I have many fond memories of Onkel Klaus. Many have to do with music or family road trips. When I was an adolescent, I believe it was in Montana, I was singing in the hotel shower, and Klaus heard me through door. When he came out, he said I had a tenor and expressed genuine interest in whether I was interested in singing. At the time, I was more into sports than music, and did not play any instruments or sing at school or anything, but I would later realize that the musical arts were more my thing than other forms of art. When I got older, I recognized that Klaus was similar, in that in his family, which is full of artists, most of the others (notably, Max, Hannes, Dietmar) worked with their hands creating visual and formed expressions. I shared my musical appreciations with Klaus, and also my mother, but never realized it until I was too old to really learn an instrument very well. I will always associate this connection with Klaus.
I also have very warm memories of those Yosemite family trips, driving caravan style with our two vans (dubbed Yellowjacket and Bluebird for CB communications): “Breaker, breaker, Yellowjacket here. Bluebird, do you have your ears on, come back, over.” “Bluebird, here . . . we read you loud and clear. We will stop for gas in 20 miles.”
Other flash associations: playing Atari in San Bernardino, because the “Klausens” had Atari, and of course we did not. Watching a movie on a VCR (same reason). Going to Dr. Kuehn’s office to get eye exams, and seeing a hologram of a fly through certain glasses. I remember his laugh as sounding somehow more American than my parents’ laughs. I remember feeling comfortable speaking with him in German or English, because I think he was comfortable acknowledging that his English was better than his German, just like I am, and also, because he was married to an English-speaker, as most of us are. In the last few years, he called me sometimes to ask me questions about wine. A recent memory is that the last time I saw him at his house, he played Amazing Grace on his violin. I take comfort in that.
RIP Onkel Klaus.
