Michael Vanderhout: February 2014

Saturday, February 22, 2014

Now you can see and hear my dad and his family in this email from the 1940's

The majority of you have been receiving the stories for over five years now. In this time, you have become very familiar with my dad, my dear Aunt Pleuna; my quirky Uncle Frits, the gregarious Uncle Marius; my grandparents, the other relatives and all of their stories of how they endured the Nazi occupation of Holland in World War II.

Beginning this week, you now have the opportunity to see them in film and hear their actual voices, from back in the late 1940's. The film is silent footage of my dad and his family from Christmas Day, 1947, two months before he set sail for the New World. We will begin this week hearing the sweet voice of Aunt Pleuna from a 78 rpm recording that the family made in 1949, in commemoration of my parent's January 13^th wedding that year. I dubbed the 1949 audio into the 1947 film. So, this week, we hear Aunt Pleuna and her son Arie-Jan along with 45 seconds of footage. Next week, we will hear the voices of Uncle Frits, Uncle Marius and Aunt Aida. The warm wishes and regards to my parents are spoken in both Dutch and in English.

I deliberately kept the attachments small so that it would not be too big to send to all of you via email. All you need do is click on the box that reads Aunt Pleuna and..., turn up the volume and wait and then click to open it and please be patient because it may take a little while, and enjoy!

Met de beste wensen voor u,

(trans: With the very best wishes to you,)

Michael van der Hout

(from left to right, from the film- Cousin Arie-Jan, Aunt Pleuna, my dad and Aunt Aida)

THE ONE WHO WALKED BACK

Jogchem “Jack” van der Hout was warm and gregarious. He had an outgoing and animated personality, and was well liked by his customers, who knew him as “Happy Jack”. Jack immigrated to this country from the Netherlands as a young man, after surviving years of Nazi oppression. He married a pretty Irish girl from Chicago, raised four children and bought a series of homes. Jack loved sharing amusing anecdotes of growing up in the Netherlands, before the War, and of his impressions and encounters in his new homeland, the United States of America. Yet some things he didn’t discuss very often, those painful things he didn’t care to talk about. They were evidenced in the faded scars across his back, the terror dreams that bedeviled him at night, and the lost moments of heightened alertness and anxiety. Like many survivors of World War II, Jack made little mention of any of it. He chose, instead, to move forward with his life, putting the horrors behind him. Occasionally, though, he would divulge a brief episode of his experience that would surprise everyone. Then, he would say nothing more about it, and life went on. Not until the last ten years of his life, then he wanted to talk about all of it, to explain his internment by the Nazis for his activities in the Dutch Resistance, and all that he endured between the years 1940 and 1945. He chose his youngest son, Michael, to hear his stories, and to write it all down, for posterity. Michael and Jack spent long afternoons and evenings together. Jack sorted through shoe boxes of old photos and documents, and soberly shared what he kept inside all those years. There were poignant accounts of escaping house arrest in 1943, enduring brutal interrogation six months later; sitting handcuffed in a dark bunker cell of a Dutch Concentration Camp for eight weeks; then being transported to harsh slave labor in a camp in Bavaria, from summer through one of the coldest winters in European History. The stories were amazing. There were deaths, many deaths, and many narrow escapes. Two days before Germany surrendered, Jack escaped from Bavaria one last time, and was later freed by a German soldier who got the drop on him and could have killed him. His fragile freedom survived a hellish 440-mile trek across war-torn Germany, Belgium and Holland, to his home. After Jack's death, Michael took Jack's stories, photos and memorabilia, and began to write vignettes, which he sent to friends by email. Over the years, his email list grew and, ultimately, his stories gained the attention of the local newspaper, in an article that was syndicated. The vignettes are integrated in Michael’s new book, The One Who Walked Back, telling Jack's saga. There is Jack’s childhood encounter with the pivotal figure of World War I, his first visit to America, a year as an exchange student in Illinois and his return to Holland before Nazi occupation. The reader learns of Jack’s encounters with the invading and occupying Nazis, his adventures in the Dutch Resistance, the captures, escapes and incarceration and release near the end of the War, and his good deeds, along the way. Then, it tells of his happier life, in America, and the lives of others on both sides of the pond, as well as chance encounters with notable figures from Adolf Hitler, to Bing Crosby, from Perry Como to Lawrence Welk. The stories provide a rare perspective on life during the War, as well as insight into the personal affect the Nazi Occupation took on the lives of his family members and fellow Hollanders. The One Who Walked Back is a kind of history, with a special personal touch. In the end, it is a happy story of a life well lived, despite significant obstacles.

MOVING TRIBUTE (May 17, 2019)

Its façade ornamented with the effigies of the saints, apostles and prophets of the Old and New Testament, transformed in style from early Gothic to high Gothic - this the result of the passage of the 182 years it took to build Notre Dame. It is a testament to dedication, vision and selfless devotion. This elegant cathedral that towers over a great city is not just art or some centuries-old religious museum. Rather, this elaborate structure, its ribbed groined vaulted ceilings reaching toward heaven, is a holy place, where spirits dwell, now left wondering, waiting at the fallen altar, now surrounded by felled, charred timbers. The crowds gathered around the burning Notre Dame and wept as night fell, their hearts heavy as they prayed and sang “Ave Maria,” and the glowing ash and embers lit the night sky. Poignantly, like Our Lady, forever bound to this earth, forever mourning the death of her son, the 870-year-old cathedral, is among the most moving tributes to our Judeo-Christian culture, blessing us, calling out to us, mournfully. Are we listening? Michael van der Hout Southeast Portland