“My father was a banker. In his free time he loved horses to the point that he even had hopes of becoming an Olympian Equestrian Rider for Germany. When he wasn’t working at the bank, he was training with his horses. Beautiful, Trakenhner/Arabian prize winning horses.

This time was the beginning of major changes in my life. In the early days of Hitler, the German currency was devalued nearly overnight. Like Johnny on the Spot, Vati took all of the money in his bank and exchanged it into Danish Money. He saved his bank from catastrophe, and was instantly promoted with a large raise in his income. The big raise and promotion were overshadowed soon by a secret relationship that he had started with his secretary. Soon, his marriage to Mutti had dissolved.

Vati wanted to keep his girlfriend and divorce my mother. Mutti right away agreed that the relationship was over and filed for separation. From that point on my life changed drastically. Now everything we boys, my brother Gottfried and I did with my Vati was something special to us. Instead of just a visit, we would end up going places like on a real sailing ship, now called Eagle. Vati’s military rank as captain in Hitlers S.S. gave him and us lots of privileges. And to us boys we loved every minute. Some days we would be as cadets, part of the crew on this great sailing ship.

Every weekend was now an adventure. One weekend on a submarine, U-Boat. The next weekend on the largest farm in East Prussia. We learned about horses and farm life. Every weekend with Vati brought us joy, but this joy was short-lived.

Vati was sent as a commander of German troops in the region of Budapest, Hungary. My father had no education in military matters, but in no time became part of the 70,000 German Army that fought against 2.5 million Russian Infantry.

Just before Christmas, in 1944, Vati had a week of free time. He bought us boys the biggest train set available and came to our house to assemble it all. We put together five separate rooms with different Rail Road tracks on our hands and knees. It is something I never forgot. My brother and I played until we fell asleep.

That was the last time we ever saw our father.

3 years later Gottfried and I went to the local train station now in Minden, Westfahlen when a train full of veterans was rolling thru. We inquired about Vati. We were told that most German SS troops that were not fallen in battle were made to lift their arms while the winning Russians looked for the Tattoo number under their arm. If the SS number was found, all were instantly executed.

This is the end of my father.” – Jochen

But it wasn’t the end of his father. His father has been living on through my dad’s stories for my entire life. And I’ve been trying to get to know my Grandfather through these stories for as long as I can remember.

So, as you might guess, the fact that my Grandfather was an S.S. Officer, has always been a difficult thing for me to make peace with. From what I was told, the bank that Vati worked at employed Jews. Himmler’s men came to him and basically gave him an ultimatum, join the Nazi party to show your allegiance to the German cause, or else bad things will happen. So, that is what he did. He became a Nazi, because his bank employed Jews and that was not acceptable.

Later in the war they began taking people’s horses, and as you heard he had prize Arabian horses that he didn’t want them to take, so he was given another choice. He could keep his horses, if he became an S.S. Officer and become part of the grand equestrians that would march in Hitlers military parades. He took the deal, and became an S.S. Officer.

Learning about this brought out strange emotions as I grew up. Obviously we were taught of the horrible history of what Hitler and the Nazi party did in WWII, but as the black and white videos would play on the television showing the Nazis parading through the streets, I’d always wonder if one of the men on the horses was him, my grandfather. It’s a strange place to be. I still pay close attention to the parades if footage is ever played on the History channel or some World War 2 documentary wonder if he’s there.

I’ve wondered often about the choice he had made, and what choice I would have made if I had been in that position. A father, with a wife, and two small children trying to take care of his family and keep them safe. I’ve often wished I could have just one phone call to ask why he really became a Nazi, did he regret it, did he believe what Hitler did, but somethings I guess are not meant to be known. Luckily for me, my Omi (grandmother) raised my father and uncle to be some of the most loving men, who did not believe the hateful things that we learned about in history class. I was taught to show love and kindness to everyone, and for that I am grateful.

But Vati’s death impacted me growing up in other ways as well. Because of what they were told about the Nazi arm Tattoos being used to identify and execute German soldiers, my father was incredibly against tattoos. He begged me not to get them. He told me the story over and over about the tattoo that most likely got my grandfather killed. But I was a punk kid, who didn’t listen, and when I was 18 I got one anyway.

I kept it hidden for as long as I could. But one day I leaned over and my shirt lifted up enough to see the ink on my back. He cried. The big strong German man I had as a father had tears streaming down his cheeks. I felt terrible. I hated that my tattoo had brought back a memory for him that he couldn’t forget. Of course the fairy on my back was nothing like the SS numbers on my Grandfather’s arm, but it didn’t matter in that moment. All he could think of was a father who went away one day and never came back, who never got to say goodbye. Thankfully, he slowly became more accepting of the tattoos that I loved, and I even got one especially for him later on. An anchor with a rope that goes around my little toe. He always said that my little toe was his, so the tattoo wraps around my little toe for him.

Regardless of the fact that my Grandfather became a Nazi and SS Officer, he was still a beloved father to two little German boys who were far too young to understand the politics of the times. I can imagine my Uncle Gottfried and my Dad going on grand adventures with their father. But I can’t imagine what it must have been like for him to go away one day and just never come back. To wonder forever where he was. It must have been so hard growing up in a war torn country without their Vati. You’ll hear many more stories about what they went through in the war, but this was an important story to tell. A banker and equestrian turned SS Officer, killed in the Battle of Budapest. But more importantly, two little boys favorite person.

This was Vati.