INT: Date, September 12th, 1994. Survivor, Robert Clary. Interviewer, Merl Goldberg. City, Beverly Hills. Language, English. [PAUSES FOR 5 SECONDS] First, could you tell us
your name, where, and when you were born? RC: I am known as
Robert Clary, C-L-A-R-Y. My real name is Robert
Widerman, W-I-D-E-R-M-A-N. I was born in Paris,
France, March 1st, 1926. INT: Could you tell me something
about your life in Paris bef-- as you were growing
up, what life was like? RC: Can I go even
further than that? Can I start with my parents? INT: Sure. RC: Because both my parents
were born in Poland. My father was born in 19-- in 1870. And he was a tailor. He had lots of children,
because he was a religious Jew. He was a religious Jew
until the day he died. [PAUSES FOR 3 SECONDS] With his first wife,
he had six children. And she died giving
birth to the last child, and so did the last child. And he was stuck
with five of them-- a boy and four girls. And he married my mother,
who was 16 years younger than he was. And I put two and together,
because all those things, I really didn't know. But I put two and two together. If my mother is going
to marry a man who is 16 years older than he is-- than she is with
five children, it's because she must have
gotten a rotten life before. So she married him. And she was
absolutely remarkable, because she raised his children,
and she had eight with him. My father was a remarkable man. There was a huge generational
gap between my father and I, because I'm the last
of the 14 children. When I was born, he
was 56 years old. And even though,
right now I remember fantastic things about him,
but when I was a child, it wasn't there. But he had a remarkable life. And before World War I,
with his younger brother, he went to Argentina to see
if he can make a living there from Poland. And if he did--
could make a living, I would never have gone
through the Holocaust. I would have been in
Argentina right now, speaking Spanish instead
of English or French. Obviously, it did not-- it did not work
out in Argentina, and he went right
back to Poland. In 1921, my grandfather
received a letter from the French government
saying that one of his sons who lived in France
died during World War I, and they should send
somebody to France to find out what to do with
his body and everything. So my grandfather sent, again,
my father with his younger brother to Paris,
France in 1921. And I guess they took
care of his body. But somehow, he found
a distant cousin there. And somehow, the life was
such a contrast between Warsaw and Paris that he stayed there. And I-- I laugh about it, and
it's really not laughable, but most men did the same thing. When they immigrated
to different countries, to new countries, they all
went by themselves, thinking, if I can make a living, I
will send for my family. And most of them had
lots of children. And I always said,
I don't know how these women, who stayed
in their native country with all these
children, survived waiting for their husband
to say, come over. It's fine now. It took two years for
my father to decide, I'm not going to
go back to Poland. He never did. In 1923, he told my mother
to just grab all the children and come to France. And a lot of my sisters-- half sisters were
already married. Some of them stayed in-- in Poland. But the rest of my family went--
immigrated to France in 1923. And I-- one sister and I
were born in Paris, France. My sister, Madeline, was a year
and a half older than I am. She and I were born
in Paris, France. [PAUSES FOR 3 SECONDS]
I was very fortunate. I had a great childhood. Not rich. Far from it. Lower middle class. I mean, we always had
something to eat on the table. My father was a tailor. He worked very, very hard. He made only pants, no jackets. I was the best dressed
kid in the neighborhood, because I had, like, three
or four suits every year. But the way-- the
reason I'm saying I was very fortunate, because
there was a woman in France, an aunt of the Rothschild. Her name was Madame Alfin. She built a seven-story-high
apartment house in the most magnificent
section of Paris. Right in the center of
Paris, there are two islands. One is called Ile de la Cite,
where the Cathedral Notre Dame is erected,
and the other one is a smaller island
called Ile Saint-Louis. And on that island, this
woman-- this remarkable woman, Madame Alfin built this
seven-story-high apartment house for Jewish families
with lots of children who could not afford to pay rent. And instead of living-- because my-- my parents,
with a lot of their children, lived in one small room
with lots of rats, you know? And she let them come
to this apartment house. And we had three rooms,
a kitchen, a toilet. I mean, people say
no, a bathroom? I say, no, not a
bathroom, a toilet. We did not-- we did
not have a bathroom. And it was-- it was marvelous. We had some rats, but
not in our apartment. And the seven-story-high
apartment house was filled with lots of
children, and it was joyous. Most of the people who
lived in the apartment-- most men and women--
were religious Jews, which means they
worked to Friday, and then Saturday,
they're not working. On Sunday, they go to work. Now, what do you do
with those children? Because in France,
before World War II, children would go to school-- from the elementary school to
even high schools or colleges-- go to school from Monday, to-- Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday,
off on Thursday, Friday and Saturday, and off on Sunday. If you're religious, you cannot
have your child go to school on Saturdays. In the ghetto in Paris, in
the Fourth Arrondissement-- Paris was made with 20 sections. We call them arrondissements. In the Fourth Arrondissement,
where I lived, there was a very famous
ghetto, [FRENCH]. And they had a school
there, an elementary school for-- separately for young
ladies and for young men. And there, even though we
were taught by non-Jews-- all our teachers were non-Jews,
and we were taught in French-- [BACKGROUND NOISE] and
because of that, our parents sent us to this
school so we will be off on Saturdays and
Sundays and have all the Jewish holidays off, too. And we kids were
thrilled, because not only did we have the Jewish holidays
off, but also the Catholic and the non-Jews holidays off. And it was thrilling. Really, it was great,
until I was 12 years old. I graduated this
elementary school there. But what was fantastic
in our apartment house-- this Madame Alfin not
only didn't care if we pay the rent-- and I'm sure some of
the families could not afford it and didn't pay-- but she hired social
workers to take care of us children when we came back from
school from 4:00 PM to 7:00 PM. There was a-- we called it
a locale on the first floor, two huge rooms
where the kids will go there to do their
homework, and then be taken care of by
these social workers, who were remarkable ladies. They were all maybe
in the middle-- their late teens-- 18, 19, 20 years
old, 22 years old. And remarkably, these--
all these young ladies at the end of, like, '38, '39,
went to Israel, to Palestine, and stayed there. We had [INAUDIBLE]-- we had one
woman who I still didn't get in contact with. We always knew her as Lou. And Lou immigrated
to Palestine in 1939. Her name-- I never
knew her last name. And then I find out her
name was Lou Cadard, and Lou Cadard in Israel became
Golda Meir's private secretary and companion until
Golda Meir died. And I'm going way
ahead of my time, but I saw Lou the last
time in 1938 or '39. Then I went to the
World Gathering of the Jewish Survivors of the
Holocaust in 1981, in Israel, and there I saw Lou again. And she said to me, I don't
want you to look at me. I'm old and ugly. I said, well, I'm
old, but pretty. [LAUGHTER] It was a really-- because she was such
a remarkable woman, it was such a thrill to see
her after all these years. She was-- they
were great ladies. They would take care of us. They would teach us the Bible. They would we see to it that we
will become good human beings. Not only our parents were
decent people, most of them, but they helped us to
really have a great life. And I think about it-- why did I survive the Holocaust? Why me except for
a lot of people? I think what helped
me tremendously-- it's my background. Even though I am not a
religious person right now, but I had that
background of religion, that really I knew
all about what-- what it means to be a Jew. That I had that
kindness, that love that my mother gave us, and
even my father in his way, because he was so busy
working and making money. But he helped us to have
such a wonderful life. And these ladies who taught
us what's good about life. And I had all these memories
while I was suffering. That was good, and that was
the balance that kept me alive. Also, I was young and I was
healthy, which helped a lot. But when I think of that
childhood, it was remarkable. Really fantastic. Lots of children. INT: Now that you're
talking about Jewish life, what else was Jewish life like
for you in your neighborhood? RC: Neighborhood-- forget it. Neighborhood
[INAUDIBLE], we were-- they were mostly
Catholics, because France was a Catholic country, mostly. There were a few Protestants,
but mostly Catholics. Excuse me. But we had that apartment house. It was like a ghetto for us. I mean, people talk
about antisemitism. Well, until I was
the age of 12 or 13, I did not know
about antisemitism, because I was cocooned
in that apartment house. I mean, we were together. I mean, I'm sure
there were some. I mean, there was some-- some
neighbor across the street were Italians who
probably didn't like, who called us dirty Jews. But we small children
were not bothered by that. It was the older guys who
probably would fuck with them. But I only know Jewishness
when I was small. I mean, we went to a school
where all the kids were Jewish, even though the
teachers were not. But they were pro
Jews, obviously, because they knew where
they were working at. And in the house, I mean,
we were 24 hours with Jews. So I-- and I liked-- I liked a lot of the holidays. I mean, Passover,
to me, was just-- when you think of Passover,
there's a great warmth. Even though we are very small-- I mean, when I was a small kid,
that apartment was gigantic. But when you go
back to it now, even though I'm not that
tall, but suddenly, they're little cubicles. I mean, those rooms are
like-- like toys, you know, like small-- for-- for dolls. They are that small. But during Passover,
the whole family will go for the first seder. And there we are-- nephews and nieces and brothers
and sisters and brothers in law. And we all sleep on the floor. Everybody is there for two days. And it was just-- I must say, I didn't like
the long seder, though, that went on forever. Because my father just went
through the whole thing. And there's one thing that I-- I was-- amazingly, I was the
last one, the last child. When my mother-- my
father had one brother. The first one was a brother. Then he had two daughters. Then he had a son who died
when he was six months old, and then he had four
daughters and me. I was the last one. And they always picked
on me, the girls, especially during Passover
when you have to open the door, you know, for Elia-- what's his name? Eli-- you don't know? INT: Yes, I do know. For-- now it's gone
right out of my brain. RC: Whoever-- whoever he is. We-- I used to call
him [INAUDIBLE], which is not the right title. [INAUDIBLE] is
something really-- but because I was scared,
I opened the door. Right? Because I was a boy,
I had to go open the door to let him come in. And there was a long, black
corridor, and I was scared. He's going to come
in, and I don't know what he's going to do to me. He's going to grab me, and
then we are going to go away. It was-- it was frightening. But I really enjoyed
the holidays. Yom Kippur was-- it was great. I never would go to the
synagogue, but it was great. And all these wonderful
holidays were just fantastic. INT: Can you tell me--
you were telling me before a little bit
about the apartment house and the band, the kazoo
band, and things like that. Can you tell me a little
bit more about that? RC: Well, I've always-- since I can remember, I
always had the facility to sing and dance. As I-- as I said, we
were lower middle class, and to me, to have an orange
was really, like, an occasion. It's a gala. And I will-- when I sing and
dance for my family since I'm a little kid-- I would call orange
[NON-ENGLISH]. I want a [NON-ENGLISH]. And they would give
me a piece of orange. That was my [FRENCH], as we
say in French, my price-- my prize, I should say. I've always sang and danced. And I really started
professionally when I was 12 years old,
through one of the-- one of the ladies
who took care of us. Her name was Lily, and she-- she thought I was talented. And she went to see a
woman called Madame Aron. Madame Aron was the dau-- the sister of a
very big director-- film director in
France, [INAUDIBLE]. And she used to have-- every
Thursdays and every Sunday, she would get-- she would do
shows for young-- you know, for young children, stage shows. And I went to audition
to her with Lily. Lily knew her. And I auditioned,
and she loved me. And she took me over her wing. And then I started
professionally. I also did something-- I mean, I was very gutsy. I would-- I would do imitations
of French stars, French singing stars, when I was
10, 11, 12 years old. They probably were dreadful,
but I would do them. And I auditioned for-- for-- for an amateur contest
that used to go on every Thursday for kids. And when I auditioned,
I did those stars-- I mean, [INAUDIBLE], all
the big stars in France. And the ladies who
listened to the audition were very taken by it. They said, now, can
you do something else? And I had learned at school
an aria from an opera. And I sang that. And that's what I did for the-- for the amateur contest. I did not win the
contest, but they liked me so much that I was a regular
