And yet more Berlin Wall . . .

Photograph by Dr. Friedhelm Pedde

In response to my posting of the Fall of the Berlin Wall article by my cousin Dr. Friedhelm Pedde, I got a very nice personal account of a visit to Berlin long ago from an old friend, Paul Miniato. With his permission, I am posting it below. If any other Atavist reader has similar stories, please send them along and I will post them.

Here is Paul Miniato's account of his visit to Berlin:

In the summer of 1972 I visited Germany on a university exchange program -- I had a job as a waiter at the a hotel in Schwangau in the south of the country. As a 21-year-old student, the job helped me practice the German I had been learning at UVic.

As a new 'libertarian' -- but one who had never met another in person -- I was constantly on the lookout for opportunities to discuss the politics of freedom. Some of my earliest discussions took place with the guests of the Hotel. The first self-avowed libertarian I ever met was a US serviceman stationed in Nuernburg -- when we met, he took me to the windswept deserted stadium that had hosted Hitler's rallies, but that's another story.

At the end of the summer, we students assembled again for a three-day trip to Berlin. My visit to the Wall turned out to be one of those days that I never forgot. During the day we visited a "museum of escapes" that documented many of the successful attempts that had been made to get over, under or otherwise through the wall. I remember one exhibit showing a van which had been "armoured" to make a run through a checkpoint -- body cavities filled with concrete, windows replaced by sheet metal plates filled with drill holes. (They made it -- with some casualties I think -- but after that the checkpoints were littered with tank stops to prevent future trips like theirs.)

Late in the day, I found myself on an observation deck that had been built on the west side of the wall to allow you to look over. There we could see the sites your cousin has photographed, only the dogs were still running and the guards still patrolling. On that platform was a former East German guard who had made the escape -- we spent much of the evening into the wee hours listening to his accounts of the life of the guards. I also learned that the former guards were actually the sponsor of the museum of escapes.

By that time, most of the escapees past the wall itself were the guards themselves, usually in pairs. Apart from everything else to stop the regular fugitive, the guards had special instructions. They were rotated constantly so that two guards never served more than once together. Each of them was under orders to shoot the other should they attempt to go over. Even broaching the subject would be cause for instant arrest. Failure to stop your partner would be a serious offense, if not a capital one. Still, an amazing number of guards were able to suss each other out in a few short hours, and make the break together.

It was an evening that had quite an effect on me -- I can still feel the electric atmosphere as we stood in the dark and stared over the concrete and listened to these stories.

The following day, some of us actually went over into East Berlin. I was with a group of three who spent hours having our passports checked before we were allowed to enter. After the night before, it was a daunting crossing, but I guess we figured that as Canadians we were "off limits". And I remember the feeling of how gray it was in East Berlin, and seeing all the still-unrepaired ruins from WW2 -- none of those on the West by '72. I was struck by how all the pedestrians stopped and stood for a red light at a crossing on a relatively narrow street -- when there was not a vehicle in sight in any direction. And we couldn't even buy an orange or a banana -- as students, we'd lived on fruit stands in the West.

Coming back at the end of the day, I wanted to bring back some East German coins. Technically this was illegal -- you were supposed to spend or return the currency you were forced to convert at lousy rates upon entry. So I stuffed the coins into my shoe. A minor crime, I'm sure -- but as a young student I was nervous enough -- and as the truth be told, it probably wasn't the smartest thing I ever did. Still, I didn't give myself away and "smuggled" out the contraband.

That was the last time I saw the Wall, although we have a small piece of it in a leather bag here at home. Bought it when it came down. The Wall always symbolized for me the true meaning of freedom -- or rather its absence. I must have mentioned it often enough. When it finally came down, a friend of mine called me from overseas to congratulate me. (Not that I had a lot to do with it -- although I always like to think that helping ISIL send copies of books by Rothbard, Mises, Hayek and Rand behind the Iron Curtain had played some small role.)

It's on my list to revisit Berlin some day. Perhaps that old observation platform is still there and I can stand on it and watch the kids from both "sides" playing in the old "death strip".

In freedom,

Paul

More Berlin Wall . . .

