Uprooted: The Ralph Kand Story, Part Thirteen. Jail Time

Bombed out Munich, 1945

The jail was in the basement of a county government building near Munich. Ralph was escorted downstairs by two German policemen. Several men were already being held in cells along the corridor. A few looked up as Ralph passed.

He was shown his cell and given instructions about meals and the toilet. There was no running water. Each cell had two buckets of water, one for flushing the toilet and another for drinking and washing. Blankets were in short supply.

The cell door closed behind him.

“What are you charged with?” asked the man in the next cell.

“I don't know. I'll find out at the hearing.”

The man laughed. “When is your hearing?”

“I don't know. Why is that funny?”

“Franz! Leave him alone,” someone called from another cell.

Ralph turned back toward Franz.

“Why is it funny?”

“There aren't any hearings,” Franz said. “Not until they rebuild the courthouse.”

“Allied bombs,” another prisoner called.

Ralph soon learned what had happened. The courthouse had been badly damaged in an air raid about a month earlier. Trials had been suspended. Bombing raids were now common in the area.

“The bombs don't know we're here,” said a man in a cell across the corridor. “Nobody knows we're here.”

Ralph looked at him. The man sat hunched forward on his bunk, staring at his hands.

“Pssst.”

Ralph turned.

Franz raised his chin toward the other prisoner.

“Don't pay attention to him.”

---

Franz was from Bavaria. Ralph never quite understood what he had done to end up in jail, but the man was friendly and tried to help him understand how things worked.

“There is a library,” Franz told him. “You can ask for books. Reading is a good way to pass the time. Do you read?”

“People who don't read are no different from animals,” Ralph said. The news about the library improved his mood.

Late that afternoon there was a noise at the end of the corridor. The food cart had arrived. Two uniformed Germans brought each prisoner a small plate of potatoes. Ralph looked at the portion and wondered how long he would have to live on meals like this.

One of the Germans noticed Ralph's limp. The man's name was Martin.

Ralph spoke to him in German. “Any news from outside?”

“Nobody believes what they hear on the radio anymore,” Martin said. “The only thing we know for certain is that there will probably be more Allied planes tonight.”

“And less food tomorrow,” said the other guard.

His name was Steffen. He was a large, broad-chested man.

---

The following day Ralph received his first stack of books from the jail library. Among them was Thomas Mann's The Magic Mountain. Before the week was over, Ralph began asking for another book: a German-English dictionary.

Within his first few days in jail, Ralph learned more about where he had been placed. The previous occupant of his cell had died there. The prisoners around him were awaiting trial, but the bombing of the courthouse meant that no trials were being held. Food was rationed. Everyone was hungry.

“Essentially, we've been forgotten,” Franz said one morning through the bars.

Ralph's breakfast was another small serving of potatoes. He ate everything, including the skins.

---

Ralph continued studying the German-English dictionary he had obtained from the jail library. One of the evening guards noticed and began making fun of him for trying to learn English. Ralph ignored him and kept studying.

He also read whatever books he could get. He returned again to Thomas Mann's The Magic Mountain, a book he had read before the war. Ralph particularly liked Mann's references to music and Beethoven.

Music occasionally found its way into the jail as well. Some of the prisoners sang in their cells. Certain guards allowed it. The evening guard usually stopped them.

Then one night, during a blackout, a prisoner in a nearby cell hanged himself.

The following day Franz told Ralph what little he knew about the man. “He said he had a family in Munich. Nobody knows why he was here. He kept to himself.”

Ralph had thought the man unfriendly. Now he wondered about the family in Munich. He also thought about his own mother. If Ralph died in the jail, would she ever find out what had happened to him?

---

After the suicide, the evening guard continued mocking Ralph's attempts to learn English. “You're never getting out of here,” he told him one night. “You might as well do what he did.”

Ralph went back to his dictionary and continued studying.

---

One day several German soldiers entered the cellblock. They began unlocking doors and ordering prisoners into the corridor. Ralph heard shouting. One prisoner resisted and there was a brief struggle. Then word began moving from cell to cell.

Ralph turned toward Franz. “What is happening?”

Franz had heard it too. “We're being released.”