on a Thursday afternoon program on tele-- on radio. And I loved that. And then with Madame
Aron, I would go-- they would show a short film,
then I would sing three songs, and then they would
show another film. And it was-- I loved it. I was the envy of my peers. I was making money when
I was 12 years old. And remarkably, I
was a good student. Even though sometimes
I missed school, because we used to go
to school on Thursday, and I would miss that
Thursday, I was-- I was a very good student. I graduated from
my school, when I was 12 years old, the
first in the school, with the biggest and
the highest point. And they said, you
must've cheated. I said no, I didn't. It just happened that learned
two days before whatever-- I was a very fast study. I wish I could be a fast
study right now, too. [LAUGHTER] INT: Can you tell
me a little bit about that when you
were first aware of any kind of antisemitism
and the dangers that preceded the war? RC: When I first got
aware of antisemitism was when I went to
junior high school. Suddenly, we are-- we are-- it's not a Jewish school. And it's-- the
majorities are Catholics. And some kids, I remember,
once called me a dirty kike. And I was absolutely
shocked by it. Because I didn't feel-- I didn't feel myself-- I didn't feel like I
was Jewish or different. I was a French
little kid who spoke French like everybody
else and did everything like all the other kids did. And he called me a dirty kike. And I think that's the
only time that I fought. Because I'm a coward. I don't like to fight. And I fought with him. I think I gave
him a bloody nose, and he probably gave
me a bloody nose, too. But I fought with him. And I was very surprised. Why-- why is it? The shock was when-- when
the German occupied France. That, to me, was the big shock. Until then, I was
just-- the antisemitism was very, very mild for me. I mean, it's not like
people in Poland, you know, who lived in ghettos, or all
Eastern European countries. Even though France was
an antisemitic country with a lot of people. But somehow, I was not as
aware as a Polish person would tell you, you know, how
terrible the antisemitism was there. But when the German
occupied France, I mean, that's when it drastically
changed for us Jews, really. And amazingly-- I'm sure-- my father was not educated. Neither was my mother. But he still read the
Yiddish newspaper. We had a radio at home. And I will-- I will
never forget one day, he was listening with
his brother and-- and-- and sister and everything. They were listening to
Hitler speaking, a big speech he was making, yelling. And I was in the kitchen
listening for two seconds. I said, what-- I don't understand German. And why is he yelling? I don't want to hear. Because they were--
they were talking-- was already, like, 1938, and
the war was imminent in Europe. And I didn't want to hear that. I mean, when you're a child, you
don't want to hear about wars. You don't want to hear--
you know, because war, what does it mean? It means you're going to die. Bombs are going to fall. Somebody is going to kill you. It's going to to be shoot at
you, and you're going to die. And when you're, like,
13, 14 years old, you don't want to hear
that kind of thing. So I just left the room. I went right with
my peers and played, and not being aware of it. I'd escape that. And I must thank my
parents for that. They never scared us about it. They probably thought, why
should I scare this kid, or even the daughters who
were 13, 14, 15 years old? Why should I tell them what's
happening with Crystal Night? We didn't know. 1938, I never knew in Germany
there was a Crystal Night. They spared us with that. And in a way, I'm
grateful, because I didn't have to worry at that time. I had plenty of other time
to worry, starting in 1942. So that was good, because they
let us be, as much as we can, happy children with
a happy childhood. I will never forget
my bar mitzvah, because I had to do it as a boy. I mean, most of my sisters
did also their bat mitzvah, but I did my bar mitzvah. And I-- I must tell you
why I did my bar mitzvah. Not to learn Hebrew,
which bored me. It's to have the first ring,
and to have the first watch, and to have the
first fountain pen. That, to me, was priceless. I mean-- But I went to cheder
after school for two years before my bar mitzvah,
when I was 11 until 13. And cocky as I was, I learned
the whole thing by heart. I didn't know what I was-- I had no notion of
what I was saying. But I sang it beautifully, and
everybody was very proud of me. I did it in a very small
synagogue that still exists now in the Jewish ghetto,
[NON-ENGLISH]. And it's still there. And I saw it the other--
when I-- the last time I went to Paris. And it's just a tiny little box. INT: What's the name
of the synagogue? RC: It was-- it was-- I thought it was
called Fleischman, because Mr. Fleischman
put all the money there. Mr. Fleischman was a-- had a store-- main store not
far from the Jewish ghetto, and he sponsored this synagogue. I think now there are a lot
of North African Jews who have the synagogue now. But it was a great
day, especially with a fountain pen and my ring. [LAUGHTER] INT: So you were bar
mitzvahed in 1939, right? RC: When I was 13 years old. I guess it is 1939. Yes. [LAUGHTER] INT: So-- RC: Now everybody is
counting their fingers. Listen. 1939, he was 13 years old. He must be-- like-- 1994, right now. Oh, he's 68! Oh, he looks very
young for his age. INT: So when-- as the war
was now beginning in Europe-- were you-- you said your
parents kept things from you. But what were you aware of
this at this point, by '39? RC: Well, first
of all, first of-- just before the war, we were-- we were distributed gas masks. That's frightening. They tell us, you know, that we
might be bombed and everything. And then the war starts,
and there are bombardments. And we have to go to shelters. And-- and-- and it's worrying. But that summer, I
was with Madame Aron. I went to a-- to a resort place
on the Normandy coast called [FRENCH], where I worked there. And I was there when the
war started in September. I was in [FRENCH]. And my-- my parents came to join
me with the three of my younger sisters who were not married. And we stayed in [FRENCH] until
the German occupied Paris. I think a month after
they occupied Paris, we went back to Paris. And there, it's awful. INT: So that was in-- that was in June of 1940, right? RC: The war started--
the war started in-- INT: But I'm talking about-- RC: Oh, yes, yes, yes. No. No. When I went back to-- let's see. The war started in August-- in September of 1939. And yes, they occupied in '40. That's right. And around July--
July, middle of August, we went back to Paris. That's right. INT: So why did your family-- why did they choose to go back? Did they have to
go back to Paris? RC: Because all the
rest of the family was still there, all the
brothers and sisters and-- and all the rest of the family. And by that time, it had
quieted down a little bit. And it wouldn't matter, because
the Germans occupied [FRENCH], too. They occupied the south-- the northern part of France. I mean, until the end of 1942,
the northern part of France was occupied by the Germans. Then they occupied the rest
of the south of France, too. INT: The-- those--
the half sisters that you had in Poland, did you
hear from them at that point? RC: I had one half
sister called Regine who came, I think,
in 1937 to visit us with her-- with one of her
daughters, and that was it. I never heard of them anymore,
those two-- two sisters. Amazingly, when I went to Israel
in 1981 for the gathering, one great niece from my-- from my older sister,
Sarah, was there with-- with her children. With her-- a niece and
her children were there. They live-- they live in Israel. But that-- they didn't tell me
what happened to her mother, if she was deported or-- some people went,
you know, to Russia. Some-- I don't know if
they got killed by-- by-- or sent to prison,
or sent to camps. I have no idea what happened
to those two people. INT: So now that your family
had come back to Paris, can you tell me about
what happened next? RC: Yes. Well, the first
thing we had to do is to go and register
to the police station to have a big J stamp
on our ID cards. [SIGHS] Secondly is to
have the Star of David put in the front of
our-- front of our coat, pinned or sewn in the
front of our coat, with the word [FRENCH],
which means Jew. Curfews. Curfews. 8:00 PM to 8:00 AM, you
cannot be seen on the streets. Cannot go to schools anymore. You cannot-- you cannot-- you cannot travel
with anybody else. We have to have a special
compartments in the metro and subways in Paris. And in the-- in the buses,
we have to be in a-- just two seats only for us. We cannot seat-- we cannot
sit with anybody else. And it's frightening. I mean, we are
suddenly the plague. We are the--
[PAUSES FOR 3 SECONDS] we are not human beings. I mean, they just--
they look at us-- you know, if a
German walks, we have to go off the--
off the sidewalk. We have to-- we let them go. Otherwise, they're
going to slap us. And luckily, I was always-- I could not work in
the business anymore. I mean, Jews can not
work in show business. Luckily, I was always very
good at painting, at drawing. And one of my sisters
scraped some money and sent me to an art school. We could go there because
it was a private art school. It was not a public school. Because public schools, the Jews
were not allowed to go anymore. And so I went to
that art school. And I must tell you, the first-- it was a small arts school,
and there were very-- I think I was the
only Jew there. We were maybe 30 students. And I was very
frightened the first time had to wear my yellow Star
of David to go to school. Because I don't know if I
was ashamed of being Jewish. I don't think I was. But-- but there was something
that was prohibited. I mean, you cannot be Jewish,
and you have to be one of them. And I said, wow,
what are they going to-- what are they
going to think about me? They're going to realize,
hey, he is a kike. He is a Jew. Maybe we won't like him. And the complete opposite. They were-- they
were so nice to me. I-- I knew them already for
practically a year and half, and we liked each other. And they were
absolutely remarkable. The first day I wore
the yellow star, they walked with me from
the school to my home so that, you know, in case
somebody does something, they're going to protect me. And I will always remember that. That was the start of
the righteous Gentiles. There were, unfortunately,
very few of them, but there were some. There were, because
some of my sisters were protected by non-Jews. My brother was
protected by a non-- by non-Jews in his
quarter where he lives, and that's why he survived. [PAUSES FOR 3 SECONDS] 13 of my immediate
family was deported, and I'm the only
one that came back. And I-- when I came back-- I'm going ahead of my time. But when I came back,
I really didn't think I would find anybody alive. And the biggest
surprise was I still had a family who either
joined the underground to escape being deported, or
they were hidden by non-Jews. And that's how they survived. And that was fantastic. But unfortunately, of all
the people were deported-- as I said, in my
immediate family-- I'm the only one who survived. And it was-- I-- it was horrendous. When you're a young
kid, and suddenly, there are tremendously terrible rules
that you have to obey, and-- and you wonder why. I mean, I was-- I used to say, why
do I look different? I have two eyes, and a nose,
and a mouth, and teeth, and two arms, and ten
fingers, and ten toes, and I walk like them,
and I even dance. I sing better than they do. Why am I different? Why am I suddenly a vermin? And it was frightening. And when I saw-- we now-- we saw roundups. One of my half sisters lived in
a different quarter, the 20-- 20th Arrondissement. And she used to own a bakery. And in France, it was
very difficult to become French citizen if you were--
if you were a foreigner. Either-- if you were a man, you
went to the military services. That's how you became a citizen. Or you married a Frenchman,
and so by marriage, you become a French citizen. And most of my family did
not become French citizens. Even though they lived in
France since 1923, by 1941, they were still Polish. They were still Polish citizens. And my-- my half
sister had a bakery in the 20th Arrondissement. It was summertime in 1941, and
I went there to work with them. And that's when
they had a roundup in the 20th Arrondissement. That was my first time I saw a
roundup where they arrested-- all along the quadrant,
not just-- not just my-- my family. I mean, a lot of people
in that neighborhood. INT: Was this the-- was
this the major roundup? RC: No. That was not-- that
was not July 16, 1942. That was in 1941,
where they sent people either to Drancy or
to Beaune-la-Rolande or to the different
camps in France. And that day, they came--
they always come early. They always came
before the curfew is-- is lifted up,
before-- before 8:00. And the-- the chaos-- the noise that
came with the buses and the French policeman-- the-- I always say that the
Nazis were extremely clever. They let the other people
do their dirty work. It was always the French
policemen, or the-- or the-- the Holland policemen, or
the Netherlands policemen, or the Belgian policemen. It was never the Germans
themselves who came. It was done by-- and I must say
that, unfortunately, most of the policemen were
very happy to do their job. But that day, on-- in 1941, in July,
it was horrendous. They arrested only men. They did not arrest my sis-- my half sister, because her
younger son was born in France. And I guess at that time,
they did not do that. They did not arrest everybody. But they arrested
my brother in law and two of my older nephews,
and just to be shoved in buses. And I didn't know
where they were. And I went back to
my-- to my mother. I said, Jean and Marcelle
