Chapter 12: December 7, 1928: Reflections on a Pivotal Day
This chapter examines George and Rosa’s reflections on December 7, 1928, as they recount their experiences living on the rented Kreutter Farm, which later became the home of the Kautz Family, situated on Hall’s Hill in Alexander, New York. Through these narratives, we witness the hardships and triumphs they faced, marked by anticipation for the auction of the neighboring Phelps Farm on this pivotal day.
A Quiet Dawn: Rosa’s Solitude Before the Day’s Demands
The morning light had yet to reach the windows as crisp December winds swept across Hall’s Hill. Rosa woke, feeling the weight of exhaustion; the cries of her three-month-old baby, Herbert—her sixth child in eight years of marriage—broke her sleep. The restlessness in her mind mirrored the unease in her heart, for today’s auction of the neighboring Phelps Farm loomed heavily in her thoughts.
The house was quiet, except for the crackling fire in the stove, and the children nestled peacefully in their beds. Rosa treasured this brief moment of solitude—an escape from the noise and bustle of farm and family life. It was the only time she had for quiet reflection and prayer, a moment to breathe before the day’s demands swept in.
George, Albert Beck, her brother, and Benny Feist, the hired hand, were already working in the barn. Rosa stoked the old black cookstove, and its heat soon spread through the kitchen, warming the stove’s surface and water reservoir. Today was Friday, a day of tradition, and Rosa had already planned the simple meatless meals for the day—potatoes, eggs, bread, and warm porridge for breakfast.
The Basement and the Weight of Memories
She opened the creaky basement door and descended the narrow stairs. Her fingers brushed against the thin metal chain hanging from the light fixture. A quick tug made the bulb flicker to life, casting a soft amber glow that barely illuminated the stone foundation. Cobwebs clung overhead, and the musty smell of the basement filled the air.
Walking across the dusty wooden planks that covered the dirt floor, Rosa made her way to the burlap sacks of potatoes from the fall harvest. She selected several firm ones, carefully cradling them in the fold of her apron.
As she turned to go back upstairs, her gaze lingered on the barrels of cider and dandelion wine. The stillness of the basement amplified their presence, evoking memories of the past. She could almost taste the fresh spring air, hear the sound of birds in the trees, and feel the energy of a younger Fred, with his innocent stumble from the strong dandelion wine still fresh in her mind.
A Childhood Blunder: Fred’s Dandelion Wine Mishap
It was spring, and Benny Feist had been plowing the field on the east side of Alleghany (Alexander) Road with a single-bottom plow and a team of horses. Fred, barefoot and eager, trailed behind, taking in the scent of freshly turned earth and watching the birds flit in and out, capturing worms.
Benny, feeling the strain of his work, had sent Fred to the basement to refill his jar of dandelion wine. Fred dashed downstairs with a glass mason jar in hand, his mind focused on the simplicity of the task ahead. He unscrewed the lid and inserted one end of the siphon into the barrel and the other into his mouth, just as he’d seen his father do.
With a quick inhale, the wine rushed into his mouth, much more than he had anticipated. He sputtered and coughed, his face flushing with surprise as the sharp taste overwhelmed him. The room spun as dizziness took hold, and his legs wobbled beneath him, refusing to cooperate.
Stumbling toward the stairs, his breath shallow and uneven, he wondered why everything felt off-balance. By the time he reached the top, he was breathless, the weight of his mistake finally dawning on him. Only then did he realize the consequences of his innocent blunder—one that Rosa would laugh about and gently remind him of for years to come.
A Quiet Prayer: Rosa’s Rosary for a Better Tomorrow
Rosa returned to the dimly lit kitchen, the morning air tinged with cold, as she began peeling potatoes with quiet efficiency. Her lips moved in silent prayer, the rhythmic cadence of the rosary carrying the weight of her hopes and fears. Each petition was an earnest plea—prayers for her family’s health and safety, as well as for the strength to endure the challenges of the day.
She also prayed for George’s success at the auction that day, hoping that purchasing the neighboring Phelps Farm would finally allow them to settle down and put down roots for their growing family. This dream, like so many before, hung on the edge of her heart, a hope she clung to, praying that it would finally become a reality today.
As the comforting warmth of the cookstove enveloped her, her thoughts drifted to the upcoming Christmas season. This reflection quickly took her back to their first Christmas in America, four years earlier, a time when everything had felt harsh and unfamiliar.
The cold, empty farmhouse on Gulf Road in Attica felt like a prison. Their resources were limited, and the weight of homesickness had become overwhelming. The uncertainty of the future hung heavily on her heart, making the season feel especially bitter. She held onto the hope of creating a new life, yet still felt the pain and grief of leaving everything behind.
Family, Faith, and Memory: Reflections on Love and Loss
As Rosa sliced the last potato and added it to the sizzling cast-iron frying pan, her thoughts drifted to the years that had passed. The ache of that first Christmas had softened over time, though it had never completely faded. In the years since, they had been building a life in America, one filled with hard work and hope. However, she continued to hold on to the memories of that cold, lonely season.
But now, new memories filled her heart—memories resonating with the laughter of her children and the quiet satisfaction of watching them grow strong despite the hardships. Yet, even as she observed them thriving, the pull of her homeland remained, a tug at her heart for the family and life she had left behind. She missed her mother, Monika, and her father, Jakob. It was a longing she had learned to live with, even though she knew it would never fully release its grip.