CONTINUED

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UPROOTED: Part Twelve

Uprooted is a true story about a man with a singular quest: Freedom. This longing for freedom is one of the primary reasons people leave their homelands, often at great personal sacrifice.

Uprooted: The Ralph Kand Story, Part Twelve. Escape

Snow now covered Schruns and the surrounding mountains. The ski resorts remained open, although there were few tourists. When he could, Ralph continued putting his speakers on the balcony. He smoked his black cigarettes, drank vodka and played Beethoven and Sibelius's Finlandia loud enough to carry across the valley.

Meanwhile, he continued longing and looking for a way out.

Ralph had met other Eastern Europeans in Schruns who, like him, wanted to get farther west before the Red Army arrived. Eventually they found a guide who said he could take them through the mountains into Switzerland. The price would take nearly all of Ralph's remaining money but he agreed.

“We have to travel at night,” the guide told them. “Cloud cover is better. When the moon is out, you can see too much on the snow.”

Eleven people were supposed to meet at a lodge on the western edge of town. Nine showed up -- a Latvian family of five, a young Lithuanian couple, Ralph and an older man traveling alone.

“My sisters were afraid,” the older man said. “They're not coming.”

Ralph shook his head and muttered something under his breath.

Their guide was a thin man wearing a white parka. He looked over the group. None of them was dressed in white. “Good thing there's no moon tonight,” he said.

Then he held out his hand toward Ralph.

“What?”

“The others have already paid.”

Ralph took an envelope from his pocket and handed it to him. “It's all there.”

The guide tucked it away. “Time to go.”

Then he looked again at Ralph and his bad leg. “You can do this?”

“I've been dragging this leg around since I was three,” Ralph said. “I can probably climb better than you. And I'm a hell of a skier.”

The guide turned and started up the trail.

---

They climbed through the darkness, stopping occasionally so those in the rear could catch up. The Lithuanian couple had difficulty maintaining the pace.

The children in the Latvian family were young teenagers. When they began talking among themselves, the guide stopped them.

“No talking.”

Eventually they reached a ridge and the guide raised his hand.

“Stay here.”

There was a road ahead. He told them he would go first to make certain it was clear. The others waited among the trees. After a few minutes, the guide appeared between two banks of snow and waved them forward.

“Hurry.”

They crossed the road and entered the trees on the other side.

The climb became steeper. Everyone was breathing harder now, and the stops became more frequent.

“Can we rest?” the Lithuanian man asked.

“Do you want to turn back?” the guide said.

The man said nothing.

“Wait here. There's another road ahead. I'll see if it's clear.”

The guide disappeared up the trail.

The Latvian family huddled together beneath the trees. Ralph stood by himself and began to shiver. He had no parka and wasn't dressed for this kind of cold.

Someone appeared above them. It wasn't the guide. It was a man carrying a rifle. The older man who had come without his sisters turned and broke into a run downhill through the trees. The gun barked twice and the man fell into the snow.

A German soldier shouted at the others. Ralph understood enough German to know what he was saying. There was nowhere to go.

Two more soldiers appeared, ordering the group up toward the ridge where two military vehicles were waiting.

CONTINUED

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UPROOTED: Part Eight  

UPROOTED: Part Nine

UPROOTED: Part Ten

UPROOTED: Part Eleven

Uprooted is a true story about a man with a singular quest: Freedom. This longing for freedom is one of the primary reasons people leave their homelands, often at great personal sacrifice.

Illustration by Grok

Uprooted: The Ralph Kand Story, Part Eleven. Another Dark Day

Chalet in Schruns, Austria

The days grew shorter and the snow became heavier. Ralph's room opened onto a balcony facing the mountains. He had a record player and ran long wires from it to speakers he had placed on his deck. Sometimes he played Beethoven as loudly as he could. He would sit on the balcony with a glass of vodka and listen to the music carry across the valley. In these moments he could think about something other than the war.

---

There had always been pressure at the cement works to put in longer hours. Then an order came down that the accounting records had to be brought up to date. Kapinski was troubled by it.

“What they want is impossible,” he told Ralph.

