My Youth with Werner Klemperer

My Boy Scout meetings were on Friday nights. They ended at 6:30 and then I walked home in full uniform (try that now!) to enjoy my mother’s filet of sole dinner which was not served until 8:00.  In the meantime, my father would have his two Manhattan cocktails and my grandmother her two Dubonnets. I knew I would have ample time to see the NBC lineup of “Camp Runamuck”, “Hank”, and then switch to CBS for “Hogan’s Heroes”, a comedy about Allied prisoners of war during World War II trying to fool their German captors while carrying out vital secret missions for the liberation of Europe.

The first two shows were of little interest to the adults but the latter was a source of immense fascination and laughter; odd, I thought, since my mother and grandmother had lived in occupied Paris for four years and my father never met a Nazi he didn’t try to kill. Bob Crane who played American Colonel Hogan didn’t appeal to me, something about him was kinda creepy. Turns out I was right. But I really liked Colonel Klink, the Stalag commandant played by Werner Klemperer, probably because he seemed constantly harried and put-upon, the way most 12 year olds feel.  I also liked his coat which was long and gray with a gray Persian lamb fur collar. It was elegant and a welcome departure from the Carnaby Street knockoffs everyone wore at school. That Christmas my parents bought me a long gray overcoat with a faux Persian lamb fur collar – they must have read my letter to Santa. I wore it with pride in the hallways of P.S. 44, ever mindful of my responsibility to conduct myself with the proper military bearing.  The pretty girls at the lunchroom’s “cool table” were impressed.

But the years passed and CBS changed the timeslot or I got busy with high school or I just outgrew that type of entertainment; it was the Beatles and the Stones from then on. 

One winter night, I was taking the 5 bus down Fifth Avenue to a restaurant called 1/5 because it was located at 1 Fifth Avenue, which later became Otto - to meet a new love which I was sure was destined to be my future wife.  The long trip and warmth of the bus caused me to dose off but with a sudden jolt I awoke and looked out the window. There he was - Colonel Klink with three friends and they were having a splendid time, no doubt discussing some future theatrical production – but without me!  I immediately attempted to exit the bus but to no avail. The doors didn’t open and I was held prisoner till the next stop. By the time I escaped he was gone. I didn’t want to pester him or seek an autograph I just wanted to say hello to the Colonel and thank him for his assistance in aiding me through my detention in junior high school. Well, it wasn’t to be. I arrived late and my date was a disaster; it started on the wrong note and the melody soon disappeared.  I left the restaurant with my shoulders hunched in true Klinkian frustration and went home.

More years passed, and college, or the culmination of college, became my primary mission. On a Friday night exiting my coach at the Port Authority Bus Terminal which had brought me from my campus located in the paradise that is New Jersey, I saw him!  It was Mr. Klemperer; I had demoted him from Colonel, (after all the war was over).  He was leaving the Briefcase Lounge, a respectable, much frequented, watering-hole.  I tried in vain to catch up with him.  But the crowd fleeing New York that evening was panic stricken with the thought of spending another minute in the municipality which many had come to consider their own personal stalag, so, outnumbered, I gave up the chase.

Later, at home, I slipped into sleep. I dreamt of Werner; we were now on a first-name basis.  I didn’t like this.  Most young men my age dreamt of other things: girls, places to visit, girls, schoolwork, girls, friends, and maybe girls; but definitely not Werner Klemperer!  I woke in a cold sweat. Was I following Werner or was he following me?  If he was, why?  Did he want his coat back?  It couldn’t be the monocle, I had never gone that far because, if I had, it would have led to a severe beating in a stairwell of my school not to mention the absurd conversation that would’ve followed with a self-described guidance counselor studying for a sixth year to obtain his degree in clinical psychology. There was no resolution to my dream and I mentally filed it under “stress” - or too much Jagermeister.

College ended and life commenced. Other loves and other pursuits began, mercifully.

Then, one day, walking East on Central Park South on a beautiful spring afternoon I saw him.  Werner was hand-in-hand with a lovely age-appropriate lady.  This time I would not be denied!  I halted him in front of Rumpelmayer’s.

“Excuse me Mr. Klemperer”, I said, “I just wanted to tell you how much a enjoyed your performance in, in, - ‘Judgement at Nuremburg’”! Maybe, I quickly calculated, he would appreciate an accolade for a more culturally important production. He looked surprised but disappointed.  “Well, thank you”, he responded, and then probably quickly judging my age he offered; “I thought you were going to say ‘Hogan’s Heroes’”.  I felt my mouth open and my stomach drop. “Well, auf wiedersehen” he said graciously, as he walked with his friend toward Columbus Circle. And that was my ten seconds with my boyhood alter-ego.

The moral of the story is simple: despite the passage of time and your desire to please or impress them, always tell the truth to your heroes or even someone else’s. They will know it to be genuine and appreciate it much more.

Here endth the lesson.  Auf wiedersehen.