and Bernard were-- they were arrested. They were sent. And they were sent to Drancy. Drancy was a transit
camp outside of Paris. INT: How were you not-- INT: What I wanted
to know is how was it that you weren't rounded up? How did you manage
to escape that day? RC: Well first of all, they
had lists of the people who will be arrested-- a specific list. I was not on the list. I don't know if I had ID
cards with me at that time. I really don't know. But that's why I
wasn't arrested, and neither was my half-sister
and her younger son. They were not arrested. And also one of the older--
one of the older sons was also married, and
his wife was not arrested because she was born in France. At that time, they were
arresting just men, and they sent them to Drancy. My two nephews stayed in
Drancy for a very short time. They got sick, and
at that time, they were not deporting people yet. So they sent them
back to their home, and they were very clever. They smelled what was happening. They got some false ID
papers, went to free France, and they joined the underground. That's how they survived. They were very clever. Unfortunately, my--
my brother-in-law was not sent back home, was
sent to Auschwitz, and died. My half-sister with
her son finally got arrested July 16, 1942,
sent to Auschwitz, died. It was just horrendous. I mean, the curfews-- my sister Elaine, who was
at that time 18 years old, she was a very feisty,
wonderful, wonderful woman, but she had her own life to
live, and she didn't care. She would come home two minutes
before the curfew, driving my mother absolutely insane that
she was going to get arrested. She would take off her scarf. She would just walk out. She would-- she just--
she was remarkable. The reason I'm saying that is
because we were warned about July 16, 1942, that they were
going to arrest Polish people. My sister Nicky-- I won't call her Nicky now. Her name was Cecile-- used to work at a
doctor's office. And the doctor was not Jewish. He said, you stay here,
because tomorrow they are going to arrest
the Polish Jews. You stay, and then
you tell your mother to send your sister
Elaine here so she won't be arrested either. My sister Elaine arrived
that day two seconds before 8 o'clock, and my mother
said you cannot go. You cannot go out now. It's too late. The next morning, they came. They came to arrest all the
Polish Jews in our apartment, except, again, women
or older men who have French children, like
my mother and father were not arrested that day because
my sister Madeleine and I were French Jews. And they asked where is Cecile? My mother said, I don't know. I don't know where she is. Where is Elaine? Here I am. Ten minutes to take
your belongings. Come. And she said to that French
policeman who asked for her, she said, can I go downstairs
and buy the newspapers, and I'll be right back? He said, yes. Now, when you think
about it, now, you say, there's your opportunity. This man is saying, go. Go, don't come back. She went to buy newspaper-- came back. I realize, maybe-- and I don't
know because I did not ask her why she did that-- she probably
thought if I don't come back, they're going to
arrest my family. Maybe-- I mean, I'm
not-- that's why. Again, I'm putting
two and two together. It may not come out four. But she did come back. She was sent to Drancy,
was deported two weeks before we were deported. And I have a cousin
who was in Drancy-- was in Auschwitz. She was in Auschwitz with her. She saw her there,
and she said she died from-- from a sickness. She was not sent
to the gas chamber, but she died from sickness. And it's-- it's a shame, because
this righteous Gentile, this-- this policeman, said to
her-- and subliminally-- go, yeah, go and
buy the newspaper. I'll wait. I don't even think he said that. And that day, it was horrendous. I mean, we had-- we had very
close friends who lived two floors above us, and the whole
family was arrested except for the young kid, and when my-- my mother took care of him. And we had the key of a toilet-- their toilet, which was
in the corridor, which it is a very important moment,
because when we were arrested on September 23, 1942,
usually-- like on July 16th, they arrested quarters. I mean, not just one house. That day on September
23, 1942, they came to arrest only people
in this apartment house-- the ones who were still there. It didn't matter if they were
French citizens, or Romanian. It didn't matter
what nationality. They came to arrest
the whole house. And it was 10:00 PM at night. And the buses came. We were used to buses now. We were used to
French policemen. And we saw them do what they do. And again, the same thing--
knocking on every door and saying you have 10 minutes
to take your belongings and come downstairs. And my mother just took that key
from that toilet, which was not in the apartment, and she
said to my sister, Madeleine, go upstairs and hide. And my sister just instinctively
listened to my mother. For once in her life, she
listened to my mother, took that key, and
went upstairs and hid. And she asked me
to do that too-- where to go with my sister,
and I didn't want to go. I mean, my sister
was not security. I loved her. I still love her. But she was not security. My mother was security. My father was security. They were strong. My mother was compassionate. My mother was a rock. What am I going to do with
my sister in a toilet? I refused to go. My mother was saying-- she gave me some money
and-- to go upstairs to tell my sister what to do. She gave her some
money and some clothes. She said do whatever. I don't remember. But I went twice upstairs
evading the policeman, because they were all over
the apartment building, screaming, banging on doors. 10 minutes! Zeliszewski, Widerman, Harmuss,
downstairs in 10 minutes! And I went upstairs
evading the policeman, and I gave my sister the
money and the clothes, and tell her what to do. And I went right back. And I took a belonging,
I took some-- a blanket, because we
didn't have any suitcases. I put my belongings in it. I used to go to art school. I put my drawings in it--
my-- my design and everything. I took-- I took--I used to
love comic books and and-- movie magazines. That's what I put in my--
that was my belongings. I schlepped-- and
we went downstairs. One thing-- we had an annex
in this apartment house. Somehow they did not arrest
anybody in the annex. There were two apartments
on each floor-- the seventh floor--
two apartments. They never arrested the other. My uncle-- my brother's younger
brother, Yankel, Yankif, Yankel we called him-- said to my-- my-- to my aunt, I'm going to go
downstairs and say goodbye to my brother. He goes downstairs. The policeman says,
what do you want? Who are you? He says, I want to say
goodbye to my brother. Go on the bus-- got arrested, died with my
family in the gas chambers. My aunt-- never arrested-- lived to be 93 years old,
lived in the same apartment. It's-- it's-- it's a miracle
they never arrested them. From that moment
on, I must tell you, the chaos stayed until
the day I was liberated. I mean, we wouldn't-- it's rare when we-- when
we had great moments. When we had like a-- we were not treated
like human beings. I-- I don't remember,
except for one exception in the second camp
I was in, which was Blechhammer, which was
a satellite of Auschwitz. I remember near the end of the
war, one exception of an SS Captain who gave us the most
magnificent speech to us. I'm sure they killed him. But he knew it was
the end of the war. He had nothing to lose. Maybe that was his redeeming way
of saying, do not lose faith. One of these days you're
going to have-- you're going to be human
beings all over again. He did that. But that's the only
exception of the 31 months that I spent in concentration
camps, that I saw soldiers-- SS guards-- treated
us like human beings. Otherwise, we were not. And as I said,
most policemen were very happy to see us go,
because that-- that night, they took us in the police
station in the neighborhood. And we sat there. We were a lot of people. There's a plaque in the
front of the house right now that shows how many
people were deported. It says on the plaque, in
memory of the 112 inhabitants of this house, including
40 young children, deported and dead in
German camps in 1942. 118 People were deported
from this apartment house. Only six came back. And none of the
grownups made it-- two young girls and four young
boys, who are still living. I still keep in contact
with them, with all of them, these-- these five other people. And that night, they took
us to the police station, and we sat on benches. Nobody was sleeping. Women were just taking care
of their cranky children, trying to put them
back to sleep, because by now it's
10:30, 11 o'clock. And men just-- I don't know what
they were thinking, because we were guarded
by the French policeman. Nobody can get out. That's it. They won't let us out. They won't let us escape. And the next morning-- into buses again
and sent to Drancy. And what a-- what a
horrible revelation. First of all, Drancy
was a compound building. They were building
apartment building-- apartment houses there. It was a huge compound. They were-- it was not finished. They had no-- just
big holes for windows. There was no furniture. There was straw on
the floor, no doors. And there we are with
thousands of Jews. There were thousands of
Jews waiting to be deported, and straw on the floor. And we arrive there, and it's,
again, chaos, tumult, just screaming, crying. People were asking about
their family who were-- who were arrested before them. We asked. My mother asked
about my sisters. And then somehow somebody
remembered my sister Elaine, and said she was
deported two weeks ago. Now, in Drancy,
people stayed-- it depends, if they stayed maybe
a week, two weeks, a month. Some stayed longer. Some stayed overnight. And that's what
happened with our case. I mean, they woke us
up the next morning. Now, I was arrested on the 24th. 24th, I was-- 24th I was in Drancy. The 25th in the morning, at
3 o'clock in the morning, they woke us up with
a list of people who will be deported that day. And there we were. And on the list,
there were my mother, and my father, my
married sister Ida, with her husband and two young. Sons, who escaped
where they were living. They were living in the
20th arrondissement. They escaped that-- that place
because they were supposed to be arrested on July
16th, and thought they were going to be safe with us. And from July 16th
until September 23rd, they lived with us, and
they were arrested with us. And then my uncle and
I were on that list. There's a remarkable man
called Serge Klarsfeld. Serge Klarsfeld, like his
wife Beate-- who's not Jewish, but she might as well be. She's a saint compared
to a lot of Jews-- they are Nazi hunters,
like Simon Wiesenthal. And Serge, who has lost
his father in Auschwitz, made a vow to himself,
if he survived, I'm going to see to
it that nobody will forget about the Holocaust. He got hold of the
records in France, because, again, Hitler
wanted a thousand-year Reich. He wanted to conquer the world. He wanted to tell
the-- the non-Jews, look what I'm doing to you-- a thousand-year Reich,
no Jews, no minorities. Everybody's going to be
blonde eyes and-- blond hair and blue eyes. You know, let's put
everything on record. And that's what he did. And Serge Klarsfeld got a
hold of the French record after the war, and he
made a book out of it. And there are 76,000
names in this book-- 76,000 Jews who were
deported only from France. And he gave me a book-- when I went to the
World Gathering of the Jewish Survivors of the
Holocaust in 1981 in Israel, and I was with him. Through a mutual friend,
we went back to France together, to Paris
together, and he said when we arrive in
Pairs, give me a call, and I'll give you the book. And he gave me this thick book. And I was horrified by it,
because it shows everything. It shows the day
you were arrested, the day you were deported,
the day you were born, where you were born,
your first and last name, your profession--
it's all there. Your nationality--
it's all there. And I must tell
you, the first time I flipped through those
pages, it choked me. I was crying because I saw names
of all my childhood friends who lived in the same apartment
buildings with their families. And I saw cousins, and I
saw nephews, and nieces, and uncles, and aunts, and
my mother, and my father, and sisters, and
brothers-in-law, and me, with a dot in front of my name. It meant-- if there is a
dot in the front of a name, it means that person came back. And you can flip those pages,
and you see very few dots in front of names. And they look-- it
shows everything. In that convoy when
I was deported, there were 1,004 people
in those cattle cars. And we traveled from Bobigny,
which was a-- a railroad station not far from Drancy. From Bobigny, we traveled for
three days and two nights. The third day,
which was late, we arrived in a town called Kozel,
which is in Upper Silesia. It's the border of
Czechoslovakia and Poland. It's 60 miles away
from Auschwitz. And there, the SS
demanded the men to jump-- to jump off the
train and sit on the ground. And they had kept
175 men on the ground while the train
went to Auschwitz. And there it shows on the
record that in Auschwitz, in my convoy, Doctor Mengele-- the infamous Doctor Mengele,
was doing the selection in Auschwitz of who was going
live and who was going to die-- selected that day
91 woman and 40 men to go to work to stay
alive while the other 900-- 800-- 986 people went
to the gas chambers. And out of the 306
people who survived, who were spared
for a while, 15 men from my convoy came back alive-- 15. And you go, and you look at the
book, and it's unbelievable. I will never forget what
Serge Klarsfeld said to me when I was looking at the book. He said, you were lucky. I mean, I know I'm going to
use that word very often. I mean, you either-- either
you use the word lucky, or it's fate. I mean, a lot of people who