Photograph by Dr. Friedhelm Pedde, 1989

In the photograph above, excited West Berliners congregate at and climb onto the Berlin Wall in November of 1989. Days or weeks earlier, this would have been extremely dangerous. Enforcement of prohibition of travel between East and West Berlin stopped November 9, 1989. To read all about it, click on the link below for an article written by my cousin Dr. Friedhelm Pedde, an archeologist in Berlin who witnessed the events first hand as they unfolded.

The Fall of the Berlin Wall - by Dr. Friedhelm Pedde

The Fall of the Berlin Wall - 20th Anniversary

Demolishing the Berlin Wall the hard way. Photograph by Dr. Friedhelm Pedde

The link below is to a PDF document that contains something near and dear to me. I hope you will download it, read it, share it, spread it around far and wide.

I was in Berlin in 1992, not quite three years after the Berlin Wall came down. I spoke with former East Germans who were still bristling at the fact that they had been kept isolated from the West, deprived of social and economic freedom and opportunity, always facing the certainty that they would be shot if they were to attempt to flee to the west to improve their prospects or reunite with family.

Next Monday, November 9th, marks the 20th anniversary of the fall of the wall. I asked my cousin, Dr. Friedhelm Pedde, an archeologist in Berlin, to write an article about the fall of the wall. His perspective and some personal anecdotes are included, as are some personal photographs taken by him in the days after the momentous event. I am grateful for his time and effort.

Freedom is the most precious thing we can enjoy. Let's protect it, and to the extent that it has been taken from us, wherever we might reside, let's take it back.

I welcome comments on the article. I will pass them on to my cousin.

The Fall of the Berlin Wall

Julius Pedde, 1904 - 1998

It's hard to imagine that my dad, were he still alive, would be 105 on September 7th, this coming Monday. Yikes. Had I been born when he was in his twenties, I would be in my eighties now instead of a mere (!) 64. How the world has changed since my dad was born on September 7, 1904.

I don't think my dad ever really knew what to make of me. We disagreed on just about everything -- especially religion and man's place in the universe, but he was never anything but gentle, consistent, and helpful. I still miss him, although he died at age 94 in December of 1998.

Like just about everyone in the last generation of Peddes, my father lived a turbulent life. The upper picture shows my father in Poland with his first wife, Emma, in 1932 or so. The little girl in Emma's lap is my half-sister Wanda. The girl beside Emma is her daughter from her first husband, who had died and left Emma a widow. Before Emma herself died a couple of years later, she and my father had lost a son named Bruno who was born in 1933 and lived less than one year.

After Emma died, my dad took care of Wanda by himself. The relatives of Wanda's step-sister took custody of her as it made no sense to them to let her stay with my father and Wanda. In 1937, my father married my mother. It is said that he asked Wanda to make a choice between two women he was interested in and she chose my mother. I guess I have her to thank for making me possible. Thanks, Wanda.

In the second picture above, Wanda stands behind my father and mother, sometime in 1944. The two boys are Erwin and Albert. I never met either; they died in 1945 before I was born.

I don't know how my father and mother, and everyone else who endured such turmoil in their lives, coped with it all. All I know is that I had a great childhood, with loving parents, and they never whined or complained about anything. When times were tough, they sucked it up and battled through until things got better again. That is one reason why I am so disgusted whenever I hear any 'woe is me' talk from anyone, especially if it is accompanied by petitioning and pressuring our political masters to take from the rest of us to make their lives easier.

My parents and grandparents took care of themselves and their families. When times were tough, family and friends helped. They didn't resort to political extortion and expectation of hand-outs. They were proud and self-sufficient. We could, and should, learn a lot from their example. Your family, dear reader, was likely no different. The notion of entitlement to someone else's efforts and money was absent. They were strong and independent. That is a philosophy and behaviour we should emulate; instead many of us are weak and dependent. And shameless, too.

Dad: Thanks for setting a great example for Wanda and Alfred and me. I hope that I may do the same for my own son. I promise to be strong and to follow, as best I can, your example.

Peddes Everywhere

A bunch of Pedde cousins and my son Zach, Gananoque, Ontario, August 2009

I'm back in my office after a whirlwind week that included a family reunion in Gananoque, Ontario, and a leisurely detour through upper New York State to get back home. Now, it's time to catch up on all the work that inevitably piles up when I am away.