A short time later, two German officers arrived with instructions from their superiors. After meeting with them, Kapinski returned to the accounting office. Ralph could see that something was wrong.

“You know how far behind we are,” Kapinski said.

“So we're getting more help?”

“Actually, yes.”

Kapinski told him they first had to organize the records so they could be transported somewhere else. Ralph asked where.

Kapinski didn't answer. He told Ralph to be at the office at five the next morning.

---

When Ralph arrived, two German soldiers were waiting for him. They told him to load the boxes he and Kapinski had prepared the day before into a jeep. Ralph climbed into the back seat. Boxes were stacked beside and behind him. They left before daylight.

Neither soldier answered when Ralph asked where they were going.

For more than two hours they drove through the mountains. As daylight came, the terrain gradually changed. Ralph believed they were traveling north. After passing a border checkpoint, he knew they had entered Bavaria.

Eventually they approached a large compound surrounded by walls and barbed-wire fencing. Watchtowers stood at intervals along the perimeter. The jeep crossed railroad tracks and stopped at another checkpoint where the Germans showed their papers. A guard directed them through a gate and along a narrow enclosed roadway. Stopping near a brick building, Ralph and the soldiers unloaded the boxes and carried them inside. The boxes were placed on carts and rolled down a corridor.

They entered a room containing a long table. Several gaunt men in striped prison garb were seated there. Ralph had never seen men who looked like this.

The men stared at him as the boxes were placed on the table. Another cart containing ledger books was brought into the room.

A German officer entered and the soldiers snapped to attention.

The officer told Ralph that the prisoners were Jewish bankers and accountants. They had been assigned to help him bring the records up to date. The work, he said, was important to the German war effort. The men would be given a meal at noon.

Then the soldiers left.

Ralph began opening the boxes. He didn't know where he was. He also didn't know what to say to the prisoners. From their point of view, he had arrived with the German soldiers and was one of them.

They went to work.

---

By noon they had made considerable progress. Food was brought into the room. Ralph thought the portions were small, but the prisoners ate everything they were given.

After a while the room became quiet. Ralph noticed several men looking in his direction. It dawned on him that they weren't looking at him. They were looking at his plate. Ralph had eaten the potato but left the skin.

One of the men spoke. “Aren't you going to eat that?”

“Potato skins are bitter,” Ralph said. “I don't eat them.”

The men continued looking at the plate.

“You want this?”

The man across from Ralph and reached for it. Another man pushed his arm away. Someone sitting beside Ralph grabbed the potato skin first and ate it.

Several of the others cursed him for not sharing it.

Ralph said nothing. He remembered his mother telling him years before not to throw away potato skins.

---

They returned to the ledgers after lunch and worked through the afternoon.

It was late when the German soldiers drove Ralph back to Schruns. He still did not know where they had taken him. Only later did Ralph learn that the place was a sub-camp of the Dachau network.

CONTINUED

Located in the Montafon Valley of Austria's Vorarlberg region, Schruns was famous throughout Europe for its skiing. It was here during this period that Hemingway reworked his breakthrough novel, The Sun Also Rises.

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UPROOTED: Part Eight  

UPROOTED: Part Nine

UPROOTED: Part Ten

Uprooted is a true story about a man with a singular quest: Freedom. This longing for freedom is one of the primary reasons people leave their homelands, often at great personal sacrifice.

Salman Rushdie Brings Fresh Eyes to a Hollywood Classic: The Wizard of Oz

"Now find yourself a place where you won't get yourself into any trouble."
--Auntie Em

* * * 

To my surprise and delight, this week I acquired a copy of Salman Rushdie's little volume about The Wizard of Oz, one of many great books written by various writers for the British Film Institute (BFI). The Nobel laureate begins by declaring this movie to be his very first literary influence, prompting him to write his first short story at the tender age of ten.

I've always know that for many of my generation the story of Dorothy's adventures in the land of Oz are interwoven in various ways with many of our personal life stories. The 1939 film classic did so-so at the box office that year, but with the advent of television in the 1950s it became an annual favorite in a nation filled with young families during the post-war years. As a youth it was a family tradition to watch Saturday Night at the Movies, with many film classics being in the rotation year after year.

