Dear Mrs. Gabriel,

I’ll never forget the beautiful toy railroad set that your son, Horst, got to play with each Christmas. Your husband would only put it out in December, and each time he did, I was invited to share it with Horst. You lived in the same building as me. Your family was Christian.

I’ll also never forget Berlin in 1938 and the Tobacco store across the street from our 5^th story building. On Krystallnacht, we could hear the screams of the Jewish owner as the S.S. came to smash his windows and take him out onto the street to hurt him. It was a bloody mess. That same night, all of the synagogues were either burned or completely vandalized.

In fear of my family’s safety, you and your sister came to our place to help protect us. My father was on a business trip in Hamburg and when he called home, my mother said, “Stay in Hamburg, get lost, because the Nazis are here to get you.” You were angels who put themselves in danger in order to help save my family.

When Horst was 18 years old, he was drafted to fight in the war and soon killed in Italy. Since he was an only child, you and your husband took it very hard. In 1945, when Hitler got really desperate, your husband was drafted at 55 years of age. He was sent to the Battle of Berlin and was killed within a few days. Your sister perished in an air raid by the Nazis, and this now meant that you were all alone. I cannot even begin to imagine the pain you must have felt after losing your entire family to the hands of the Nazis. You endured it all.

After the war in 1948, I visited Berlin to see a wounded uncle. I decided to visit you as well and, unfortunately, you were not the same woman I said goodbye to a few years earlier. Though grief had taken its toll on you, the memory of what you had done for me remains unchanged. You didn’t have to come protect my family and put yours in greater risk. But you did it because you cared for us, and my gratitude for you remains with me always.

Sincerely,

Ernest

So here’s the embarrassing thing: I still don’t wish I’d never met you.

One of my first memories is playing this game with you, and you were cheating, and I was half-heartedly arguing with you and then let it go, because you were seven and I was all of five. As a reward, you taught me how to lie convincingly.

You said you were the President of the United States, and I looked into your eyes and believed you.

It’s always been sort of like that.

Read More

Dear Nick,

We were buds in 3rd and 4th grade. My memory from those days is very patchy and primarily composed of “snapshots” from special events or mundane affairs. I remember the recreation of the Oregon Trail we did on the playground and I remember the Trail Blazers player talking to us about the tragedies in Rwanda. I also remember all the annual stuff like Scootertown, Field Day, and the Talent Show (we did a magic act together one year).

I’m sad we’ve grown apart and lost touch. You didn’t end up going to high school at Sunset and that probably was a major factor. Sometimes I think about you, and generically all the people from my past, and wonder how things are going for you now. What did you do in college? What do you do for a living now? Where do you live? Since I don’t have any answers, the only image I have of you is a blond, 9-year-old boy.

Read More

Submit a letter by sending an email to wouldhavesaid@gmail.com