are very religious would say, my religion saved me. But-- but it doesn't matter
if you were even religious. If you were not lucky,
you will not survive. And that's exactly what
Serge Klarsfeld said to me. You were lucky. Let's-- let's just
turn the pages. Let's see what five days
later, how many people were-- and we looked. And five days later there were
like 125 people on the train, and none of them came back. And we were lucky. And-- and-- I've talked
to hundreds of thousands of the people, and
a lot of survivors. And they always
say the same thing. You had to be lucky to survive. I mean, your health will help. Religion's helped tremendously. I'm not denying that, because
if you had faith in God, that will keep you alive. You would say, OK, you know,
you're going to help me God. You know, it's fine. But you had to be
lucky to survive what-- what they-- what they did to
you, because from that moment on, we were not human beings. We were cattle. That's exactly how they-- that's why the put
us in cattle trains. We were sheep. We were cattle. We were not human beings. And a lot of people say,
how come you didn't escape? How come you don't rebel? [PAUSES FOR 4 SECONDS] It's a dumb question
to ask, really. If we knew that
we were all going to go to the gas
chambers, or, most of us, to the gas chambers
and the ovens, and we're to wind up as ashes
for fertilizer, then of course we would rebel. It doesn't matter if
we're going to die, because we're going
to die anyway. But if we don't know that,
life is precious in a way, even though you may not have
the greatest life in the world. It is still very precious. You want to live
as much as you can. And so you're just
being led by the nose. Maybe someday there
will be a better day. But-- but you do that,
and I'll give you an example of why we
did not know that we were going to the gas chambers. The first day on the train-- my mother was really a saint
and, a wonderful woman, and very wise. She was not educated, but
she was a very wise person. She asked me to write a
letter to my brother, Jaques, the first day on the train. And even though-- the train
stopped once in awhile because either
there were convoys of soldiers going someplace,
and they had to stop, and they would go back, and we
would hear some French speaking language the first day. And my mother would
say, write that letter. And she'd tell me what to write. And in the letter-- I mean, I'm kind of
paraphrasing here because I don't want to go
through the whole letter-- I said, Dear Jaques, we are
100 people in each compartment. It is so terrible,
what's happening in them, I don't want to
describe it, and I hope that you will never see
it for the rest of your life. And I mention all the
names of the family who was on the train with us. And I said in the letter,
I said, we have hope, and we have courage. And we hope to join
some of the sisters who were deported before us, in
the resettlement camp in Metz, which is northeast of France. And we hope to come back and be
a united family all over again. And that's trivia. I don't think she
told me to write that. It's only trivia like,
excuse my handwriting, but the train is in motion. And I said, take
care of yourself. Take care of your family. Take care of the sisters
who were not deported. And I put a PS on
that letter, and I said, tell Aimee to
go to the laundry and pick up the tan sheets. Now why would my mother ask
me to write this nonsense, if she knew that three
days later she was ashes? How could you do that? We did not know. I rarely cry, I'm very tough. I did a documentary in 1984. It's called Robert
Clary A5714, which is my number, Memory of a
Liberation From Buchenwald. And I went to Bobigny, where
we were put into the camp, and they have-- they have cattle cars there,
and I went into the cattle car-- empty. And I start to talk. The camera is just
rolling, and I'm talking, and I'm just seeing
myself in it. And tears-- I just-- because I see my mother, I see-- I see-- I see the stench. I even felt the stench of
what's happening there, because we had two small, wooden
buckets for toilet facilities for 100 people. Gave us a piece of bread,
margarine, sausage, straw on the floor, and not
knowing where we were going. What is our destiny,
our destination? Where-- where-- where-- what
are they going to do with us? And the crying, and the
moaning, and the stench because of the
toilet facilities-- and you cannot even sit. And I'm in that cattle car,
and I'm really weeping. I'm-- I'm just-- you think why
can men be that inhuman towards other people? Why do they do that? Why can't they let other
people live the life that they want to live? The Earth is big enough. And it was just catastrophic. And it really got worse,
and worse, and worse. I mean, the third
the day, we finally arrived in a small town
called Kozel, as I said. And because-- the
cattle cars were sealed. I mean, we were practically
in darkness most of the time. There were slots on each side-- four slots. Very-- you could not
practically breathe. You could not stand. It was just awful. And they opened-- they
unsealed the wagon. And there-- they just
opened the doors and-- brutal meeting. Screaming soldiers in uniforms
with-- dogs on leashes are barking at us. Raus! Raus! And screaming
constantly-- schnell! Schnell! I learned those two
words very fast, even though I didn't know
what raus and schnell meant, but I learned that. And then they're hitting
us because somebody said for the men to jump off
the train and sit on the ground. And my brother-in-law
jumped off the train. And they must have told
men from a certain age, because my father did
not jump off the train. My-- my uncle did not
jump off the train. My two nephews did not
jump off the train. That little kid
from my neighborhood did not jump off the train,
but my brother-in-law did. So they must have said that men
from-- from, like, 16 to 45. I had no idea. He jumped off the train. I followed him. I sat on the ground. I'm 16 and 1/2 years old. I really look like 12. I don't look my age. And you cannot live if
you're 12 years old. There are great exceptions. I mean there are great
exceptions, mostly people from Poland or twins who were
spared for-- for-- for what do you call it? INT: Experiments. RC: Experiments. That's right. But otherwise, they-- they
don't need young people-- to feed them for what? We're not going to feed them. They don't need them to work. You have to work over--
over 12 hours a day. So that's why they
don't need them, because there's an-- there's
an SS [INAUDIBLE] who passed by me. He sees me sitting
on the ground. He said, you, back on
the train, and hits me with his rifle butt. And I grabbed my-- my
bag, my-- my belonging, and I jumped on the train again. Now, what saved me us
because we were very thirsty. We did not have
anything to drink-- no water for those three days. I stood at the open
door with an older man and we passed the cans
of water to the people who are still on the train. And that saved me, because
another SS passed by. He looks at me. He says, so how old are you? Again, I don't know
what he's saying. All I'm seeing in
front of my eyes are really horrible things. I mean, men being bitten by
dogs and hit by the SS guards. And really just-- men
saying goodbye to their-- to their family on the train. It was just-- the crying,
the screaming was just-- it's something that stays with
you for the rest of your life. And the man next to me,
the old man, said, I'm 16. So the-- the German just
pushed me off the train. And that's how I was saved. My mother, again, remarkable-- I'm going to cry if
I'm going to say it. But it doesn't matter. She was so remarkable. The first time before I
jumped off the train-- and I was a brat
when I was a child. I mean, because I
was the youngest one. I was talented. I could get anything I want. Even my mother, their
money, you know-- I would have a tantrum
for five seconds. She would give me money to
buy some ice cream, things like this, buy my comic books. And she knew I was,
but she adored me, and I adored her too. And she kissed me on my
forehead the first time before I jumped from the train. And she said, be a good boy. [CRYING] It's tough. [CRYING] I'm 68 years old,
and I'm still crying. [CRYING] She knew me. [PAUSES FOR 6 SECONDS] Anyway, she said, be a good boy. Do exactly what they tell you. Obey them. And she said tantrums
won't help anymore. I won't be here. [CRYING] God, I miss her. [CRYING] And I'm even sadder
about my father, because I never talked to him. [CRYING] I don't know where he was in
those three days on the train. Maybe I didn't
care, I don't know. It was awful. But I did not cry that day. The train left,
and we did not know where that train was going. We did not know about
Auschwitz-Birkenau. We did not know about
extermination camps at that time. And we were put into-- the 175
men who were on the ground when the train left-- we were put into open
trucks and we traveled to go to the first camp. And we got a taste
of what's going to be with us, because
young kids, young Nazis, young Germans, were just
yelling at us, spitting at us, calling us dirty Jew bastards. [GERMAN] And that was our
welcome to Germany. And we arrived in a
camp called Ottmuth. Thank you. It was called Ottmuth. It was a slave labor camp. It was a transit camp only. There was only 150 people
who could stay there to work in a shoe factory. The others, they were selected
once a week by a Gestapo agent. The Gestapo agent would come. We would stand at roll-call, and
he will just point his finger, and you-- and these people would be sent
to the concentration camps, or extermination camps. And only an elite people-- 150 people-- would stay in that
camp to work in a shoe factory. And when we arrived there,
the first thing we did is being shaved from head
to toe, taking a shower. Now, we were not given
striped uniforms, even though it was a-- a slave
labor camp, and a satellite of Auschwitz, but it was not
a real concentration camp. And we were given
ill-fitted uniforms. I mean, clothes that
didn't belong to us. I mean right now,
ill-fitted uniforms would be perfect
because that's what we wear-- ill-fitted suits. But at that-- at
that time it wasn't. And what happened is they had--
they had the Star of David cut out of the-- of those clothes, on
the front of our coat, on the back of our coat, and on
both the legs of our trousers, so we can be-- and
we were shaved. We were not given numbers yet. That was September 1942. And speeches-- I mean
the Judenaltester, who was the commandant, the
Jewish commandant of the camp, OSS [INAUDIBLE] for the
Nazis, for the soldiers, telling us what's going
to happen with our lives, that there's no more liberty. We're going to work very hard. We're going to eat very
little, and you better obey. That's it. And the Kapos-- Kapos were lieutenants. Most certainly-- now, that first
camp, which was a small camp, they were Jews. They were all Jews. There were no non-Jews-- [INAUDIBLE] I didn't see any gay
people, or gypsies, or anybody. We're just Jews, mostly Polish
Jews, who stayed in the camp most of the time
because they were arrested long before we were. All the deportations were
from Holland, from Belgium, from France at that time. There were a lot of
people coming and going in September in '42. There were a lot of-- lot
of Western European Jews. And miracles happened. I mean, lucky again--
fate would be on my side. We were not doing anything
for the first week, because we didn't
know who was going to be sent someplace else. I sang. I sang. And in that camp, in
that transit camp, there were like, 10
Polish ladies, women who would work at the shower room. They would work in
the laundry, and they would work in the kitchen. And one of the--
one of the ladies was the girlfriend
of Judenaltester. And she heard me sing. I was singing songs in French,
'Joseph, Joseph,' 'Bei Mir Bist du Shein,' all these songs. And she liked it. And she said to
the Judenaltester, listen to this kid. And he loved it. And because of that, each
time the Gestapo came, I was put with my
brother-in-law on the side so I won't be
deported, so I wouldn't be sent someplace else. I would stay in that camp
as long as we stayed there. And compared to a lot of other
camps, even though it was not paradise, it was-- it was not something you loved
being in because we worked very hard, and we had
very little to eat, but compared to salt
mines or quarry mines, or people who had to work
really, tremendously hard, we were lucky to
be in this camp. Even though I worked
in a shoe factory, I had to make 4,000 pairs
of wooden heels a day. But nonetheless, I was inside. I was not in a quarry mine. I was not in a salt mine. I was not in a coal mine. I didn't have to
schlep a lot of things. I just worked on a machine. I was doing-- I was putting a little
piece of leather, or-- or rubber at the back of
the heel so it wouldn't get used too fast. And do you know what I would do? It was so noisy in that
factory because of the machines all going together. All day long to keep my
morale, I would sing. Nobody could hear me. I would sing through
all the French songs that I knew from when
we were entertaining. That's how I kept myself alive. I was also very naive, and
a lot of times, ridiculous. I did-- one day I did something. I don't know why I
did it, how I did it, and how I got away
with it, because there was a Gestapo man who was
supervising this whole thing. And he used to be-- he
spoke French fluently, and somehow he took
a liking to me. He would stop at my machine
and talk to me in French, and one day there was sabotage. I mean, let's face it, some
of the pieces of rubber were not all very good, and the
leather was not good either. What are you going to do? You look at the whole
box, and there are maybe five pieces that are very good. And he came to me with a lot
of heels, and they're not good. And they were screaming at me. I said, why you screaming at me? It's not my fault.