Television sets were only black-and-white then, so most of us missed the most amazing feature of the film, the c0ntrast between Kansas -- dusty shades of grey -- and Oz, an explosive pallet of color. Only later, with the advent of color TVs, did we experience the full effect of this magical story. When I went to see it in a theater in college it was a most memorable occasion.

* * *

When Rushdie was contacted to select a film to write about for the BFI Film Classics series, choosing this one was an easy decision, based on the impact it had on his own life. To prepare, he not only studied the film itself and all the anecdotal legends surrounding the making of the movie (eg. Buddy Ebsen, who later became Jed Clampett in The Beverly Hillbillies, was the original scarecrow.) he also read all the L Frank Baum book that the film was based on, and its host of sequels.

A central premise of Rushdie's essay, which in my opinion he successfully defends, is that a driving force of the story is "the inadequacy of adults, even good adults."  Despite Dorothy's anguish regarding the threats of the spinster Miss Gulch, whom we re-encounter in Munchkinland as the Wicked Witch of the West, she's unable to feel safe or at peace because Auntie Em, Uncle Henry and the farmhands (the adults) are taken up with farm business. Her fear of losing her dog Toto impels her to seek refuge elsewhere. At which point Rushdie notes one of the striking insights I'd not considered before. 

At various times throughout my life I've reflected on the incantation Dorothy makes while clicking her ruby slippers at the climax of The Wizard of Oz. "There's no place like home, there's no place like home..." I've even written about this longing for home that resides in most of our hearts. But Rushdie delivers a contrarian pitch, which appears five minutes into this bigger-than-life story. 

Auntie Em has just told Dorothy to find a place where there isn't any trouble, and Dorothy ponders what kind of place that might be. This becomes the backdrop for the most famous song from this most famous movie, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow."

The song speaks of a place where dreams come true and "troubles melt like lemon drops." It ends with the wistful question, "If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow why, oh why, can't I?" 

 

Dorothy sings this song at a time of trouble in her life. The threat of losing something she loves, her precious dog Toto, looms over her. Life doesn't seem fair, but she feels powerless in this situation and decides to run away. 

The National Endowment for the Arts voted "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" as the greatest song of the 20th century. It's not hard to understand why. The song Judy Garland sang as Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz resonates with another of our deepest longings, quite contrary to the longing for home: this world is not my home, my truest home is somewhere else.

"At its beginning, the weaknesses of grown-ups force a child to take control of her own destiny (and her dog's). Thus, ironically, she begins the process of becoming a grown-up herself," Rushdie writes. In short, the movie is a "coming-of-age" genre film, though both spectacular and surreal. 

I was recently reading about the origins of the surrealist art movement of the 1920s and the Surrealist Manifesto by Andre Breton. A significant feature of this movement was its attempt to dive below the surface of the conscious mind into the ethereal subconscious, inspired most significantly by Sigmund Freud's work. Freud purposely published his Interpretation of Dreams in the year 1900 as a means of kicking off the new century with new understandings of the inaccessible deeper layers of the mind. Breton wrote about automatic writing and other techniques to achieve this. Dali's vivid paintings were intentional embodiments of this nether world.

Though there is no evidence that L. Frank Baum's Oz was influenced by Freud, it feels easy to connect the Hollywood version of the story to the notion that Oz may have been a concussion-dream, recycling Kansas faces as Oz characters, especially since it begins and ends in a bed. 

 

* * * 

I've never read the original Oz books, so Rushdie's inquisitive examination of the source material is insightful. For Baum, Kansas is a depressing place. Everything is grey as far as the eye can see. This grey wasteland has taken the sparkle out of Auntie Em's eyes, cheeks and lips and left them a sober grey. Uncle Henry never laughed and was grey, too. What's interesting to me is that Baum's books were written in the first decade of the century, whereas the film was released at the tail end of the Dust Bowl years which coincided with the Great Depression.

It's against this backdrop that Dorothy sings her poignant lament of a place where dreams come true and "troubles melt like lemon drops." It ends with the wistful question, "If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow why, oh why, can't I?" 

