Otto Pitzke’s Scar

Backstory

In the Summer of 1958, before my Senior Year in high school, I had the privilege of being chosen as a Summer exchange student under the American Field Service – itself forged from American non-combatant battlefield ambulance services in two World Wars. I was to spend the summer living with a German family in Nuremberg, Bavaria. The Pitzke family consisted of two parents and their only son, Klaus, my age. The father, Otto Pitzke, whom I was to call “Fati”, was an engineer somewhere – who spoke no English. The mother, whose name I forget, but whom I was to address as “Muti”, also spoke no English. Klaus, who was to be my “German brother,” had a rudimentary knowledge of English from school.

I had no knowledge of German, except for the month or so I had to cram from a pocket “Berlitz” phrase book. So Klaus was the translation center of “Die Familie Pitzke +1” – and he became quite adept in those 3 months – bless his heart.

The Pitzke’s lived in a post-war apartment building, clean and functional.

This was 1958 – only 13 years after the end of WWII, so having an American teenager as their summer “guest” was probably a “stretch,” especially for the parents. The war was rarely mentioned, except to boast about the massive rebuilding of their city over the previous dozen years. Buildings had no window screens, as the intense post-war cleansing amazingly had resulted in virtually no flying insects.

That’s the backstory. Now, in five sections, Fati’s scar, the central skeleton of this writing, has its marching orders.

1) Fati carried a deep scar on his right cheek, which I assumed was a war injury, and therefore outside of questioning, and beyond my need for curiosity. To my memory, it was as if 4 inches in length, though it was probably not much more than 2½ or 3inches. Still it had cut deep and was of considerable notice.

I would classify this family as ‘upper middle class’ because they owned a car, named “Hugo.” This allowed them to take me on many local weekend day-trips into the city’s surroundings. It also included a motor vacation that lasted at least a couple of weeks — delightfully including a visit to the 1958 Brussels World’s Fair, then on down into France, & Austria – then returning back up into Bavaria. During their travels, the parents, through Klaus’s translations, were proud to turn it into a ‘teaching trip’ for their son, and including me, their young American guest.

However, when we got to the city of Paris, where the father had been part of the German occupation, they strictly forbade Klaus from doing any translating for me – which allowed Fati to speak with some pride about that part of his war history. When visiting the Champs-Élysées, I could feel his description of the German troops marching victoriously. I was not upset – they needed this separation from American ears. Though I sensed for my first time Fati’s necessary wartime pride. And there was that scar.

2) Toward the end of my Summer with them, I did make an opportunity to ask Fati about that scar. He gave a one-word crisp response, “Ooniversitay.” And that was it. I set the question aside because I had no internal reference available, except that the military frame of reference had been erased.

3) After I returned home, and three or four years later, I received notice that Fati, Herr Otto Pitzke of Nuremberg, had passed away. No cause was given, nor did I seek information. By then, I had taken some college German classes and was able to compose a condolence letter in German. Overall, I had not kept in touch with my German family, the Pitzkes. I had moved on and, sadly, had never really formed close ties with them.

4) At about that same time period, two movies (1962 & 196’3) emerged in the local cinemas – Italian “shockumentaries” called “Mondo Cane” (A Dog’s Life). They were essentially a random collection of shocking episodes, with little to no great cinematic merit. (They’re still available through Amazon.)

But one episode caught my attention. It involved a particular German University Fraternity initiation, resulting in a deep scar on the right cheek of the initiate. The video showed, in graphic detail, the application of a sizable dollop of shaving lather, followed by a deep ritual slice with a razor blade. I don’t recall any additional details, except for a lot of blood (I think it was in black and white). And I had seen enough.

Now I knew the story of Fati’s, facial scar. Since I was in college, but not of the Greek (fraternity) persuasion – which, to be honest, I actually looked down upon – I had basically let it depart any functional memory bank. And I considered I had lost touch with Meine Deutsche Familie Pitzke.

5) Now, this account should end here. 63 or 4 years ago. Almost 2/3 of a century.

But it doesn’t!

For some unknown reason, I have recently begun, at certain moments, to rub my dominant thumb on my right cheek, following the exact course of Fati Otto Pitzke’s ritual initiation scar.

I’m old enough and wise enough now to know this is not incidental. Even writing this account unearthed many other lost memories, not included here. That scar has now definitely entered my elder years consciousness.

Maybe it’s time to go back, at least in memory. I may need again to “travel” across larger waters in its pursuit.

In writing this, many other long buried memories of that Summer begin to re-emerge – which are not a part of this writing. But why led by this particular one? Why this particular long disconnected one? How often does this happen? And at my age? And why does Fati Pitzke’s scar show up in a casual unconscious movement of my thumb on my cheek.

I’m being reminded by some of my more trustworthy mentors that in times like ours, when chaos seems to reign all about us, and the larger world – that this won’t be ameliorated by just another election. Answers won’t be easy.

When things outside fail, it’s time to go inside, or perhaps down inside – down into our deep soul’s landscape. And that’s long been my own professional territory.

They say our scars are the source of healing gifts.

And in these days we’re all in need again of much healing.

Otto Pitzke and I never spoke the same language. But now almost daily, I find myself remembering something about him with my right thumb. A silent gift from another time.

Vielen dank, Fati
Requiescat in pace

Bill McDonald