"Why are you standing on the bed ?" I asked my daughter."Oh. I am looking for something to read," she said, scanning the bookshelf. Pulling out a book, her voice sounded surprised.

Patricia was scanning the books in one of our bedrooms at Lake Tahoe.

"Look at this, the title of the book is "Metall', but it's misspelled. I would not spell metal with two 1's, right?"

"Look closer," I answered, "this book is in German. Metall' is the same word in English only spelled differently. If you remember enough German, you should read the chapter on 'Aluminum1. It is the story of your great-grandfather. He discovered how to extract pure aluminum from bauxite through electrolysis. And that was instrumental in building blimps and airplanes, since aluminum is lightweight and durable. It enabled Count Zeppelin to build his first blimp "Zeppelin" at Lake Constance, close to the waterfalls of the Rhine River in Schaffhausen where the first factory was located."

Patti seemed interested and browsed through the book. Then, with an exasperating look on her face, she mumbled. "That has too many technical words in it; I would have to look up every third word. Please tell me the story. Better yet, why don't you and Dad write your memoirs. We all would like to know more about your ancestors and your lives."

I thought for a moment: That would be quite a job My parents died when I was ten. At that age you just don't ask questions about your ancestors. I would have to dig out the facts from relatives in Germany.

"Please do! I think even my brothers would rather have your memoirs instead of a Christmas present for the next few years."

A nice way to put us on the spot, I thought, but we really owe it to them. Where would I start? How much do I really remember? I recall my mother walking with a cane. Later on she was mostly bedridden. It was not until she died that I heard she suffered from multiple sclerosis.

Even so handicapped, her spirit was not broken. She always found ways to keep herself and us children busy. My father let her believe that she ran the household when in fact he held the reins tightly in his hands. He was very disciplined. I still remember a large sheet of paper hanging beside the kitchen door. It displayed the menu for the whole month There were always at least two dishes which he himself hated. Everyone was aware of it. He served himself a good helping and pretended to eat with relish. But he expected that we do the same, eating the helpings he gave us without complaint. I almost choked on carrots, but I had to eat every bite of them.

My father's family history was printed in a booklet, with the family crest on the title page. His family had settled a couple of hundred years ago in Baden-Baden, a famous spa in the Black Forest The first known forefather had come from Switzerland and was a shoemaker. His family consisted of innkeepers and hotel owners, only my father had become a surgeon and moved south to the University town of Freiburg.

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Martin Kiliani with his wife Elli, sons
Walther and Erwin, daughter Fanny, Irmgard's Mother

This booklet aroused my mother's curiosity. She was raised with two younger brothers by an uncle, her father's brother. Since her father had died when she was barely ten. Her mother died a few months later. The family had lived in Schaffhausen, on the Swiss side of the Rhine waterfalls. The factory needed the water power to create the electricity needed to produce aluminum. My mother's father, Martin Kiliani, the chemist ,who discovered this process, became the technical director of the joint German-Swiss enterprise. Gifted in many other ways, he was also a poet and photographer, who with his musician wife, Elbe, led a happy family life. At the age of thirty-six he made a business trip to Munich to initiate a patent for his discovery. It never materialized. He was found dead in his hotel room, and the diagnosis of a heart attack was never questioned. When his wife died shortly after that, the children were told, she had died of grief. The word breast cancer was never mentioned in front of the children.

My mother decided to find some relatives from her mother's side so that she too could contribute a family history She wrote to several churches and city archives in the vicinity of the Main river. One distant cousin of her mother was discovered. Immediately she invited her and cabled her the train fare. My mother was delighted to hear about her family and the cousin, old lady, loved being honored and entertained. She stayed for a month, to be followed thereafter by her son, an opera singer without any engagements. He was short and heavy and behaved like a star, but he catered to my mother with his endless singing and piano concerts. My sister Susi and I joked about him and snickered when -we had to listen to him sing.

The genealogy made some progress and my mother was very happy about it. One day an old photo of a duke arrived. He was dressed in hunting gear, posing with his rifle and hunting dog. His hat adorned with a big feather and his enormous chest decorated with many medals, impressed our mother. The picture was framed and proudly displayed as "our ancestor" beside her desk. On the other hand, she did not dare to discuss him publicly for fear of embarrassment, when she found out that his daughter, who really was the newly discovered great-grandmother, had been born out of wedlock to the duke and a French actress, who had left the baby behind. He gave the child to his castle's caretaker couple to raise and they adopted her.

This was enough to prevent my mother from printing her genealogy.

I discussed the project of writing the story of with our lives with Jürgen. He also thought it was a worthwhile undertaking, and we decided to enlist at Saddleback college and take a course in creative writing. We both had never kept a diary and have to rely exclusively on our memory. This is our story.

© Irmgard & Jürgen Otto 1993 All rights reserved