No wonder this song became so epic. Who has not, at one time or another, felt this sensation in which fear and hardship prod us to seek escape. (Another digression could be inserted here about the world's migrants who long for freedom and safety, who have envisioned America as such a place. Visit Ellis Island sometime if you are able.)

* * * 

For such a short volume Rushdie's book is packed with anecdotes, insights and thought-provoking observations. Part one, the first sixty pages, features the film itself. There is also a second essay, part two, that describes Rushdie's experience at an auction of Dorothy's ruby slippers.

Of all these things much more can be said. And if able, in another blog post I would like to touch on the significance of Judy Garland at the center of this film. Did you know that Shirley Temple was seriously considered for the role of Dorothy? Did you know that Judy Garland was born in Grand Rapids here in Northern Minnesota as Frances Ethel Gumm? 

To Be Continued

"Somewhere Over the Rainbow."

Duluth’s Theatrical Heritage Is a Treasure Worth Fighting For

Duluth’s theatrical heritage is a legacy of iconic venues like The West Theater and The Alhambra Theater, two theaters that have long stood as cultural lighthouses, illuminating the soul of our West Side community. These aren’t just buildings. They’re the threads that weave our shared history, drawing crowds from far and wide and binding us together in moments of wonder, laughter, and awe. 

I've attended events at the West that brought in fans from the Dakotas to Milwaukee, from Canada to the Twin Cities. To let these theaters fade would be to lose a piece of ourselves—but we have the power to keep them alive.

What Bob Boone has accomplished with the West on a shoestring is nothing short of remarkable, restoring the West Theatre to its 1937 glory: an Art Deco masterpiece, its sleek lines and bold design a magnet for showgoers and neighbors seeking connection. It was a beating heart of Duluth until 1976, when shifting entertainment tides and a recession forced its doors shut. For decades, it slept—silent, but not forgotten. Then, in 2019, it roared back to life, its vintage charm restored, its stage ready for a new generation. This wasn’t just a renovation; it was a resurrection.

From the era of silent films and vaudeville.

Today The Alhambra Theatre next door is on the threshold of becoming another palace of dreams with its lavish façade and opulent halls. At one time vaudeville stars and silver-screen legends lit up its stage, whisking audiences away to realms of imagination. Like The West, it battled the rise of modern media, but today, its restoration is on the cusp of completion. This isn’t mere construction—it’s a promise kept, a vow to reclaim a grandeur that once defined Duluth.

As I see it, the past 40 years the city has given lavish attention to Canal Park, Downtown and the former West End, now known as Lincoln Park or the Craft District. A number of small businesses have planted their seeds here in Spirit Valley, striving to renovate this region of our city. Wussow's, Zenith Books, The West Theatre and the Alhambra (which opened last year) are among many contributing to this effort to bring new life to an important part of town. 

These efforts go beyond bricks and mortar. They’re about safeguarding our artistic soul, reigniting the spark of community. The West and The Alhambra are sanctuaries where art breathes, performances inspire, and culture flourishes—living proof that Duluth’s spirit endures.

But this revival isn’t guaranteed—it needs us. By championing these theaters, we don’t just preserve history; we hand our children and grandchildren the gift of live theater, the thrill of cinema, the joy of gathering in spaces that echo with our past. Will you stand with us?

Uprooted: The Ralph Kand Story, Part Ten. Schruns

By late 1944, as the Red Army advanced westward, refugees were arriving in Schruns and other communities in Austria's Vorarlberg region. Some were ethnic Germans fleeing Eastern Europe. Others were families who had left German and Austrian cities because of Allied bombing. Ralph was one of many people moving west as the war closed in from both directions.

Ralph arrived in Schruns in late October. The town was the main village in Austria's Montafon Valley. Cold rain had been falling for three days. Ralph took refuge in one of the local pubs, partly to get out of the weather and partly to learn what he could about the area.

By the end of his first night, he had learned two things. There would be no easy passage farther west through the Alps. German border patrols guarded the routes. For the time being, this was as far as he could go. He also learned that he needed a job. Without work, he could not obtain the documents or food allotment he needed to live.

Finding a room was easier. Schruns had been a ski resort before the war, but tourism had fallen sharply. There were plenty of rooms available.