Leave me alone. And I walked out. I walked out. I went-- we had a little
barrack downstairs when we had-- when at lunchtime
for half and hour, we would get a lukewarm soup. And I walked out. I went to that barrack. I was there for half an hour. INT: OK, do you
remember where you were? RC: Yes. That's not being
brave, what I did. It's really silly. I mean, luckily, the
foreman and this Gestapo man liked me, somehow. They were not that brutal. They screamed a lot, but
they never, you know, hit us. When I came back, they
never said anything to me. I could have been killed. He would have been like,
what's one more Jew? Who cares? You know, this guy-- this
guy is saying, up yours! I don't want to work anymore. [INAUDIBLE] How dare
you screaming at me. And they let me live. Luck was on my side again. And I would entertain
when we were not working. Every-- every second
Sunday, we would not work. And what happened
in the morning, we were very busy
delousing everything. The beds, they were full
of cockroaches and lice. I mean, we had lice by the tons. I mean, it's unbelievable
how you get used to it. Even though we were shaved-- I mean, under our arms, on
our hair, and our pubic area-- everywhere we have lice. Just-- even if you-- if
you go and wash yourself, I mean if you were 300 people,
if 200 do not wash themselves, you're going to
catch their lice, and then the cockroaches
would be there. So what we would
do on Sundays, we would just try to
clean the beds. Though we had to keep
our barracks spotless. If you did not keep
the barracks spotless, you get punished when
you come back from work. But nonetheless, the
cockroaches were there. And then when we had a
little time, I would en-- I would sing. And that, to me, is my saving
grace, for many reasons. First of all, when I sang,
I forgot where I was. I got involved with
the song I was singing. And I think I made the
other inmates kind of happy for that half-hour
that I was doing. And on top of it, the
chef at the kitchen will give me a piece of
bread and a soup extra. I always say that you could
not survive alone in camps. If you were alone, you
could not do it by yourself. You had to have members of
your family that you love and stick together, or
you had to have friends. My brother-in-law,
unfortunately-- and it's again, my youth, and I'm putting the
blame on me for what I did-- he said-- well, because
he lost his two son-- hold me. Like I am his son now. And he was my brother-in-law,
you know, not somebody that I knew quite well. And why should he
tell me what to do? And somehow, we did not manage
to get along quite well. We were separated, though-- though he stayed in the camps. I saw him, I saw him,
but we were not holding each other to dear life. Maybe if I-- maybe
if it was my brother, it would have been different. I don't know. But I got involved with
two young French kids, and they were magnificent. George and-- I can't even
think of the other name, but it'll come to me. Anyway, they-- they were-- we would stick together. We would share
everything we had. We would talk about our
past in France, and-- and it was just marvelous. And that helps you, because
if you feel low one day, if the other person
boost you up, then the general morale
will just go back. And that's what you needed. I mean, I have an example. I have some friends
called the Fogels. They were three brothers
and-- and a father in a second camp I was in. And they were remarkable. They just stuck together,
come rain or come shine. And they survived the war
and they went to Israel. The father died in Israel. And they still live in Israel. But they were absolutely,
that nobody would-- nothing would separate them. They were very solid. They were-- it was great. You see-- you see so many things
when human beings are equal-- because that's what
we were in the camps, except for the kapos
and then a Judenalteste, who had a better way
of living than we had. But when human beings
are equal, then you see who is a good person,
who is not a good person. And you see a lot of people
really show their true colors, and it's very ugly. I would think that most
kapos abused their power. They would just--
they would scream, which was understandable
when the Nazis were there, when the SS were there, because
that's what the SS wanted-- to be kept in
order, to be-- to-- to run the camp properly. Otherwise, they're
going to get theirs. But why do you scream
when they're not there? Why do you still hit us
when they're not there? Why? Show the other side. Show that you're
screaming because you have to scream,
because otherwise it's going to be your ass. But otherwise,
why do you scream? Why do you hit us? And I've seen that too many
times, too many times by kapos. And that-- and it's a
sad thing to say, really. Anyway, I stayed
in that first camp 19 months, doing my 4,000
pair of wooden heels a day, and singing my head off. And we, for a very
long time, did not know about extermination camps. At least, when I say
we, I should not say so. I should say I did not know. Again, my youth, my innocence,
my not really wanting to realize where I was in,
even though I know where I was. But I just didn't want to
face the complete reality. I did not know about
the examination camps. Every night-- even when I knew
about extermination camps-- every night before
I close my eyes, I would pray to God to save
everybody in my family. And I would just go from my
father down to the last nephew, say, please, save them,
like I am safe right now. Did not obey, but I did that. As I said, even when I knew
about extermination camps, what they were doing with older
people and younger children, by that time I was-- but still, in-- I was hardened, but still in
my brain, in some where, it-- maybe not. Maybe they'll escape
like I'm escaping. Now, 19 months later,
we evacuated in Ottmuth, because it's going to be an
English prisoner of war stalag. And we are all sent-- all the 150 people-- to a--
to a satellite of Auschwitz called Blechhammer. And there-- it's a big camp,
because from 150 people, we are 3,000 in that camp. Brick walls, which we
did not have in Ottmuth. Electrified barbed wire, which
we did not have in Ottmuth. Guard towers, which we
did not have in Ottmuth. Lots of barracks. SS guarding us, which we
did not have in Ottmuth. They were all Wehrmacht people. A complete change. And we arrived, we are 150
people in this huge camp. 'Arbeit macht frei,'
you know, the-- what they say in Auschwitz. And they send us to the-- yes? INT: I just wanted to ask
you-- when they took you from Ottmuth, did they just wake
you up one morning and you were gone, or did you have-- were
you aware that you were going-- RC: No. We did not-- we did not-- as far as I can
remember, we did not know that we're going
to be evacuated. It may-- it's quite possible
that the Judenalteste knew that they're going to-- that they're going
to send us away. I don't think I knew. Yeah, they just say,
OK, we're leaving. INT: And again, was it the
same sort of-- how you were transported-- RC: Trucks. Trucks. Not-- we were not walking there. The-- the Germans were not
losing the war like they did in 19-- in 194-- the end of 1944. So they still have trucks
available for us to travel. And we did travel. And Blechhammer was
very close to Auschwitz. Again, it was in Upper
Silesia, very, very close by-- to Ottmuth, I mean. And there we are. We sent to the-- to the gas chambers. We were sent to
the shower rooms. They were not gas chambers. And then what they did is shaved
us again, and then they di-- they disinfected us. That was our first time that
we are sent to a big vat with a green liquid that
was absolutely vile. But just to get rid of
the vermin, the lice and everything. And then they gave
us striped uniforms. That was the first time,
again, that they gave us those striped
uniforms with the-- with shoes that were-- they were, you know, canvas
tops and wooden clogs. That's what they were. I don't remember having socks. I don't think we had socks. We did not have any socks. We had just-- for
the winter, they give us a very light overcoat. Overcoat. It was that-- that's
the only thing. And we had a cap. And then they took us to a
barrack, and we stood in line. And they told us to
roll up our sleeve, our sleeve on our left arm,
and they gave us a tattoo. INT: Can you hold
up your arm so-- RC: Well, because
I have a tan, I don't think you're going
to be able to see it. You know, after all
these years since 19-- that was May in 1944. INT: Can you also
tell us your number? RC: The number is A5714. The reason I have A is because
I was tattooed that late. Otherwise, if I-- if I-- let's say if I went to
Auschwitz in September 1942 where they were
tattooing people, I probably would've gotten like
a 115000, something like this. But the A is because they
didn't want five millions. They didn't want to do that. And so they put A in there. INT: So they started the
numbering all over again, is that-- RC: So A5714 was my
number from then on. And I guess we
realized what we were, that we were branded cattle. That's it. Forget about the whole
idea of Widerman, which was my real name. Forget about even Robert. I mean, I'm A5714. It's all over the place. You know? That's it. That's who I am. And we worked in a
factory there that made, from coal, synthetic fuel. And we were building
that factory. It was tremendously
hard work, really. Even if you tried to escape-- There were a lot of other
people working in that factory. I saw-- I saw English
prisoner of war. They would not work. They would stay in
their little cabin and brew their tea
from the Red Cross. Some of them were nice. Some of them would-- if
the guard wasn't looking, you know, the SS
guard wasn't looking, they would give you a piece
of bread or a cup of tea. But most of them,
they ignored us. They just didn't want
anything to do with us. INT: In this camp, were
there women, or was it-- RC: There were. There were-- they
were, like, again, 50 to 60 women who would
work, again, in the hospital. There was in a-- we did not have a
hospital in Ottmuth, but we had a hospital
in Blechhammer. The laundry, the kitchen. Talking about being
sick, hospital-- in Ottmuth, we had
one doctor, a dentist. He was-- he was the doctor. He was Polish. He was the doctor of the camp
for the 150 people who stayed. He was such a nice person. He was so nice. He was-- I was sick-- during our entire
time, 31 months in camp, I was sick once with a fever. And for two days, I
did not go to work, and he gave me some aspirin,
and then I was fine. I had a toothache, and
he filled that tooth. That stayed fine until I
came to France five days-- five years later in France,
I had to change the filling. He was such a sweet person. That gave you really
a way to want to live, because there are
great human beings. I saw some remarkable
people who will help you, will give you courage. That's-- that's really-- that's what keeps you alive. Anyway, in Blechhammer,
we are put into barracks and we go to work. Again, I'm very lucky. The Judenalteste
from Ottmuth, who loved me because I
was singing, goes to the Judenalteste in
Blechhammer and says, this little kid
sings quite well. He's a great entertainer. You should-- Every Sunday, they had a
special barracks for the elite, for the kapos-- for-- for-- not the Germans,
yet, not the Nazis-- for the-- for the kapos, for the
Judenalteste, for these people. Some people would entertain. And again, I'm entertaining in-- in Blechhammer, and loving it. And again, I've got a piece
of bread and margarine. We worked hard. We had really a
maniac SS guard there. Unbelievable. I mean, Schindler's List-- it's the same guy. He would shoot at random. He didn't care. He would-- He would scream
and hit us constantly. He did something that we will-- we will never forget. One day at the camp-- at the factory, there was
a man who took a useless piece of wire on the ground. I don't know what he
wanted to do with it-- I assume he wanted
to make a belt, because his pants were falling,
no belt. And he hits him. And he hits the two guys next--
next to him, who did nothing. They were there next to him. He hits them violently. And one of the-- the kapos who was taking
care of these three guys was a remarkable
man from Belgium. And he went to this--
we called him Tom Mix. And we all called him
Tom Mix, because he thought he was an American
cowboy movie stars of the '30s. He was riding a
bicycle like a cowboy. He was holding his-- his guns like a cowboy. He was walking like a-- like John Wayne. And he went to this Tom Mix,
said, why are you doing this? Why are you hitting them? It's a useless piece of wire. And he hits him too. And I saw a lot of hangings. And these four people
a few days later were hanged, just because
this one individual stole a useless piece
of wire that was-- he was caught by Tom Mix. For nothing. Just-- the first hanging I saw-- and I'm a kid who was absolutely
scared of everything when I was a child. And suddenly, I have to
be on guard duty at night when it's pitch dark, you
know, to see that people go to the latrine will go back. 10 minutes later, they
better go back in the-- otherwise it's your--
you're responsible. If they don't come back, if
they escape, you're the one-- you're the one that's
going to get killed. So that's why we
were on guard duty. And suddenly, I have
to be on guard duty with people being hanged. They stay hanged all
night long, and I'm seeing corpses that are being hanged. And it's frightening! That's death. I don't want to see that. I'm frightened. Mama! But now, after
the third hanging, I was not scared anymore. But it's frightening
what they were doing. They-- we would work
for 12 hours, very hard, and then we would
stay on roll calls if there were some hanging
for at least two more hours. Usually the roll calls,
it was to be counted-- and they counted all over
again if people were missing. Counting and counting again. It would take like a
half-hour to an hour. But when there were hangings,
speeches from the SS-- you better behave. It's your turn, otherwise. And then seeing the hanging. And then in the
middle of the night, sometimes, what Tom
Mix would do when he didn't feel like
sleeping, he would make us exercise all night long. I mean, we had four-- four hours sleep
at night, maximum. And if you're not-- if you were on guard duty,
you had not even that. And then work for 12 hours. And then he would-- for four hours,
we would exercise. I mean, up, down,
crawling, and hitting us. That was his joy. He was-- he was
hysterical with happiness. On top of it, which,
in a way, was great, that factory was bombed every
day by the Allied bombers, because it was a
factory that was making, from coal, synthetic fuel. And the Allies didn't want-- did not want that, because
the war is going to go on and they're going to win. And it was bombed. They made shelters,
very good shelters, but we were not allowed
to go into shelters. If we go into shelters,
they will throw us out. You had to go and
escape where you go-- wherever you want to escape
the bombs, but not in shelters. Sometimes, we stayed. Sometimes, one-- I have
heard from people who were in Blechhammer-- which I don't remember that-- SS guards were in
their shelters, they throw away the Jews out. They said, you
cannot get a shelter. Out!
