CHAPTER 20Mannheim, Germany, August 1951
ETHEL
At the playground, Julia sat on the metal bench, rocking her daughter in her arms. While Ethel pushed Anke on the swings, she kept one eye on the other three children, who ran between the slide and the monkey bars. There was a soft wind whistling through the trees, and the clouds shading the sun gave the day a reprieve from the summer’s heat.
“You seem to be handling this change so well. You’re making me envious.” Julia sighed. “I’m so sleep-deprived and a cranky mess.”
“You have a right to be out of sorts, you have a newborn.”
“Tell that to my husband.” Julia snorted. “What are their ages again?”
“Franz is ten, Heinz eight, Monika just turned five, and this little one is three.” Ethel tickled Anke’s neck until she squealed.
Julia moved the baby from her chest to her lap. “How’s finding homes for the other children going?”
Ethel gave Anke one last push and then wandered over to Julia. “Slow, but I’ve been in contact with the German youth welfare offices so I can get an accurate count of how many children need families.”
“Well, hallelujah, the German government wants to help.”
“They’ve been much easier to deal with than the American agencies, that’s for sure. So far, I’ve identified fourteen families stationed between Mannheim and Stuttgart who are willing to adopt.”
“Girl, you are making progress. That’s got to feel good.”
“Up,” Anke called, and Ethel moved back to the swing. Once she’d located Franz and Monika on the slide and Heinz on the monkey bars, she turned to Julia.
“But there’s a lot of bureaucracy and red tape with so many hands of approval needed. At this rate, it could take up to a year to place the children.”
“That feels like forever, especially in little people’s lives.”
“Exactly, and I’ve been trying to find a legal loophole to get around these narrow-minded holdups while, at the same time, reaching more Negro families who are willing to adopt. On my own, I’ve identified children’s homes in Heidelberg, Karlsruhe, and Stuttgart, all with mixed-race children. I don’t have exact numbers, but there are hundreds, maybe even thousands.”
Julia stood and placed her sleeping baby in the pram, then rocked it gently with her foot. The sun had drifted from behind the clouds, and she shielded her eyes with one hand. “Whenever my mother was upset about something, she’d write a letter. Aren’t you a fancy journalist? Didn’t you tell me that you interviewed Thurgood Marshall at the Waldorf Astoria, for Christ’s sake? Maybe it’s time to pull out those writing skills.”
Ethel looked from Anke to Julia. Why hadn’t she thought of that?
“Come push Anke for a minute,” Ethel said, then moved to the bench for her purse. She pulled out her journal and ink pen, sat down, and started scribbling.
Ten minutes passed before she looked up. Then she shouted, “I can write an article—a step-by-step guide for American families on how to adopt these children abroad.”
Julia pushed Anke and said, “I love that idea.”
“I’ll reach out to my editors at theBaltimore Afro-Americanand thePittsburgh Courier. Maybe we can even get it on the wire.”
“Can you imagine the kind of response you’ll get?”
Ethel’s heart thundered in her chest. “I’ll tell individual stories of some of the kids I’ve met. Make them real in the eyes of the readers, not just names and numbers.”
“You saw how Dorothy took that idea of getting gift baskets to the single German mothers and got an ad posted in theStars and Stripesarmy newspaper. Gifts have been pouring in like crazy. Imagine what you can do.”
Ethel looked at the words she had written on the page. “It has been nice seeing the relief on the women’s faces when we drop off the packages. But I always feel like we could be doing more.”
Julia stood with her hands on her hips. “Well, imagine what will happen when your how-to-adopt articles run in the American newspapers. Honey, people will be coming out the woodwork to help.”
“That’s all I want in the end.” Ethel gazed over at the baseball diamond, where her three kids were chasing one another in a game of tag. “For children to have families to love them.”
“Well, you better stop talking to me and get writing.” Julia wagged her finger.
“More!” Anke kicked her legs.