Ralph rented a small room in the rear of a chalet on the north side of the valley. It faced the mountains. The room was clean, and Frau Marsden, who ran the house, seemed friendly enough. For the moment, Ralph had somewhere to live.

There were several places in town where Ralph could meet people and find out what was going on. The German he had learned during the occupation of Estonia was again proving useful. He particularly liked a pub called the Blue Moon.

The Germans operated a cement works near Schruns, and many people in town worked there in one capacity or another. Some were regulars at the Blue Moon.

Two men Ralph came to know were a Frenchman named Carpentier and a Czech named Kapinski. 

Carpentier had been a road builder in Paris. Several years before the war he had married an Austrian woman. When the war began, she wanted to return to Austria to be near her aging mother, and Carpentier came with her.

Kapinski was an accountant from outside Prague. German officials had recruited him for work connected with the hydroelectric development in the area. At first he couldn't understand why anyone would build such a large project in this remote valley. Once he arrived, the reason became apparent. The mountains and steep changes in elevation made the area well suited for hydroelectric power.

Ralph had never intended to remain in Schruns. He still wanted to go west, but for now he had nowhere else to go.

One evening Kapinski and Carpentier saw him enter the Blue Moon. “Ah, the Estonian,” Kapinski said, waving him over.

Ralph pulled up a chair.

Both men were considerably older than he was. They liked Ralph's energy and his stories. They also discovered that he could drink without becoming foolish.

“I've decided to stay for a while,” Ralph said. “Now I need a job.”

“What can you do?” Kapinski asked.

“I'm a fast typist. And I'm good with numbers.”

Kapinski nodded.

“We need help with paperwork at the cement works. I'm in the accounting office.”

“He's the head accountant,” Carpentier added.

Ralph looked across the room and spotted a waitress.

“Fräulein!” he called. “Drinks for my friends.”

“Irma,” Kapinski said. “Her name is Irma.”

It was good to be working again. There was more paperwork than the staff could handle. Many of the younger and healthier German men had been sent into military service, leaving fewer people to do the administrative work.

Ralph never learned why Kapinski had not been drafted. Eventually he noticed that Carpentier was missing part of one hand. Carpentier had become so accustomed to concealing it that Ralph had not noticed at first.

Ralph's room was a little more than a mile from the cement works office, and he usually walked. The office itself was crowded with paperwork. Boxes stood against the walls. Papers covered desks and other available surfaces.

German soldiers occasionally appeared to make certain the work kept moving. Sometimes Ralph and the others were ordered to stay late. Even then they couldn't keep up.

“We don't need more accountants,” Carpentier said one evening at the Blue Moon. “We need shredders.” Then he laughed. “Maybe all this paperwork we're not finishing is damaging the German war effort.”

The office was also cold. “Why do they keep the place at barely fifty degrees?” Ralph asked. “If it gets any colder, I'll have to chip the ice off my coffee.”

“They're saving fuel,” Kapinski said. “Heat takes energy. Last year we sometimes wore gloves while we worked.”

Carpentier shook his head.

“You're lucky you're not working on the hydroelectric project. Those men are outside from morning until late at night.”

Ralph had seen the project. Sometimes during his lunch break he walked over to watch the construction. Men poured concrete and worked around large pipes, machinery and equipment. Ralph was particularly interested in the size of the pipelines and the amount of work underway. Even this late in the war, the Germans were still building.

CONTINUED

EdNote: Ernest Hemingway went skiing in Schruns, Austria, during the winters of 1924–1925 and 1925–1926 with his first wife, Hadley Richardson, and their son Bumby. Located in the Montafon Valley of Austria's Vorarlberg region, Schruns was famous throughout Europe for its skiing. It was here during this period that Hemingway reworked his breakthrough novel, The Sun Also Rises.

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UPROOTED: Intro and Part One

UPROOTED: Part Two

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UPROOTED: Part Five
UPROOTED: Part Six

UPROOTED: Part Seven   

UPROOTED: Part Eight  

UPROOTED: Part Nine

Uprooted is a true story about a man with a singular quest: Freedom. This longing for freedom is one of the primary reasons people leave their homelands, often at great personal sacrifice.