The family reunion was great. Some of us hadn't seen others for many years. My brother hadn't seen one cousin for decades and had never met another. My son met two of my cousins for the first time.

My cousin Friedhelm, an archeologist from Berlin, did a presentation on the origins of the Peddes. I can't remember much of it because there was so much detail, but the presentation was fascinating. Friedhelm has promised to formalize the information so that I can put it on the www.pedde.net website for other Peddes to enjoy.

We had a truly great time. We talked, laughed, jammed with guitars that my brother and I had brought along, and the time went very quickly. Occasions like this allow some introspection and I realized in discussion with others that I had three Pedde cousins named Horst. What are the odds? One Horst is son of my uncle Gustav who disappeared in World War II. Another Horst is son of my uncle Eduard who died at age 98 in Kelowna, B.C., a year or so ago. The final Horst is son of my aunt Wanda who lived in Poland until she died several years ago. There are two Richards, sons respectively of uncle Eduard and aunt Wanda. There are three cousins who have 'fried' (Friede means peace in German) as part of their names. There is Wilfried, son of my aunt Maria, Friedhelm, son of my uncle Adolf, and of course yours truly, Siegfried. The desire for peace was strong among rational Germans during and after World War II.

We are planning another Pedde reunion for 2012, probably in some part of Germany significant to the family. If we are lucky, perhaps my sister Wanda, and some cousins from Poland and Germany who didn't make it to this reunion might attend.

It will be fun.

Pedde Family Reunion, August 22, 2009

I am taking a week off. I know, how dare I, with so much to do, not least pointing out to everyone who will listen that we are descending pell mell into a hell of economic misery, thanks to misguided and incompetent bozos in various levels of government. Worse, while they are at the wheel, it is we, the electorate, who without much prompting have our foot on the accelerator. What's wrong with us? Are we all masochists at heart, not happy unless everyone is reduced to the same level of misery as everyone else?

Maybe I need a week off to get my mind off this stuff. I will be in Gananoque, Ontario, for a few days, at a family reunion I have put together. My cousins Friedhelm, Gunter, and Horst from Germany, cousins Richard and Horst from Texas, and my brother Alfred and sister Wanda from Ontario will all hopefully be there. Some of our kids will be there as well, in particular my brother's kids Jasmine, Amber, Jordan and Jessiah, my own son Zachary, and my sister's daughter Rita. It should be fun.

I put together a huge poster for the event, a smaller version of which is displayed above. I love looking at old photographs. They remind me that the human race has been around before my generation and will in all likelihood continue to exist after I am gone. I can't see how, given our propensity for collective stupidity and a seemingly total abdication of common sense and personal responsibility, but maybe things truly do move in cycles and those laudable and currently absent qualities will return again.

I sure hope so.

Happy Birthday, Zach!

It seems that lately I am writing nothing but birthday posts. Yesterday was my son's 17th birthday. Happy Birthday, Zach.

A child's teenage years can be tough for everyone, kids and parents alike. A teenager knows everything. Nothing is tentative. Everything is known with dead certainty. I know, I was a teenager myself once, many, many, many years ago. If I was ever insensitive or unbending or just plain obnoxious to my parents, I would like to offer overdue apologies. Really.

The photos shown above are of my son and taken long ago. Look at those poses. Do they suggest that he might be directing some lesser mortals to do his bidding? I can't remember the occasions, but have to wonder.

All kidding aside, I love my son, am grateful to have him, and wish him a long and happy life.

Another !*&%?! Milestone

(Yours truly at age five in 1950, with my brother Alfred)

Tomorrow, I will have attained the ripe old age of sixty-four. My staff treated me to a birthday cake at lunchtime and presented me with a nice birthday card. One of them thoughtfully included this in the card:

"Will you still need me
Will you still feed me
When I'm sixty-four?"

Yes, Ted, I will still need you, even when you too are an antique like me, aged sixty-four. And like you, I remember that song, recorded by the Beatles way back in the 1960s.