With the arrival of her brother Albert in June 1925, Rosa felt a renewed sense of connection and belonging. The comforting familiarity of shared memories and family strengthened the bond she had always treasured. Albert’s presence provided a sense of home that had been absent since their immigration. A year later, August Kautz joined them, adding another layer to this growing connection. By the next summer, Rosa’s sister Therese arrived, bringing additional strength to the family circle. Together, they began to forge a new life—one based on shared labor, traditions, and a quiet perseverance that would lay their foundation in this foreign land. The following summer, Therese and August got married, further solidifying the ties that bound them.
They continued to expand their network of connections, including Max Rauscher, a German immigrant from Buffalo who frequently visited and whose bond with their family grew stronger over the years. He became yet another thread woven into their community.
New Beginnings: The Births of Herbert and Paul
Before Rosa could finish frying the potatoes, little Herbert stirred. Rosa quietly changed his diaper and nursed him, cradling him gently as she continued her work. He was three months old today, and she smiled, remembering his arrival on Friday, September 7, 1928.
Dr. John Kneeler, a thirty-eight-year-old physician from Attica and a graduate of the University of Buffalo Medical School, had been called from his home office at 50 Market Street to assist with a birth. A respected figure in the community, Dr. Kneeler had also held the positions of county coroner and mayor during his career.
His Model T rattled up the steep gravel driveway, kicking up dust behind him. Dressed in a worn dark wool suit and a fedora, he grabbed his leather medical bag. The clanging of his medical instruments echoed as he was ushered into the house.
By the time Dr. Kneeler arrived, Herbert had already been born, his small body cradled gently in Rosa’s arms. The doctor, with his calm demeanor and steady hands, moved efficiently through the process. He washed his hands, opened his bag, and sifted through the contents, which included scissors, delivery forceps, gauze, and antiseptics, before retrieving his stethoscope and thermometer.
As he worked, Rosa watched him closely. Her discomfort was evident, yet a quiet peace radiated in her eyes. His presence was comforting, a balm amid the pain and tension of childbirth.
He ensured the umbilical cord was clamped correctly, sutured, and coated with iodine. After listening to the baby’s heartbeat, he felt a sense of relief. Baby Herbert reminded him of his eleven-year-old son, John, and how quickly children grow up.
Although Rosa was unable to speak much English, Dr. Kneeler communicated efficiently, having learned some German from his immigrant father. As he looked into Rosa’s eyes, he could see her exhaustion—her face flushed with a sheen of sweat—but also a deep sense of relief. The birth had gone smoothly, without complications.
Dr. Kneeler admired women like Rosa, with her strength, determination, and resilience. Having delivered her sixth child, she exemplified the grit that many farm women of her time embodied. As he departed, he waived his normal $25.00 delivery fee.
The previous year, on Tuesday, August 2, 1927, amidst the bustling chaos of the harvest season, Rosa and George welcomed their fifth son, Paul William, into the world. The fields resonated with the rhythmic sounds of the threshing machine as it made its rounds through the farms in Alexander. Rosa’s sister, Therese, stood by her side during Paul’s birth, just as she had been there for Rosa’s third child, Arnold, born in 1923 in Schoenberg, Germany.
Now, at sixteen months old, Paul was a whirlwind of energy, never still for long, his tiny hands reaching for everything his older siblings could do. Hilda, Fred, Arnold, and George, with their youthful vigor, kept a watchful eye on him as he tried to keep up with their endless activities, his laugh echoing through the house.
Learning and Struggle: Hilda and Fred’s School Days
Rosa packed thick egg sandwiches made with her homemade bread from earlier in the week, along with a cookie, into paper bags for Hilda and Fred’s school lunch. They had started school earlier that fall, attending Alexander’s School No. 2, a three-story cobblestone building made from local fieldstones on Church Street.
The school was small, with one teacher for grades 1–3 and another for grades 4–6. Since neither child spoke English, both were placed in the first grade, regardless of their age.
One teacher at the school, Miss Alice Hastings (1904-2004), was known for her combination of firmness and compassion, earning the respect of many in town. Her kindness was evident one winter when, from her modest salary, she quietly bought boots for two impoverished sisters in need.
However, language was only one of the challenges they faced. Hilda and Fred were not only unfamiliar with the language but also with basic indoor plumbing, drinking fountains, and the hissing iron radiators that lined the classroom walls. Although the school had modern conveniences, these features only deepened their sense of being outsiders, amplifying their isolation in an unfamiliar environment.
During their walk to school through town and while at school, they were taunted by local children. Occasionally, the jeering, finger-pointing, and whispered slurs were loud enough for everyone to hear, but their meanings remained unclear. The children sarcastically referred to little Hilda and Fred as “Hansel and Gretel.” The Ryder family, in particular, harbored a quiet disdain for the Schmieders, viewing their foreignness with contempt.
Rosa’s heart ached as she watched her children, their innocent joy now overshadowed by the cruel mockery of their classmates. The taunts pierced her like a knife, leaving her feeling helpless as she watched her children struggle with something she couldn’t protect them from. The whispered slurs and harsh words echoed in their minds, slowly carving away at their sense of belonging. But despite the hurt, she reminded them to hold their heads high—to remember who they were and where they came from, no matter how unwelcoming the world around them was.
Rosa felt a deep sense of determination as she watched them walk away each morning. With every step they took, she prayed they were moving closer to a better life. They had already overcome so many obstacles.
Legacy in the Making: Auction and the Schmieders’ Future
Her thoughts drifted back to today’s auction, a pivotal moment that held great promise for the Schmieder family. It wasn’t merely a financial opportunity—it represented everything they had worked for. For Rosa and George, it meant the chance to create a lasting legacy, to provide their children with a future rooted in something truly theirs. However, the auction also evoked memories of the struggles they had faced—those early years in America filled with uncertainty, the prejudice they encountered, and the numerous sacrifices they made to build something enduring from nothing.
Frederick Schmieder