Raus! Raus! That shelter had a bomb hit it
completely and killed the SS. [LAUGHS] Thank
You, God, we said. But I escaped one bomb. I don't know how I escaped. There were woods all over the-- all over the factory, and
we would go in the woods. And thank God it wasn't stone,
it was like sand or some such. A bomb fell, maybe-- I don't know, I
can't even tell-- not far away from me. And I just went down
with the hole, went down. I was grasping and thinking
I went down with it, and I wasn't killed. But then, many, many of
us, did die from the bombs. But now it's January, 1945. And we heard rumors. I mean, we always heard
rumors, real or not real, that the Allies are
in North Africa, and now they're winning
the war in North Africa. There's-- there's a-- June-- June, 1944, the-- the D-Day is there. We heard those things. INT: How did you
come to hear that? From-- RC: You always-- People talk. I mean, when you go to
factories, people talk. Even though you're not
supposed to talk to them, you talk to them. INT: But how did you-- how did the news come to you? From each new transport? RC: No. From when you work
in the factories. You know, people will
say, the Allies-- you know, the Allies
are in Africa right now. The Allies are [INAUDIBLE]
you know, by the [? bachat ?] in France. You listen to it, and I really
didn't get any joy out of it, because I still had to get
up at 4:00 in the morning. I still had to
work for 12 hours. It didn't change my position. It didn't change my life,
so why should I be happy? Even though I should be
happy, because they are-- they're winning and the
Germans are not winning. But still, we may be
killed any second. We didn't-- we never
knew when we're going-- when we're still
going to be alive. They can kill us momentarily. Anyway, January, 1945, we
heard the Russian soldiers are coming, you know,
they're winning the war. And they start to
evacuate all the camps, from the extermination
camps, and camps in Poland and eastern part of Germany. Now they told us
at one roll call, tomorrow we are
evacuating the camps, and you'd better not
stay in the camp, because we're going
to liquidate the camp. Tomorrow-- tomorrow arrived-- January 21st, 1945. People were coming
from [INAUDIBLE], from the other camps too. [INAUDIBLE] suddenly, now
we've 4,000 people in our camp, and we're going to
evacuate the camp that day. And we walk, and
we start walking. And it's freezing cold. In Upper Silesia, it's
like being in Alaska. And it's freezing, freezing
cold, snow up to your knees, and all we had is a very
light striped uniforms. We all took blankets and
put it over our shoulders to have some warm there. Now, my three friends, the
Fogels and the father-- and their father, they knew
that if this father walked, they're not going to make it. So they hid under the barracks. They were not liquidated. They were liberated by
the Russian soldiers. They went in France. They were there
in February 1945, they arrived back in France. And somehow, they tell
some of the people that I was alive at that time. But we walked-- like everybody. Like all survivors,
like everybody. We walked for days
and days in deep snow, and there's not enough food. We have 4,000 people, SS
on each side with guns. Their order was, you sit when
you're not supposed to, you cannot walk anymore,
you have to be killed. And they kept those orders. And we walking. And I'm there with a friend
now that I made in Blechhammer, a very nice man. We're walking in
front of the line, and we keep ourselves alive. And then again,
unbelievable thing. When we would find a
barn, if they found a barn that's big enough to-- so, for like three hours,
we would sleep on the-- on the straw. And when we would do
that, I would escape. I would go out of the barn
when everybody was asleep, go to a farm and ask, please
give me a piece of bread. And they would do that,
give me a glass of milk, a piece of bread. And instead of staying
there-- and I was-- I was already 18
and 1/2 years old then-- instead of staying
there, take my chances, I went right back. Went back to the barn to be
with the people that I knew, to the security-- even though it was-- it was
such a fragile security. But nonetheless,
I was with them. I did that twice. Amazing. And I remember vividly going
and knocking on a door, and then these people not saying
no, get out, you dirty Jew. Get out. Being scared, they would
give me a piece of bread. And we walked for 15 days
and 15 nights this way. And we arrived in
Gross-Rosen only 2,000. I mean, because we heard
shotguns constantly, constantly. And they killed 2,000. And Gross-Rosen was
a tremendous camp. And everybody from Eastern
Europe are going to the-- to Gross-Rosen. Overcrowded, no--
not enough barracks. Again, they'd shoved us, 2,000
people in unfinished barracks. And not enough
food for everybody. And in and out of the barracks,
and hitting us, and screaming, and-- and it was just
the worst nightmare that you can even
think about it. There's no way you can escape. I mean, my friend,
George, could not make it. And one day I saw
him in the mud, dead, and we stayed only three
days at Gross-Rosen. And he couldn't make
it-- he was dead. Did I cry? Didn't. To me, it was just somebody
who couldn't make it. I'm still alive and he's dead. I'm still on my feet, even
though we were very weak by then, because we only
ate twice a piece of bread during those 15 days, and once
a piece of bread in Gross-Rosen during three days. That's all they gave us to eat. And-- and it was unbelievable. When they gave--
when they distributed that piece of bread, I
mean, people just grabbing it like-- like we
were-- we were animals. They made, absolutely,
animals out of us. Not even decent animals. That's-- you know, we
were all going to survive. And it was just awful. Third day, they evacuated that
group, that Blechhammer people. We going now. We 2,000 people-- no, we less
than that, because people died in Gross-Rosen. And they found an open-- open cattle train,
and they put us in it. But before that, we
stayed in a very low line, and I see the people in
my convoy going to a-- to a-- to a barrack, and I
don't see them coming out. And I knew about gas chambers. I said, my-- this is it. This is it. I've survived for over two
and 1/2 years, but this is it. Goodbye, world. We went to the barrack to be
registered for a 1,000-year Reich, so they will know when--
oh, the old records are there. When you arrive at Gross-Rosen,
when you left Gross-Rosen. It's all there. Again, even though Hitler
was losing the war. I mean, on all fronts-- the Western Front,
the Eastern Front. He was losing the war. They still had to know
when we left the camp. And we were put
into a cattle train. We traveled for days to
the middle of Germany-- Weimar, which is six
miles south of Buchenwald, and we arrived there. And the Allied
bombers are there. I mean, open cattle train. And we're on top of each other. Striped uniforms,
skeletons, most of us. They come down and
machine gun us. And the ones who could
not go on to the train fast enough, which I
did, they were killed. I mean, we arrived in
Buchenwald after walking those six miles late at
night, 1,200 from 4,000. Those are the ones who survived
during those not even three weeks. And we arrived. They put us into shower rooms. It's too late if I-- and I don't know. And I said to my friend there-- I got lost with the other guy-- and I said to my friend, let's
not go into the shower room. You know, let's-- let's
stay in the anteroom. If they don't come out after
10 minutes, we'll be next. Now, we slept all night long
there, because they didn't-- they didn't want to
delouse us and disinfect us until the morning,
which they did. They did not kill us there. Buchenwald was a
tremendous camp. It's the-- it's the
biggest one I've seen. They had the big camp and
they had a little camp. And the big camp was
constructed in 1937. And there were very few
Jews at that time in 1937, because they were all sent,
after this, to Poland and Upper Silesia. But when I arrived in
'45, they were mostly underground fighters,
communist, political people, Russian soldiers in
their own compound, Ukrainians, homosexuals,
gypsies, Jehovah's Witnesses. And the Jews were sent
into the little camp where they had experimental
barracks, where they had a theater. They had a whorehouse,
they had a hospital. And in Buchenwald, the
very famous Ilse Koch. I don't know if you know what
she was doing in Buchenwald. I mean, I did not
know when I was there. Ilse Koch, outside of the camp--
just outside the barbed wire-- had a zoo, with six bears. And she would feed them raw
meat and all these things that we never had. She-- and experiments. She was doing experiments. Not experiments-- she would-- she would line up people
with tattoos on their chest. And if she liked the
tattoo on their chest, she would say, you, out. And then she would kill
them and skin the tat-- the skin and make
lamp shades out of it. I mean, that's
what she was doing, this woman who was the wife of
the commandant of Buchenwald. I think she got
caught after the war. I don't know what happened. They probably hanged her. Like Tom Mix got-- I've heard, after the war,
that Tom Mix did get-- did get catched. They caught him. They caught Mix. I've been in this
country for so long, I still don't know
how to speak English. [LAUGHS] Anyway,
they caught him, and he got hanged for what
he did, which was fine. Anyway,
[PAUSES FOR 3 SECONDS] they sent us into the little camp. Now again, I was saved in
Buchenwald by four non-Jews. The head of the delousing
department was a-- was a German communist
who was there since 1937. Why he picked me out of the
1,200 people who arrived there and saved my life. While we were waiting to
be disinfected and shaved, he gave me a piece of bread. Then he knew what
barracks we were. We were put into the theater-- 1,200 people in one big theater. We were standing in line
to go to the bathroom. We all had dysentery,
and it was-- it was just terrible. And-- and there he is. He comes in the
barrack and talks to me and give me another
piece of bread. And then, three weeks later, we
were put into small barracks-- five rows of bunks, no windows. You'd sleep like
sardines on the side. You wake up with
corpses all around you, and we'd shove them, and
run, grab their clothes, because was very cold. After three weeks, he got
me out of the little camp and put me in a big camp
in a French barrack, because he knew I was French. He asked me a lot of questions. And there I was. I met two saintly Frenchmen-- Yves Dayan and
Claude-Francis Bouffe-- political people,
underground fighters. One was a musician, Yves Dayan. The other one was a scientist. And they saw this little frail
body arrive in their barrack, where there were a
lot of Spanish people and French people
and Czechoslovakian. And they took pity on me. They nurtured me back to life. They gave me food. They had sugar-- that's
the first time I saw sugar since 9 September 1942. They gave me a piece of sugar. And they saw to it
that nothing's going to happen to me in Buchenwald. They knew a man, Hewi Zak. Hewi Zak was a
Czechoslovakian, a communist, who was there since 1938. And he achieved a post there. He was the head of the-- head secretary of the-- of the camp. And he used to play
the bass fiddle. And Yves Dayan had an orchestra. Talking about-- talking
about orchestra-- the contrast between
the horrors of the Nazis and what they would do-- [BACKGROUND NOISE]
Now, even though we were treated like
animals, nonetheless, they had musicians who
would play music while we were going
out to go to work, and when we came back from work. And tempo, march tempo,
so we will march in tempo. And these musicians were
lucky, because they did not have to go to work. They would stay in the camps. Now, in the last camp, in
Blechhammer, we put a show on. The last-- the last
six months in the camp, we put a show on Sundays for-- and the SS saw the first show. We did two shows that day. And the SS would be
there, the first four row, they were there. We'll do things for them. And I sang a song, I
remember, in Yiddish, which means I'm going home. I don't want to be-- I don't want to be here. I want to be with
my Jewish people. That's what I was
singing in Yiddish. And Yiddish is very
close to German. I'm sure they understood
what I was singing. I was playing-- because I was
small, I guess kind of cute-- I played the women's part. I was always with a-- somehow, they got a wig, and I
was playing the women's part. Anyway, that's a contrast. You entertain, but
you're going to starve and you're going to die. We can kill you any second. And the same thing
in Buchenwald. Yves Dayan had an
orchestra, a big orchestra, where he would play. And he had also small formation,
like just an accordion and a sax player. And Yves knew I was singing,
and Hewi Zak would-- would play the bass. And I would do that in-- late in the afternoon when
they came back from work. I would go from barrack to
barrack and sing a few songs. That saved me. And Hewi Zak knew everything. What happened in
Buchenwald, they started to evacuate
the Jews again, because they were too
crowded, not enough room. They started to evacuate
the Jews-- again, death marches, death camps. And he got my
papers, put it aside, and he hid me in his barrack. And I got-- my number was
125,603 in Buchenwald, and I had a pass that I
could go from the little camp to the big camp whenever
I want to with that pass. And-- and I-- and that's what I would do. I would go and meet my
friend and my French friends during the daytime,
and then go-- go and hide in his barrack. [PAUSES FOR 3 SECONDS] And we knew-- they
knew everything. In Buchenwald, there
was a [INAUDIBLE]. Most people were
German communists, and they were
sabotaging everything. They worked in an
arms factory there, and they would do
great sabotage. And they knew everything. As a matter of fact,
the day we were liberated, which is
April 11th, 1945, we were liberated by our own people. That morning, they--
because they smuggled arms and everything, and ammunition. And they cut out the wires
and went into the forest, because Buchenwald is
a beech wood-- that's why it's in Germany. And they were surrounded
by beech wood. And they-- because the
day we were liberated, nobody was there at roll call. No guard-- no guards
in the guard towers. It was-- everybody fled. All the Ger-- all the
Nazis left, the SS left. And they got them back, they
got them back as prisoners. OK. I'm sorry. RC: Well, late that day,
that the American army liberated the camp, and I-- I must tell you, the
joy was unbelievable. Because before that, I mean,
we had small Allied planes flying very low
all over the camp to find out if there
were some people alive. And I remember being
part of the men on the ground of the Appellplatz
making an SOS with their bodies so to see that we are SOS. We are here, you know? And then waving at-- at-- at--
at the-- at the small planes. I mean, we knew
that that was it, that we did not get liquidated
like-- like the SS wanted to, because they did want to
liquidate the camp before they left. And it was remarkable. And amazingly, the next day,
President Roosevelt died. Now, I did not know
about President-- we were liberated April 11,
he died on April 12th, 1945. But I saw the American flat
at-- at low mast because-- because he died. And I-- that I remember,
because I said, who's President Roosevelt? What is a President Roosevelt? I mean, I was 19 years old. It was ridiculous. INT: Can you just
back up for a second? As the-- you were talking about
that the Third Army was coming. Where did the Germans go? Can you tell me
what was going on? RC: They-- they fled. They fled. The ones who-- the ones who were
captured by-- by the-- by the-- the inmates who cut the
barbed wire, were brung back-- were-- they were brought
back to the camp. But most of them
fled, because they-- they could hear the-- the-- the guns and the
cannons and everything, that the American were there. It was-- it was unbelievable. And the GIs were just amazed. I mean, they have never
seen such a thing. I mean, there were corpses,
and bones, and ashes all over the place. And-- and when they went
into the little camp where the Jews were there,
the [INAUDIBLE] was a bunk, and most of them were dying,
and the stench was unbelievable. I mean, it was just-- But I was lucky because
I was not a muscleman. A musselman. You know what a musselman? Musselman was just people. They called them
musselmen because all they had is skin and bones. That's all they had. They were barely
could stand on-- on their feet. But I wa-- at that time, I was
nurtured by my two friends, and I was not a musselman. And I was-- and
amazingly, we were liberated on April 11, 1945. A week later, we gave a
concert at that theater where I practically died
for a week, for the GIs. A huge concert, and I
sang a lot of songs. And it's amazing. And then I stuck
with my friends-- my two friends, like glue. I mean, they were my parents. They really were. They were unbelievably
great people. And I thought, well, I'm going
to-- when they go back to the-- when they're going to be
ready to be repatriated, I will go with them. We, Western European, were much
lucky than Eastern European. A lot of them did not want to
go back to Poland, and Hungary, and Romania, and
Russia, whatever, you know, to get what kind
of life they had there. So they went to
displaced person camps, and they stayed for
a very long time. And their lives were
just a notch better than what they had. So they had-- they had--
it was a mixed camp. They were not just-- with
just men or just women, and some of them got married
there and they had children. But it was not a life. They had to wait there
at displaced person camp to get a visa to go to
free countries, mostly Palestine or the United States. But we European Jews,
like Holland, and Belgium, and Spain, and Luxembourg,
and Greece, and France, we went right back. I mean, I was back in France,
in Paris, May 4th, 1945. I was liberated on April 11th. And I will never
forget the first day we-- we went out of the
camp, my two friends and I. It was like the second
day of the liberation. And we were walking, and never-- I was never out of Buchenwald,
because I stayed there for the last-- from February-- from February-- from
January until April 1st. And I kept on looking behind
me, because I was so used, when I walked, to
have dogs on leashes, and guards guarding me,
and screaming at me, and hitting me, that
I kept on looking. Am I-- am I-- I really can go
anywhere I want to? It was unbelievable. I was screaming with
joy, we are free. I'm a free person. I have a name that
belongs to me. By the way, my
name, Robert Clary, was given to me by my two
French friends in Buchenwald. Because where--
where-- where-- we didn't know if we're going
to survive, but nonetheless, we had an optimistic
point of view. And I said, when we
were at roll calls, and roll calls were endless. Two hours roll calls become--
because there are too many people there. And we were talking, and I-- I said to-- to Yves,
I said, you know, if-- if-- if we're free,
if we get liberated, and if I go back to
France, I'm going to go back into show business. But my name, Robert Widerman. I still-- I still was
afraid of antisemitism, and it's too long. And one day, we were talking
about a French movie. It was 'The Adventure
of Desiree Clary,' who once was Napoleon's mistress,
and they made a great movie out of it. And Yves Dayan said to me,
Robert Clary, Robert Clary. That's your name. Robert Clary. And that's how I got-- become Robert Clary. Robert Clary. That's-- I got my name
there, and was a lucky name. Though, I must tell you right
now, I wish I didn't change it. I wish I could still be called
Robert Widerman or Widerman, whatever. But it's Robert Clary. Anyway, three weeks later,
we back in France, May 4th. And we go-- INT: How did you
get back to France? RC: Well, we went to-- we went to-- to a
first, in a city not far from Buchenwald
called [? Eisenar, ?] and the first day-- we were
put in a very nice hotel. And the first day, I'm sleeping
in a bed, with a mattress, with white sheets. I was dreaming. I didn't believe
that was reality. Really? That exists? White sheets, and mattress,
and a bed, and-- and maids are coming to make the bed,
and give us some-- some morning breakfast? And then, the-- the French-- there was an Auxiliary
Corps unit from France who would go to Germany to
bring the French people back to France. And they-- they
brought, first, the ones who were not in good shape. And we stayed a little
longer because Yves Dayan and Claude-Francis Bouffe
and I were in better shape, so we stayed there for a while. And then we went from-- from [? Eisenar ?] to Luwigo-- Lu-- Lu-- Lugi-- [? Luwigion, ?]
