arrived earlier were to be released and moved on to another prison that same day. It was our group.

You can understand how fast she wanted to get rid of us. She sent one of her helpers to us. We, meanwhile, were seated around the table, discussing our solidarity.

The young helper said, "You are U.S. citizens and are to come down to be discharged from here and moved on."

We let out a cheer that the matron and the others heard in the prison. As we came down the steel stairs, we could see her hate for us.

She gritted her teeth and ordered curtly, "Get in two rows. I will call your name and you will step out." She finished the roll call of Polish names and said, "Yes, you are U.S. citizens, even though you have Polish names. Now you may go with the guards who will accompany you."

"No, we're not going until we get what belongs to us, our jewelry, watches, money and that pretty hat," and I added, "I want my black leather bag with the Polish sausage."

"We haven't your sausage," she said. "You're lying."

"Oh, no, I'm not! You are the one who's lying, because I have all these witnesses to prove I carried that sausage into this prison with me."

Sheepishly from behind a partition, a young girl dressed in uniform came out carrying my leather bag and in it lay the sausage. I raised the bag for all to see. The pretty hat, the jewelry, money were returned to us, the jubilant Americans. The matron was puffing mad. To be sure to avoid future problems with the sausage, once we were on the train, each of us got a bite out of it and the two sausages, each nine inches long, quickly disappeared.