I dedicate this story to my parents, PAUL AND LENI SEYMON, who together brought our family safely out of Germany and then built a happy and successful life in our new home--a home filled with love, hard work, and family strength.

We were going to America! I couldn't believe I'd really be so lucky!

It didn't matter that we had to leave our home in Hamburg, our friends, and our possessions. I didn't care, because all I could think of was that we were moving to California, and that I might meet Robert Taylor and Tyrone Power, two very much adored creatures! All my friends in school envied me, though they worried a bit about my living in San Francisco. We had all heard about the earthquakes there. But the thought of all the movie stars, millionaires, and Indians I would meet killed any such fears.

This was Hamburg, Germany, in 1938. Strange, frightening things had been happening around me for years. Friends of my parents disappeared--into concentration camps it was whispered. Often my father was distraught. Friends would come to our house looking frightened and speaking in whispers. My uncle was arrested because someone had seen him in a restaurant with a blonde woman, who happened to be his wife. And my little brothers were beaten up in a, park while ice skating. But I had led a charmed life; happy in my wonderful school with friends and teachers who were kind and loving. Even my home room teacher, who sometimes appeared in his Nazi uniform, never said an unkind word to me, though 1 annoyed him with my constant drawing during class. The only suffering I experienced was having to stand up and say, "Heil Hitler!" before and after each class. Still a kind of fear pervaded everything, and no-one could speak freely.

The last weeks were hectic. We sold most of our furniture, at least all the large, heavy pieces and the concert piano on which my father used to play every Sunday. We knew we would never again live in a large house with great rooms. We bought clothes and useful things we would be needing in America. At this time, we still had money for everything, but once in America we would have nothing. We moved into a boarding house for the last few weeks, because all our belongings had been packed and sent off to America.

All this time, my fathers business, a department store, had been prospering, and we lived comfortably in our pretty house on a tree-lined street along one of the many canals that coursed through the city of Hamburg, adding to its beauty. We four children--Ruth, Gunner, Bert, and Peter--played with our friends in our little garden, went to good schools, drove out into the country on weekends in our Opel, and when we needed to go downtown shopping, went there by city boat, a most enjoyable excursion. But eventually it became difficult to get servants for our large house, and we moved to a beautiful apartment with a garden adjoining another canal. Here we even had a little dock and would go canoeing. We spent our last year in Hamburg there, and slowly our parents got ready for our move, selling the business and most of our possessions, paying huge emigration taxes to the government, and waiting for our U.S. visas. We children little understood the terrible strain and suffering they were going through. To us it was all very exciting.

Finally the great day came. Everything was packed, we had said our good-byes, and were off to the station, where the train would take us to Bremerhafen and to our ship. Friends saw us off at the "Hauptbahnhof." But something horrible had happened the night before. Everyone spoke in whispers and was full of fear. Would they really let us leave? Some of our friends were not there. What had happened to them?

It was November 10, the morning after the infamous "Christallnacht," when many Jewish businesses were destroyed and thousands of people all over Germany were beaten and arrested. Terrible stories and rumors were flying, and yet we had seen and noticed nothing on our way to the station.

We did get on the train. Our luggage was thoroughly searched by Nazi officials who were quite rough with us children, but we eventually arrived in Bremerhafen, where our ship, the "Hansa" was waiting. First, however, we had to pass through a huge, cavern-like building, where a long line of people was slowly moving past uniformed Nazi officials. Here we had to show our passports and our papers. These officials were extremely unpleasant and rough, and by now we were all filled with terror, fearing that we would not be allowed to leave.

After checking our papers over and over again and asking many threatening questions, the officers finally waved my mother and the four children through, but barked that the two men (my grandfather was traveling with us) were to stay behind. Where were they being taken? No-one would tell us. Weeping hysterically, my mother walked to the gangplank followed by her four children, who were completely terrified by now. As the oldest, 12 years old, I tried to be brave and help my mother, but I too was filled with fear, partially because I really did not understand what was happening. Would we have to go to America alone, without my father? This was unimaginable. He was the rock on whom we all leaned, the center of our universe. We knew that he would always take care of everything, protect us, and solve any problems. How could we cope without him?

The officers on the ship were very kind and showed us to our cabins. We had four between us. Then we leaned on the railing and looked down on the dock hoping beyond hope to see our father and grandfather. My mother was weeping uncontrollably. Suddenly we saw my father walking to the ship-- alone. Where was our grandfather? He was 76 years old. Surely they would not harm such an old man. And then we saw him too, catching up with my father for whom he had been waiting. We had a most joyous and hysterical reunion; they were not hurt, had just been searched very thoroughly and then allowed to go.

Finally there were shouts and the ship started to move. We were not a religious family, but we said a deep prayer of thanks. And we left our homeland without any regrets, just a tremendous sense of relief and gratitude. Even my father, who had been such a patriot and volunteered as a teenager in the First World War, now could only thank God for his freedom. My grandfather alone felt a little sad. It was difficult to make a great change and go into the unknown at his age.

The boat trip seemed like a beautiful dream after the excitement and agony of the departure. After a first day of seasickness, we all settled down to a lazy routine. We felt that this would be our last experience of true luxury, as we were going first class, and there is just nothing like a trip on a great ship where for five or six days one gets pampered and spoiled, and there is really nothing one must do except eat and sleep and enjoy. The news from Germany was dreadful, making the whole trip even more unreal. We four children were fussed over by all, especially by some wealthy Americans who were very kind to us, and were also a constant source of excitement to the four of us. Our first millionaires!