which is a-- a-- a small city in France, near
L'Alsace-Lorraine. And we-- we took-- I don't know how long it took
to travel there in-- in trucks. And then, from there, from
[? Luwigon, ?] we took a train from [? Luwigion ?] to
Paris, and on May 4th, we arrived in Paris, put into a
beautiful hotel, Hotel Lutetia. We entered the lobby, and I
hear my name screamed out loud, Robert! And I turn around and I see my
sister, Cecile, [INAUDIBLE], who now lives in Texas, who's
in Auxiliary Corps unit. She takes care of us survivors. She knew I was coming back,
because the woman who-- who was in the truck
to-- to take us there, when the last time she went
back to Paris, she saw me. And this woman was the
one who auditioned me when I was a kid, when
I did the imitations. So she knew me, and
she knew my sister. She said, your brother
is coming back, but she didn't know what day. And that day, the other superior
said, why don't you go ahead and have lunch? She said, no, I'm going to-- I'm going to wait
until the convoy comes and I'll go have lunch. And there she is. And she tells me the good news. First of all, we are crying
like I've never cried before. I mean, we're holding,
and crying, and kissing. And then she said, you know,
a lot of us are alive still. Then she tells me my-- my
half-brother, Henri, is alive. My half-sister, Fanny,
is alive with her family. My brother, Jacques, is alive. My sister, Amy, is alive. My sister, Madeline, is
alive, and she is alive. I could not believe it. I did not stay in that hotel. I went right to my
brother Jacques. I was 19 years old. No self-pity. I turned that page so
fast, it's unbelievable. I had one goal in my life. I had a family, not my mother,
not my father, nother-- neither the-- the
other 10 who died. But I had a family, and I wanted
to go back into show business. That was my goal in life. And I-- I just-- I never wanted to talk about it. Never wanted to say, yeah,
this what I went through. Forget it. And they respected my silence. I must say about my family,
don't want to talk about it? Fine. We love you, you're here. My brother was remarkable. He did everything for me. Again, he was not rich. None of us were rich. But I-- I went back to France
and got a hold of my life. I don't want the world
to owe me a living. I never did that. I'm going to make a-- I'm going to be a big star. I said, very curtly, to my
brother in France, all right. You'll see, in six
months, I'm going to be a big star in France. And he laughed at me. He said, why don't you
become a tailor like I am? I said, no, I'm going
to be a big star. And I-- I worked. Never became a big
star in France. I worked. I did-- I used to-- I used to had a-- a
clown's uniform, the suit, and I would go and knock
on the nightclubs in Paris, and Montmartre and
sing and audition. And that's how I started,
and I became a band singer. And I was very lucky again. I was with a big
orchestra in a dance hall. And in 1947, in
America, the musicians were on strike, did not
want to work for recordings. So a lot of people-- a lot
of the artists and repertoire people-- went to Europe
to do some recordings. And somebody told
this Harry Bluestone. He said, there's a
wonderful girl singer at the Olympia dance hall. Why don't you go and see her? And there she was. She was Yolande Cora. I was a wonderful singer. We were two singers,
and a big orchestra. And he listens to her,
and he listens to me, and he had a-- he had an
interpreter with him who speak French, because he didn't. And the interpreter comes to
me, after the-- we have a rest. He said, there's a
man here from America who wants to talk to you. And I go and meet
Harry Bluestone. He said, I like you. I want-- I want to
do some records-- records for you, please. America? When I was a child, I would
go [INAUDIBLE], naturally, in that small theater. I would go and see Fred
Astaire, and Eleanor Powell, and all those great stars. And I would come home and
say, Ma, look what I've seen. And I would just imitate-- badly, but I would imitate
all those great stars. To go to America, to
record for America? I never hesitated. Sure. He taught me the words,
phonetically, of four songs. 1947, 194-- beginning of
1948, this interpreter comes back to me. He said, you know,
your songs are big. Your records are
big hits in America. Tremendous hit, 1948,
I did one record called 'Put Your Shoes on, Lucy.' On the other side was
'Johnny, Get Your Girl.' The other one was called
'Hollywood Bowl,' which was a big hit in California. And he said-- and
then he was, he's going to come back to Paris. He wants to sign you. He wants to sign
you a contract-- a seven-year contract to
come to the United States and sing there, because
your record is big. You're a big-- you're big hit. I had nothing to lose. I'm not married. All my sisters,
they're all married. They all have families. They all have to
take care of this. I don't have to take
care of themself. I don't have to
take care of them. So I signed a contract, and I
arrived here in October, 1949. I'm in the United States. I was a big flop, I must say. It didn't work. I did some recordings,
and never-- never made it. And they were ready to
send me back to France. But I met my wife
through Merv Griffin. Merv was a very close
friend of my wife. My wife is one of the
daughters of Eddie Cantor. Eddie Cantor was a tremendous
star in the United States, from the moment he started in--
in burlesque, and vaudeville, and in-- and movies, and then
the radio, and then television, and theater. A tremendous star. And I met my wife. It was friendship
from the moment we-- we set eyes on each other. And she introduced me to her-- to her father, and her father
helped my career tremendously. [BACKGROUND NOISE] INT: Your wife
[INTERPOSING VOICES]. RC: Well, my-- my
future father-in-law helped me tremendously. He had a-- he had a-- he
had a big television show on the Colgate Comedy Hour. He put me on his show. He took me to New York and-- and-- and made me sing
at a big nightclub. I-- I auditioned
for a big Broadway show called 'New Faces of
1952,' and I really didn't care. I said, yeah. So I went on a stage
and sang my three songs, and I got signed right away. And 'New Faces' was a
tremendous hit on Broadway. We stayed for a year on
Broadway, a year on the road. We did the first musical
CinemaScope that came out, and it was a tremendous
hit all over the world. And my life started
to take shape. Now, my wife and I were very
close friends, the closest friends for 15 years,
and I realized, this is the woman I love. She was married before. She had a son with her
first marriage, Michael. And I knew him when
he was a small kid. And we-- she-- she would go where I am, I
would come to-- to Los Angeles. And then we-- we wrote to each
other, we called each other. I mean, really, the
closest friends. And I suddenly realized,
in 1964, I love this woman. I mean, that's enough
of me being single, and-- and-- and-- and I need
somebody to share a life with. And I'm glad she waited. And we've been
married since 1965. We don't have any
children, but we have-- I have a stepson. I have three granddaughters,
whom I adore. But now, my life is very good. I mean, and show-- show business is a
very fragile life. If you love it tremendously, you
will take the knocks with it, because there are lots
of lows, very few highs. If you're very lucky,
again, if you get a break and become some
recognition, some star. I was lucky in '6-- in '65 when I did 'Hogan's
Heroes,' which was a tremendous hit all over the world, not
just in the United States, but all over the world. It's a tremendous hit. I mean, '1994,' it's still
a tremendous hit in Europe right now. So I was lucky with that. But you have to
understand, I mean, it's-- it's a roller coaster. And if you understand
that, then-- then you keep on being
in the show business, because one of these days,
maybe your luck will come back. But otherwise, right now, I'm-- I'm 68 years old, and
I'm enjoying my life. I paint a lot, I see
friends, I go to the movies. I enjoy my wife and
my grandchildren, so I'm very happy. INT: Speaking of
your grandchildren, now that it's almost 50 years-- RC: Yes. INT: --Since the end-- RC: Yes. INT: --Is there anything
you'd like to pass on to them? Any message? RC: I-- I-- I'll tell you,
I just want to say that my life's changed
drastically in 1980 when I-- when I realized that I
cannot stay silent about my experiences. That, as a survivor,
I have a duty. I have to leave
a legacy somehow. And I joined the Simon
Wiesenthal Center through-- really, what triggered
it is a documentary that I saw in 1980
on PBS about a-- about a survivor who went
to Auschwitz with her son to show her-- to show
him what she survived. And what she said in that
documentary that really woke me up, when she said, you
know, 30, 40 years from now, we're all going to be dead. And anybody can write
anything they want about it, like the-- the revisionists,
so-called revisionists, which are deniers, really. Those are the proper
words for them, deniers. And I realized that she's right. I mean, I cannot, after 36 years
of not saying anything about it, I have to teach people
about man's inhumanity to man. And since 1980, I have
joined the Wiesenthal Center, and I have been a
very Jewish spokesman, going to high schools, and
colleges, and universities. I've talked to millions
of young children, really teaching them that
you cannot live with hate. You cannot-- and I-- and I say,
I am not saying words right now. I do not live with hate. If I-- I am not
telling you something, then I'm going to
do something else. You really-- If you want
this world to be alive, to be-- to be-- to
be a fertile world, you have to stop feeling
superior to another human being just because that human
being has a different color skin, or different shape of
eyes, or a different religion than yours. Do not feel superior
to this person. Give them as much chance
that you want to have. And that's what I
told to the kids. And you get-- the
response is tremendous. People say, you've been
doing this for 14 years. I say, I'm only doing it because
the response is-- is positive. If it was negative,
I would not-- I don't like to hit
myself against the wall, and say, oh, it feels
good when I stop. I don't do that. I'm not a masochist. It's very tough to do
it, because each time you talk for an hour, you do relive
the painful life that you had. But they have to
understand that, if we-- if we stay in apathy, that's
what's going to happen. And it is happening. I say-- I say to them,
I say, when are we going to tell students to
face a map of the world, and close their eyes,
and pinpoint at them. And when they open their eyes,
wherever they pinpointed, something terrible's
happening now. When are we going to say,
we're going to say, look, nothing's happening now. Isn't that great? It's a great world. And I say, you have to do
it, because we haven't. We still hate. And look at the world that
is today, with neo-Nazis, and Nazi-- Nazi skinheads, and-- and the-- white-- white supremacy group,
and the so-called revisionists who are really poisoning
this world and people, and you cannot let them. That's why we
survivors have a duty. I am more than willing then
to talk to, even if I cried, and sometimes I do cry. But you have to do it. It's something that
you have to leave for-- for future generation. And my grandchildren
know about it. I've talked to their schools. They know about me. INT: I think we've covered it. RC: OK. INT: If you'd like to
just say that you're going to show us some
photographs now, onto the mice, so-- of your family. RC: Yes. I have-- I have been very
fortunate to have photographs that were saved by my
brother of my family, even grandmother
and grandfather, and a lot of my youth. And I guess we will see them. INT: OK. CREW: One sec. Hold on. Go. RC: This is my grandmother
and grandfather on my father's side. They were very religious Jews. I never met them. I never knew them. There was a huge photo
of them in my bedroom, and I was always scared of them. INT: Can you explain a little
bit more about that photo. RC: Because my-- my
grandmother had a glass eye, and they're staring at a camera. And then she's looking-- though I'm sure
