The German Corner
by Barb Ruehl

I don't remember Grandpa Ruehl, Dad's father. The few things I know about Grandpa have been passed to me by relatives and friends. Knowing these stories could have been lost forever gives me a need to write them down, not for me, but for my younger sister and for her son. I've seen pictures of Grandpa and me together, reading story books. I have a vague recollection of standing on a chair in Grandma's kitchen, clutching the heavy black receiver in both hands, looking down at the dial of the phone as I spoke to Grandpa. Somehow, I know he was in the hospital at that time. Yet, I don't remember his words, or his voice. I only remember laughter.

It's fitting that I remember Grandpa's laughter, because he laughed a lot. Friends often describe his hokey, silly catch phrases. For example, if someone pointed a finger at him, he'd say, "Don't point that dangerous thing at me. It has a nail at the end of it." Another of his favorites has become a family tradition. Whenever a child asks where an object is without looking for it first, they are told, "Look with your eyes, and not your mouth."

Grandpa also used humor when he was in frustrating situations. One evening while my grandparents and parents were playing cards, a woman dialed my grandparent's number by mistake, and asked to order a pizza. Grandpa explained that she had a wrong number. A minute later the phone rang again, and once more Grandpa politely explained that she had misdialed. He was equally polite, when she called a third time. But, the next time the phone rang, Grandpa answered, "Tony's Pizza!" and 'took' the woman's order. He even suggested she order a couple of sodas! Then, he returned to his pinochle game.

Other memories shared with me include Grandpa's fluent German. I became fascinated with the language, and was determined to learn to speak "auf Deutsch." I knew that, had Grandfather lived, he would have taught me the language himself.

Yet, no one could seem to remember any of Grandpa's catch phrases in German. When I found a page in Highlights magazine with German words, and learned to say, "Das Klingel ist kaput," or "The doorbell is broken," I was ecstatic! I was simply waiting for the day when OUR Klingel would be kaput, and I would be Ready. Unfortunately, that never happened. When I signed up for my freshman year of high school, in grandpa's memory I included German I on the schedule, even though my best friend, Anne, had warned me about Frau Tay, the teacher. After all, Anne was a terrific story teller, but she always embellished the truth a bit, I figured.

I figured wrong. Frau Tay was worse than Anne's description. Over the course of four years, we never followed a lesson plan. Mostly, my friends and I played music trivia games in German class. I did learn a little German vocabulary, but no grammar. We all learned the art of being as inconspicuous as possible, because Frau Tay could be quite abusive.

She laid in wait, pretending to be involved with paperwork at her desk. Just when I would innocently ask my friends (in English), "Who sang, 'She Loves You?'" she dove, hand clenched into a claw, and dug her talons into the back of my neck. Prey firmly in hand, she shook my head from side to side, back and forth, shrieking, "Auf Deutsch, Bitte!" In German, please! With tears in my eyes, I slumped in my chair, trying to shrug my way free. I desperately tried to choke out my trivia question in German, "Um.. Wer hat 'Sie Liebt Dich' gesang?" She barked out one more "Auf Deutsch!" before tossing me aside, and looking for her next victim. It made for an interesting four years of classes.

It was not until I went on a tour of Germany and Austria that I learned I could speak the words correctly. Unfortunately, there are not a lot of times in real life when someone points to a sign and says, "Read this aloud." In situations where I had to formulate a multi-word reply (or God forbid, multiple sentences) my lack of grammar took its toll. Even though people could not tell I was a Chicagoan from my pronunciation, they knew I was an American, from my lack of grammar. When I attempted to purchase stamps for my postcards, using German, the clerk didn't even have to ask to where I intended to mail the cards.

I was able to fool some people. One afternoon several from my group were on a walk, and we became disoriented. I saw a couple nearby, deep in conversation. They had on hiking boots, rucksacks, and even the traditional hiking shorts or lederhosen. They looked as if they had just strolled in off an Alp. I composed my question in my mind before walking up to them. (Excuse me, please. Is that Heidelberg street?) Then, I used my most precise pronunciation, "Entschuldigung Sie Mir, bitte. Ist das Heidelberg Strasse?" The couple looked at one another, and then back at me before the woman answered, "I'm sorry, we don't speak German." My friends burst into laughter and I explained to the couple that I was an American, practicing my German. They assured me that I sounded like a German to them. Boy, maybe I WAS making Grandpa proud.

I didn't have time to get cocky over this triumph. A day or two later, we were in Innsbruck, Austria. There was a huge celebration for the 1000th anniversary of the founding of the city, with an incredible parade. Beer was cheap and plentiful, and everyone seemed to be trying to outdo the next person in his celebration. I accompanied a friend to a public restroom, located down some steps from the street. As we left the restroom, we were surrounded by a number of young men with celebration heavy on their breath. They slurred their words to us between hiccups. I could not understand what they were saying, but between the leers and waggling eyebrows, I realized that this was a conversation for which German class had not prepared me.

One accoster in particular was more aggressive than the others. As my friend and I started up the stairs to street level and safety, this man stuck his face in front of mine and released a string of German. I fumbled for words. I knew plenty in English that seemed appropriate, and I may have whispered a couple under my breath. As this man loomed nearer, I said the only German words that came to mind: "Dumme Ganzen." The man's half-closed eyes opened wide as his eyebrows shot up, and his mouth snapped shut. Clearly, I had scored a direct hit. Then, he burst into laughter. All of our assailants fell over one another in laughter, as my friend and I trotted up the stairs. At the top of the flight, my friend turned back to look at the men, some now doubled over, clutching their mid-sections. Turning to me, she asked, "What did you SAY?"

"I don't know," I replied. "It was something from a page of retorts that Frau Tay gave us. Um. let's see. Dumme would mean dumb or -- Oh, no. I called them silly geese." My friend and I hurried back to our group.

On my flight back to the States, I reflected on four years of horror in my German classes, as well as on my pathetic attempts to use German in Deutschland. So much for feeling closer to Grandpa Ruehl. I could not imagine it ever happening now.

After returning home, I found a piece of cardboard that my mom had pulled of a carton of German candies. I asked why she had kept it. She pointed to some printing. "Read that to me," she directed

. "Haribo macht Kinder froh," I read. "What does it mean?" "It means that candy made by the Haribo company makes kids happy. Kinder froh is happy children. Why?"

"When you were a toddler, and Grandpa Ruehl walked in the door with a package, you would always ask, 'What's in the bag, Grandpa?' He would crouch down and hug you as he answered, 'Kinder froh, Liebchen.'"

When she answered, I could swear I heard Grandpa's laughter.