And then we finally arrived in New York. No-one who has not fled from an unbearable past, full of anguish but also filled with hope for the future, can imagine the feelings of a new immigrant as the Statute of Liberty and the New York skyline slowly comes into view and then ever closet. To us it was almost like reaching the gates of heaven. We were all in tears.

Eventually we landed, scrambled down the gangplank, and were immediately surrounded by reporters. Ours was the first ship to arrive in New York that had left Germany after the "Christallnacht" horrors. And we were a large and therefore newsworthy family. They asked many questions, which my mother, whose English was best, tried to answer, but finally they let us go, and next morning our pictures were in all the newspapers, proving that that this really was a fabulous country where anything could happen.

New York overwhelmed us, Never had we seen anything even vaguely like it. The Rockefeller Center and Empire State Building seemed like impossible visions. Nothing like it existed anywhere else in the World at that time. Friends took us to the top, and there we saw the great city spread out beneath our feet, a breathtaking and unforgettable experience. It all seemed part of a dream, but the best part of all Was being able to walk down the street and scream, "Death to Hitler," and no-one came to arrest us. It quite worried my grandfather, but we were too exhilarated by our first taste of freedom to stop.

And wherever we went people stopped us and asked whether we were the family from Germany, and we couldn't get over everyones friendliness. It truly seemed a magic land.

We traveled across the country by Greyhound bus, because my parents had been able to pay for the tickets in Germany with German money. It was a marvelous experience, because we learned first hand about the enormous size of the country and the wonderful friendliness of its people. The greatest disappointment for us children was that we did not see any Indians riding around with feathers in their hair. We had been led to believe by the books we had read that they would be roaming about everywhere. The few sad-looking specimens we saw in Omaha we didn't count.

Every night we stayed in a comfortable hotel in a new city. Niagara Falls, wonder of wonders; Chicago, where friends met us ; Omaha; Cheyenne (strange-sounding names); Salt Lake City (where we heard a concert in the Mormon Temple); Reno; and then at last we crossed the magnificent great mountains and arrived as if in a dream in California--land of milk and honey, and sunshine.

Hamburg was a cold and rainy northern city, and never had we seen such lush vegetation. Wonderful flowers, olive trees, and palm trees everywhere--and sunshine! We were in love with it from the first moment..

In San Francisco friends and relatives were waiting for us, especially my handsome Ungle Maggi, who was a doctor and lived in Los Angeles, and really knew some movie stars. We were whisked off to our first home there, a lovely old house on Pacific Avenue, where we rented some rooms, and though we had lost almost everything, we felt truly that we were the luckiest people in the world. The beauty of San Francisco took our breath away. Coming across the then very new Oakland Bay Bridge and seeing the lovely city spread out before us on its hills was a sight none of us were ever to forget.

Slowly we settled in. An apartment was found. Christmas came, one of the best ever, because by father took us to the neighborhood Woolworth store, gave us each a quarter, and told us we could buy anything we wanted. And in those days there was a lot one could get with a quarter. So we were in seventh heaven, and had perhaps more fun than we had ever had with our expensive Christmas presents in the past.

And then, finally, came the first day of school. This day had been dreaded and looked forward to by all of us. I spoke some English, my brothers almost none. We got all dressed up; me in a pretty suit, silk stockings, and my new shoes with little heels. (I had turned 13 meanwhile and felt very grownup.) When I got to my class, all the girls were dressed in skirts and sweaters, bobby sox, and saddle shoes. I stood out like a sore thumb, and no-one wanted to have anything to do with that weird-looking foreigner from Germany.

And the boys! I could hardly wait to go to school with boys I as I had been in a private girls school. Of course I was certain that all the boys in America would look either like Robert Taylor or Tyrone Power I but here were these ugly little pimply runts! And the way they were dressed! I was sure that they must all be from very poor families because they were wearing dirty and worn yellow corduroy pants to school (the latest style at that time).

The first day we all arrived home crying. My twin brothers, 11 years old, had gone to school in their nice little short pants and knee stockings, the way every school boy in Germany dressed, up to the age of 14. The children, of course, teased them mercilessly, and the fact that they could not even understand what was said made it worse. One thing they knew, they wanted long pants. But my father told them no, we couldn't afford new clothes, and they should be proud to be different, something a bit beyond their powers at that age. Fortunately, he soon relented.

My father, who had been a successful businessman in Hamburg, was also a gifted artist, and earned his first dollars with some commercial art work, until he eventually found a job at Sears and Roebuck. It was not very glamorous, but we were more than delighted to have a steady income again, tiny as it was, and as he was very able, he was soon promoted. But it was difficult for him to work for someone else, after always having owned his own business.

My mother had perhaps the most difficult time, though I don't remember her ever complaining. Never before did she had to do any housework, for in Europe almost everyone had servants. Nor had she ever cooked before. Now she had to do everything herself, including washing by hand the laundry of her large family, as we had no washing machine at first. Often her hands would be bleeding when she was done. Her first meals were not the most delicious we had ever tasted either. Simple things like finding the right ingredients in the market were often difficult. One day we could not think of the word for mustard to serve with frankfurters for dinner that night. So we looked around in the market until we found something that seemed to resemble it. My father was always served first, and he spread this on his frankfurter and took the first bit, which he quickly spit out. We had bought peanut butter.

We children also had to help, something we never had to do before. I had to do part of the housework, which I hated, and my brothers soon sold magazines from door to door, which they quite enjoyed. Everyone did their share, and it brought us all very close.

We loved our apartment in the pretty Marina district near the bay, and had even started to like our school since we had made some friends. My brothers had gotten long pants, and had discovered the joys of baseball, and I no longer wore silk stockings to school. Even the boys in my class were beginning to look more interesting to me. We were on our way to becoming Americans.