she was very sweet, she looks very mean
even till today. And I was scared, because
I was the first one, because I was the youngest,
to go and sleep in the-- in that bedroom
that we all shared. And there she is staring at me. I was putting the
cover over my head. I don't want any part of it. INT: And do you know when
this photograph was taken? RC: Oh, no. That I wouldn't know. I'll say probably--
probably in the 1800s. INT: You mean the-- yeah. RC: Yeah, 1800s. Maybe, you know, the
late 1800s, probably. INT: OK. RC: This is my father in the
middle of the bottom line with my-- my step-sister-- not step-- yes, with his first children. And from-- standing at the
top, on the left, is my-- is the oldest one, Sarah. The middle one is Regine. The one on the-- on
the right is Adele. At the bottom is Fanny, my bro-- my father, and my bro-- my half-brother, Henri. Not step. Half, I would say. Yes. And I would say
it was probably-- it was a combo. I'm sure they were
not sitting together. They probably put the
whole thing together. And I would say it was,
like, the early '20s. INT: And where was this taken? Do you know? RC: I have-- I don't-- I don't think it
was in Paris, because my two-- my two oldest half-sisters, the
first ones, Sarah and Regine, were in-- were in Poland. They stayed in Poland. So they probably
had those two photos and put them together in
Paris, probably, in France. INT: And the two older
sisters, the one on-- RC: Yeah, down
there on the left-- INT: --they were the ones-- RC: --Sarah and Regine. They stayed in Poland. INT: And they died? RC: Yes, but I don't know
if they were deported. I don't-- I don't know if
they-- if they were sent to concentration camp. Though my-- my sister, Sarah,
her children were in Israel, and I met them in 1982. INT: At the-- at the-- RC: No, after the
World Gathering. The World Gathering was too much
tumult. I didn't see anybody. INT: OK. RC: Now, believe
it or not, this is a passport picture, taken for my
mother to go to France in 1923. My mother, she's
the oldest one, you can recognize on the
right side, upper-- upper-right. And then, going from the
left is my sister, Ida. On top of her is--
is my sister, Helene. Under her, who look very
mean, is my sister Aimee, and the little baby
is my sister Cecile. INT: And this was taken in-- RC: They got-- they
were stuck in Poland. That was their passport
picture to go to France, joining my father. INT: Do you what city in Poland? RC: Oh, Warsaw. Warsaw. INT: OK. You said 1920s? RC: This is a 1927 photo of both
my brother-- my half-brother and my real brother. My brother, Henri, with
his hand on his hip, and my brother, Jacques, very
svelte, very good looking. They're both dead. But they died at a very old age. I mean, my brother, Henri,
died when he was 85. My brother, Jacques,
died when he was 86. That's not bad. INT: And where was
this photo taken? RC: In Paris. That was taken in Paris, France. INT: OK. Next. RC: [LAUGHTER] Now I-- I don't know who that is. Oh, yes. I still look like it. I was two and 1/2 years
old when it's taken-- taken-- this picture was taken. In Paris, of course, because
I was born and raised in Paris, France. Look at this adorable kid. He grew up to be a monster. INT: So we would-- can we say what
year that was taken? RC: Yeah, I was two and 1/2
years old, so yeah, '2-- it was '28, 1928. INT: OK. RC: Cute. Now, this is my parents. My-- my-- my mother Baila-- we used to call her Baila-- and my-- my father, Red Moishe. I guess when you call somebody
a Red Moishe, that's-- that's pretty good. And that was taken
in 1930, in Paris. There's another
picture which I don't have where I was supposed to be
with them and I didn't want to. I had a tantrum and they were--
they were not smiling at all. They were sweet people. [PAUSES FOR 3 SECONDS] Now, that was taken
in March 16, 1927. It's my-- both-- both
my younger sisters. I mean, not younger than
me, but my sister, Madeline, who's on the left side,
was a year and a half older than I am. And then my sister, Cecile,
was a year and a half older than Madeline, three
years older than I am. And look at them-- cute little boys. They'd come out to be
beautiful girls now. INT: And can you-- did they both survive? RC: Yes. Those are the ones who escaped. My sister, Madeline, went to
the-- to the-- to the toilet and escaped being deported. My sister, Nicky, with false
ID paper, went to France, joined the underground, and
was the Auxiliary Corps unit. Nicky. I call her Nicky Cecile. INT: OK. RC: 1930, I think. I'm not quite sure,
but I think it's 1930. And my sister, Madeline, is
sitting with a little page haircut. And my sister Helene, who's-- I think, she was
four and 1/2 year-- older, four and 1/2 years
older than Madeline, is-- is on the right. She wanted to be
in show business. If she didn't die in Auschwitz,
she probably would have. She was a very,
very good actress. Helene. INT: She's the older one? RC: Yeah, Helene.
Well, not the oldest one. INT: No, but I mean
in this picture. RC: In this photo, yeah,
she's the oldest one. INT: And where was this--
and this picture was taken-- RC: In Paris. From then on, it's all in Paris. INT: OK. RC: All these photos
that you're seeing were saved by my brother,
Jacques, who was not deported, and he gave them to
me after the war. This photo is my sister,
Ida, with her husband to be. Jacques Pankenfeld was--
was-- was his name. And they were
engaged right there, and it must have
been 1930 or '31. INT: Is this the same Jacques
who was in the camp with you? RC: He was in camp with me. He died-- he died
in Buchenwald, yes. INT: But he's the one that you
said you didn't feel close to? RC: Yes. After six months, we-- we-- we each went our ways,
even though I used to see him. He was very lucky in
the second camp at-- in Blechhammer, he
did not go to work. He stayed inside of
camp, making shoes. INT: OK. RC: Well, that's
me, Robert Widerman, at age 13 doing a Bar
Mitzvah, being very cocky and waiting for my-- for my ring, and watch,
and fountain pen. And I was always afraid
of Elijah during passover. That's in Paris, of course. INT: And in what year? RC: In 19-- well, 1939. That's when I was 13 years old. No problem about that. INT: OK. RC: Now, this is
outside of Paris. It's 1939, and it's my
family having a picnic. On the-- from the left
side is my brother-in-law, Jacques Pankenfeld,
with his son, Bernard. Then above him is
my sister, Ida. Under my sister, Ida, is
Jacques Widerman with his-- with his wife, Golda. Then my brother-- my brother,
Henri, with-- with his-- with his daughter on
his shoulder, Raymond. And-- and-- and
Dora, not Raymond. And his-- and his
wife, [? Bert. ?] INT: And then this-- RC: This is outside of Paris. The Boite Boulogne
or Boite [INAUDIBLE] or something like this. INT: And how many of these
people were survivors? RC: How many are alive? INT: Or survived. RC: Survived. Survived? Except for my brother-- my brother-in-law,
and Ida and Bernard, all the others did survive. My brother, Jacques,
and his-- and his wife, and my brother, Henri, and
his family did survive. [PAUSES FOR 3 SECONDS] This is early 1942,
and that's where we started to wear the
yellow Star of David. And my sister, Madeline
and me were just clowning around in-- in
Paris, right outside our-- our apartment house. And-- and you can
see on our left, you can see, slightly,
a Star of David that we had to
wear from then on. INT: Can you sort of say-- can you say, like, at her
breast pocket or under your-- RC: Well, it's-- it's-- it's
on a breast pocket, yes. It-- that's where-- that's
where you-- that's where you had to wear the yellow star
very prominently on the breast pocket. INT: And it looks like you--
we can almost see yours. It's under the crease
of your jacket? RC: No, because-- because I'm-- I'm-- I'm-- I'm leaning
a little bit and dancing. I was a very good
jitterbug dancer, and that's what we were
trying to simulate. [PAUSES FOR 3 SECONDS] Now, this is a-- a
very interesting story. I-- I had-- I formed
a band, an orchestra, when I was a young kid,
with the kids from the-- from the apartment house. And I don't know
whether the-- the-- the one-- the man
on the left side. I don't know who he is. But the ones who are playing
the kazoos, the little one on the left is Henri Adoner,
who unfortunately was deported and died in Auschwitz. The one next to him is Roger
Vacheres, who was not deported. He was hidden in a farm
and he was-- he was-- he was saved this way. And a great-- they
were all great signers. The one with the-- with the
mallets is Georges Goldstein, and also, he was not deported. And the one next to him
is that little kinky hair Jew, Robert Cl-- Robert Widerman, who was
deported and came back. INT: And what year was that? RC: That was in 1941. We even went to an amateur
jazz contest, and we-- we won a prize. It was ridiculous, because we
didn't play real instrument, but we sang quite well. [PAUSES FOR 3 SECONDS] This is one of my savior
in Buchenwald, Hewi Zak, who was the head
secretary in Buchenwald. And that was taken
after the war. It was right after the war. It was at the end of 1945. And it's Czechoslovakia,
where he-- where he was-- he was born and raised, and he
went back to Czechoslovakia. He was a wonderful man. Wonderful, wonderful, and
a great fiddle player-- bass fiddle player. Hewi Zak. This is 1981. It's when I started to
talk to high schools. And I went to a high
school in-- in Los Angeles. And after my talk, the
students wanted to see my-- my number on my arm. And you can see, one girl
is just in awe about it. She could not believe that
people can be that inhuman. [PAUSES FOR 5 SECONDS] This is Jerusalem, 1981. This is Lou Cadard with
me, and Lou Cadard-- I did not see her. Last time I saw her was 1938. 42 or 43 years later, there we
are, meeting each other again. And it's like I've never
left her, or vice versa. And it was just wonderful
to see her again. She eventually became Golda
Meir's private secretary and companion. And she has a good
life in-- in Jerusalem, and she is still alive. INT: And-- and this
picture was taken-- RC: In Jerusalem. INT: In Jerusalem? RC: Yes, I said that. INT: And this is the woman who-- RC: This is Lou Cadard, who
was one of my social worker when I was a young kid. INT: OK. RC: This is 1981, Jerusalem,
the World Gathering of the Jewish Survivors
of the Holocaust. And all these guys were in the
same camp I was, Blechhammer. On the left-- the bottom-left,
the three first guy are the Fogel brothers,
Bernard, Hebert, and Louis. I'm still very
friendly with them. The one above them, [INAUDIBLE]
with the white shirt and the glasses, used to play
the violin in Blechhammer. That's how he survived. [? Czechskas, ?] we
used to call him. Some-- the one next
to him is a friend who used to live in my
apartment house, Milo Adoner, and the others are
just friends who were in the same
concentration camps. It was quite a reunion. INT: OK. RC: This is a family-- family reunion in
1990 outside of Paris. And [INAUDIBLE]
from the left, is my brother-in-law,
Gaston Zelonka, with my sister, Amie Zelonka, my
sister, Nicky Cecile Hollande, my brother-in-law, Jean Vezier,
with my sister, Madeline Vezier, and me. It was a wonderful reunion. [PAUSES FOR 3 SECONDS] This is the plaque in front
of our house in Paris, and it says [FRENCH] INT: [FRENCH] RC: [FRENCH] In memory of the
112 inhabitants of this house, including 40 young
children, deported and dead in German
camps in 1942. INT: And you took this in Paris? RC: Yes. That's right. It's-- It's in the front
of our apartment building, where my sister,
Amie, still lives. INT: [FRENCH] RC: [FRENCH] This is
in Malibu, California, at my sister-in-law,
Edna McHugh. And my oldest granddaughter
is holding me, otherwise I'm going to fall. And her name is
Kimberly Metzger. Right next to her is
Stephanie Metzger. And she's holding my--
my wife, Natalie Clary, because she's going to fall,
too, if she doesn't hold her. Right next to her, there's
our dau-- daughter-in-law, Helene Metzger-- Ellen Metzger. [LAUGHS[ And right
next to her is my sis-- my wife Natalie's younger
daughter, Janet Gary, and we're in Malibu, and
our daughter, all of them. INT: When? When was this taken? RC: I think I said in 1991.