Do I plan on retiring next year at this time when I turn sixty-five? No. I really don't ever plan on retiring. I handed day-to-day operations of my main companies over to a management team in 1988, when I was only forty-three years old. I had originally intended to take it easier, travel, smell the roses, and all that. I don't think those notions lasted more than a few weeks. I like to be active. I like to have a place to go every day. I like what I do and I like my employees. They are a great bunch and I am lucky to have them. I now spend most of my time working on things that are fun and interesting, like the Roca Milagro project in Panama.

We live in interesting times. I believe that we are due for a time of social upheaval and financial collapse, beyond anything we have seen so far. Do I want it to happen? No. With a family history as filled with mayhem as my parents endured in their lifetimes, I don't want my immediate family or anyone I know to suffer similarly. Is there anything we can do to stop what I believe is coming. I wish there was, but I don't think so.

I am grateful that I live in Canada. My family was welcomed into Canada when we arrived from Germany on board the S. S. Scythia in 1949. I was not yet four years old. We assimilated, worked hard, prospered, and became Canadians. Canada is a great country.

I am glad that Canada has not yet followed completely the footsteps of our southern neighbours and that our goverments have not indulged in an orgy of spending and unrealistic promises that will be impossible to keep. Of course, it may still happen. We still have relative economic stability and I hope things stay that way.

I have always been an optimist at heart and believe in the strength of individual human resolve. As long as we do not completely delegate our responsibilities to various levels of government, we will survive and eventually things will get better. If we follow the path set by the American congress and president, we too will be screwed.

Dear Canada: Thank you for putting up with me for the sixty years that I have lived here. I am often quick to point out things that aren't quite what they should be, but I am also quick to acknowledge what is good and positive.

Here's looking ahead to many more years in this great country!

My mother, Alma Pedde

On July 17, 1914, my mother Alma Pedde was born. Today, on July 17, 2009, she would have been 95 years old. She died at age 88 on July 28, 2002.

My mother was a bright, talented, perceptive person. She was born in the wrong place, at the wrong time, under the wrong circumstances, into a world that was unrelentingly cruel to her and her family. Yet, she was optimistic and forgiving all her life. I have written elsewhere about our family history and won't repeat myself here. For anyone who can read German and who might be curious, please read my mother's history, or my father's, both penned by my mother at my request. Some of her 165 or so poems, universally positive and optimistic, can be seen here.

Back in the 1970s or so, I had a silver brooch designed for my mother, pictured below:


The eight jewels are the birthstones of my mother Alma, my father Julius, and their children: Wanda, Edgar, Erwin, Albert, Siegfried (me) and Alfred. Wanda was born in 1931 and is still alive and well. Edgar lived only a few months in 1938. Albert lived from January 6, 1942 to March 2, 1945. Erwin lived from April 19, 1944 to February 17, 1945. I was born in 1945 and my brother Alfred was born in 1949.

My mother is gone now, but her spirit and sense of fairness live on in her family. And her brooch now resides with me. It will be passed on to subsequent generations. And so will her genes and the memories she left with us.

Happy birthday, mom.

Actually, it's greener on OUR side of the fence!

(Click image to enlarge)

It's May. It is beginning to rain more in Panama. I like the rainy season. Often, all it means is that there is a downpour for a while and then the sun comes out and everything smells fresh and is bathed in sunlight again. Sometimes, it is overcast all day but is still warm and pleasant. If you are past the age when you like to splash barefoot in mud puddles, what do you do when it rains? You go shopping. You meet friends in a restaurant or bar. You stretch out in a hammock with a good book. You stare off into the distance and reflect on your past and future and thank your lucky stars for what you have.

I may be 63 years old myself, but I am just a big kid at heart. If you join my partners and me at Roca Milagro one day, you may just see me walking around in the pouring rain with a silly grin on my face. I may even be barefoot, you never know. Life is too short not to enjoy and to experience the simple, everyday things that often go unnoticed during our more stressful career years.

The view in the photo at the top of this post is from one of my personal lots at Roca Milagro and yes, it was taken during a previous rainy season. Isn't it wonderful how green everything is? The view in this photo is towards Volcan Baru but views in all directions are beautiful, from every single building lot in the development.

We're selling building lots now, folks, and prices are still low as we finish off our roads and services. Take advantage of the low prices. Want to live a perfect life, and like me to pretend you're a kid again? Join us. You'll be glad you did.

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