“I wonder?” That’s the question that strolled through my mind when I started my journey to my family’s past. How did they live? What were they like? How did what they did and didn’t do lead to me? Every time I stumbled upon another fact, I was filled with glee. I had another tidbit that I could file in the (symbolic) book of secrets that every family has. First, it was maybe just a name, date, or place. I found out my paternal grandmother came from “Lettland” (today Latvia) by searching census records, and that she and my grandfather were married in Indianapolis, but lived in Chicago. All this was interesting, but no wonderful stories of the past emerged until I put another piece of the family puzzle in place.
I remembered that my father had a much younger sister who might still be alive, but whom I had not seen since we left Chicago when I was four. I knew her married name and was fairly certain she still lived in Indianapolis. If she were still alive, she would be 85. I had no idea what her health might be, but I needed to speak with her to fill in many gaps about my family history.
My father was not a prolific sharer of all things family. I only knew that his mother had died young, and they grew up poor in Chicago. I was so tentative about calling this lost relative that I turned to the Internet first to see if I could find one of her children. They had an unusual name, Coraz, so I thought I might get lucky. I did. A cousin works for the Indianapolis police force, and there was an article about him and his police dogs. The article included an e-mail address.
My e-mail to cousin Fred started out, “I may be your cousin if your mother is Frances and your dad is David.” As I learned later, my cousin read the first five words and thinking it was some sort of scam started to reach for the delete key. Fortunately, he read on and realized I really was a long-lost cousin and e-mailed back to say his mother was suffering from the first stages of dementia. She might not be able to share any of her memories.
I girded my loins and rang her up anyway, on my cousin’s assurance that she would be thrilled to hear from me. As we talked about family, I felt I had finally made a concrete contact to my past that would fill in the empty pictures in my mind. She hesitated to talk about the sad times, but was desperate for me to talk with a cousin Bob whom I had never met. Over and over she said, “Please talk to your cousin Bob; he is also very interested in our family history. Please promise me you will call him.”
“Yes, Aunt Fran, I promise.”
Thinking I would get around to it in several days, I put the thought aside and then in an hour my telephone rang. It was cousin Bob from Florida. Bob and I exchanged some general family history and wondered why our fathers had not spoken since the end of World War II. He then very seriously asked if I were sitting down and said that he had a bomb to drop on me. What could this be? Bob’s words came slowly and cautiously.
“You have a half sister in England,” he said. I was absolutely speechless for a moment, and then the questions poured out of me.
“Who? How? When?”
I had been an only child for the past 59 years. Absorbing this news took some time. Bob filled me in the best he could. My dad was an unmarried soldier stationed in England during World War II working for a photo reconnaissance squad in the Air Force. He met a woman named Rosemary, and they had a long-term wartime relationship. This romance led to my sister Sally who is now 65 and still living in England.
The story goes that my dad, upon hearing his girlfriend was having his child, was greatly distressed and at first said he could not marry her, because she was not Jewish. He changed his mind but, when he returned to her after several weeks, she had decided she would not marry him, and that was the end. My dad never spoke of this to anyone throughout his life, not with my mother, whom he married in 1947, or me, born in 1949. My dad died in 2003. Rosemary, his English love, died in 2005, never having married. Sally started looking for her American father after her mother died. By searching military records, she discovered that he had died in 2003, but had left a daughter, Judith (me).
Sally searched diligently for a Judith Berkoff, but only could find my cousin Bob Berkoff, who had no idea where to find me. I began my family search last year, and if I had never searched, I would never have found my sister, Sally. Thanks to my questioning and the assistance of the Internet, I now have a new family in England. Thanks to my questions and my search, I now have a sister, and I know my father’s secret.
Judy Berkoff Patterson was born in Chicago in 1949. She spent her childhood in Los Angeles where she earned a BA in English at California State University. Berkoff has two children and three grandchildren. She is a teacher in Littleton, Colorado, where she lives with her husband Tom and granddaughter, Naomie.
