Text © Robert Barry Francos / FFanzeen, 2014
Images from the Internet
A while back, in 2008, I wrote a blog about bizarre coincidences in my
life that would never be believed if they were fiction, linked HERE. Well, here is another couple that I could have added:
During the summer of 1997, my partner, M_____, had the opportunity to
teach for a semester through Europe, bringing a bunch of middle and upper class
Midwestern students to Amsterdam/Utrecht, Berlin/Petzow, Krakow/Warsaw, and
London/Bloomsbury. As these classes needed to be set up, she went for a month
during the summer, and the school associated with the program let me go along,
if I would pay for most of the transportation, my own food, and the difference
between single and double accommodations. Seeing that much of Europe for a
month for about $2000? Count me in, even if it took me two years to pay it off
(not counting for the 80+ rolls of 35mm film used that needed developing).
The plan was simple: during the day, M_____ would be working an
organizing her classes, and I would scout around, learning the way around,
checking out some highlights that she could use for the students, and generally
play tourist. There were major tours we would take together, such as the astounding
Wieliczka salt mines and Auschwitz (I and II) near Krakow, the Anne Frank house
in Amsterdam, and Queen Victoria’s Royal Pavilion in Brighton, but mostly I was
on my own most days. We would meet up at dinner, and spend the evenings
together.
During this month, there were two separate incidents which fall into
this category of whodahthunk coincidence.
Having grown up near New Utrecht Avenue (pronounced “yoo-tr’k”),
walking the streets of the town it was named after in the Netherlands, Utrecht
(pronounced “Oo-treCHt”) gave me some kind of vicarious thrill. Traveling along
one of the many canals that run through the absolutely lovely city about 20
miles outside Amsterdam, I was heading back to our hotel in the city’s center
where we were going to leave for Amsterdam by train the next day. There was
something about the Da Capo used and new record store at Oudegracht 10 3511 AM that
caught my eye (whatever that was), and I went inside.
The store was empty other than someone behind the counter, who was
busy working away. Over the store’s PA,
a Herman’s Hermit’s (yes, Mike, with Peter Noone) album was playing. I’m a fan,
so it was nice. Looking around, I noticed a “garage” section, which pulled me
to it, of course. There were some Get Hip label vinyl LPs by the Cynics, the
Brood, and yes, both albums by the Mystic Eyes, led by one of my besties,
Bernie Kugel. This definitely brought a smile to my face, because it’s rare to
find any Get Hip records in the States, and to find it in Utrecht was just
delightful.
Just around that time, the Herman’s Hermits LP closed out, so I held
up the record, and said to the guy at the counter, not knowing if he even spoke
English, “Why don’t you play this next?” The guy’s face lit up, and in a Dutch
accent, he said, with a surprised lilt, “Oh! Yah! Bernie Koogl. Great record,
man!” I’m not sure why I didn’t just say hello and introduce myself; perhaps
shyness in a different country, or if my memory serves me well, he really did
look quite busy, so I waved and said
goodbye, and walked the rest of the way back.
When I got back to USA, I called Bernie and told him the story. He
knew of the place, which apparently is well known among the American garage affectionati
and bands, and the guy (Michael) has even hosted the Cynics and the A-Bones. It’s
a small world, indeed, and Walt Disney would probably be smiling if he weren’t
in anti-Semite hell.
The second story is even more out there. On the flight over to
Holland, M_____ and I were talking about our plans. She commented that when we
got to Berlin, she was hoping look up a New Brunswick born lesbian poet who was
now living in the city, but only knew her name (which I quickly forgot). Wow,
looking up a person in a foreign city the size of Berlin with only a name. So
much for that.
Through the days, I went to the bombed out Keiser Wilhelm Memorial
Church downtown, to the old part of East Berlin and the Neue Synagogue, had a beer under the television tower, and went to Museumsinsel (Museum Island). I also
took a couple of the Berlin Walks that are given throughout the city, usually
starting at the main train station, in the central district. Most of them are
run by students originally from other countries to pay for their education
(e.g., someone from France studying in Berlin would take a group from France or
Quebec). While my week in the city, I took two of them, one focusing on the Reichstag,
Berlin Wall and Brandenburg Gate area, where we saw the abandoned Checkpoint
Charlie. We also saw the largest part of the wall that remained, locked from
the public behind a fence owned by a multi-national corporation (the irony was
not lost on me).
The second tour was of “Jewish Berlin,” looking at some of what used
to be the Jewish neighborhoods of Berlin before, well, you know. There were
cemeteries, statues to those deported, and even one to a group of non-Jewish
women who managed to protect their husbands during the midst of the war. I was
also impressed by the sign for Rosenstraße, being that Rosen is my mother’s
family name (it was quite common, and that branch of the family actually came
from Prussia).
The person who led the tour seemed quite knowledgeable, and then
mentioned Fredericton. Later in the tour she also brought up a particular
Canadian poet. Jeez, I thought, could this be the person Marie was looking for,
and what were the odds it actually was her? After the tour, I approached her
and said, “Hi, my name is Robert, and I think my partner is looking for you.”
She looked at me quizzedly, and honestly, suspiciously. And rightfully so;
after all, who was this strange man from a tour asking her personal questions?
I told her about M_____ and how she was trying to find her, and asked her for
her phone number to pass along. She was obviously hesitant, but she did it.
When I met up with M_____ around suppertime, I told her the story of
the tour guide and gave her the phone number. She immediately and excitedly
jumped into the first phone booth we passed (remember phone booths?) and called
the number. Yes, astonishingly so, it was Carolyn Gannon, who had written a
book of poetry called Lesbians Ignited
that was causing great stirs in the lesbian literary circles.
 |
| Carolyn Gammon |
M_____ met with her, and hired Carolyn as a guest lecturer for her
forthcoming class. While Marie did this just the one year, Carolyn has been
working with the same program since. Apparently, we led her to an ongoing
paycheck. This makes me very happy.
The following year, Carolyn and her partner, writer / scholar /
activist Katharina Oguntoye, came to Brooklyn to stay with us for a couple of
weeks, and just this past December, Carolyn stayed in our house in Saskatoon as
a Visiting Writer for the University of Saskatchewan. Her recent books include
two Holocaust survivor narratives (Johanna
Krause Twice Persecuted: Surviving in Nazi Germany and Communist East Germany and
The Unwritten Diary of Israel Unger). In fact, she read me a few of her poems from
her upcoming book that she is working on, and I’ve shown her around town
(including a night at the Saskatoon Symphony Orchestra, and the quaint City
Perks Coffee Shop. After Berlin, it was my turn to be the tour guide. All this
from a coincidental meeting that was certainly meant to occur.
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