Family History    Wines

Photography       Books

Amazon Bestsellers

Site Contents

Home Page

Book Resources

Family History



Wildlife Photos

Wine Tastings
 - Bottled Poetry

Other Pages

About Us

Contact Us

Privacy Policy


Site Map

Affiliate Sites

Deal of the Day

Powell's Books - Outdoor Gear

Additional Affiliate Programs

In my grandfather's (Frank Munk's) autobiography, he includes one section, Chapter 11, that briefly describes the circumstances of his emigration to the United States in 1939.  In 1999, my father presented a paper to the Monday Club (an organization associated with the University of Washington) that documented this extraordinary chapter in my grandparents and my mother's life in considerably more detail. This is the story.



A History Of The Munks’ Family Departure From Prague In 1938-1939

This is the story of a narrow escape. The events described occurred many years ago and were buried deep in files, letters, and family memories. They were revealed recently in a memoir and in detailed interviews. Undoubtedly, there are countless similar stories, maybe some associated with members of this Club, but this is one that I am very close to personally.

This particular story is factually accurate. Several participants are still living and this paper has been checked and rechecked for fidelity to the events. The historic period under review is within the memory of the older members of the Monday Club; the events are a deeply meaningful part of our shared heritage – never to be forgotten! It is one family’s dramatic and extraordinarily frightening final days as citizens of Europe.

When the Austro-Hungarian Empire collapsed in 1918, Frank Munk was a student in his last year of high school in Kutna Hora, a small medieval town some 40 miles east of Prague. Both as a child and an adult, Frank was a natural leader. On the day following the liberation of Czechoslovakia, October 28, 1918, the students at his school asked him to speak for them at a citywide rally. “It was my first experience in public speaking and it convinced me that I was able to do it.” he told me. In 1919, he left Kutna Hora for Prague to attend university. At that time, Frank spoke Czech, French and German fluently and had some knowledge of English. (At his death, in January, at age 97, he was fluent in at least 8 languages!!) His linguistic and leadership talent led to his election as head of the foreign department of the newly organized Central Union of Czechoslovak Students, an organization that quickly became a part of the overall political leadership of the new country. The Czech government sponsored and subsidized Frank’s attendance at one international conference after another.

As far as I know, there is nothing in the American experience that corresponds to the role student leaders played in Czech politics in the 1920s. Even in the recent past, the events that precipitated the end of the Communist regime during the Velvet Revolution of 1988-89 were student-led. Frank noted, “Occasionally I received calls directly from Dr. Edvard Benes, then Czech Minister of Foreign Affairs, later the president of Czechoslovakia.” In 1922, one call led to a meeting where Frank was asked if he would be interested in promoting a multi-country gathering to be called the Congress of Slav Students. “I expressed considerable interest, and …[Benes] told me I could have all the money I needed to travel to Poland, Yugoslavia, Bulgaria, etc. to arrange to bring participants to Prague to a conference which was held later in 1922.” Frank organized the entire event and it was successful.

After graduation, Frank spent half his time traveling abroad dealing with student organizations and conferences. The remaining time was spent as head of the Foreign Department of the Prague International Fair, which was intended to help stimulate Czech exports. With his involvement in both political and economic activities, he soon developed a public stature. At the end of the 1920s, Frank joined the National Socialist Party, a political organization advocating, among other things, a mixed economy. He soon became chairman of the Economic Committee of the party and had some influence initiating two devaluations of the national currency.

In 1931, Frank was offered a Fellowship by the Rockefeller Foundation and he and his wife, Nadia, left Prague in September for a one-year Fellowship at Harvard; he extended their stay another year in a similar capacity at Columbia University. (Frank received his Ph.D. in Prague in 1936.) When he returned from the United States in 1933, Frank spent three months in Berlin researching his first book, which explored the intricacies of distribution costs for retail businesses. His visit to Berlin came only two months after Hitler assumed power and during those three months he observed first-hand the beginnings of the Nazi regime.

Returning to Prague, Frank became manager of the Czech division of Adrena, a leading German addressing machine company. In 1937, he changed jobs, becoming the heir apparent to the general manager of a chain of small department stores - similar to today’s Wal-Mart stores - located in Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia and Rumania. He held this position until May 1939. That job and his previous one both paid very well. Frank commented, “I never had so much money, before or since.”

During the latter part of the 1930s, Frank remained politically active. He was a member of an informal gathering known as “Havel’s group” (Havel was the father of The Czech Republic’s current president, Vaclav Havel) that met from time to time to discuss the political scene. Incidentally, Madeline Albright’s father was a member of this group. President Benes, who replaced Masaryk in 1935, asked “Havel’s Group” to invite the leader of the Sudeten Germans to a meeting to see if he was a loyal Czech. The Sudetenland was that part of northern Czechoslovakia that bordered Germany.

After much debate, the group invited Konrad Henlein, the Czech leader of the German pro-Nazi movement. “We invited him at the direct suggestion of President Benes who wanted to know if some kind of deal could be struck.” The report to Benes concluded, Frank said, with this summary: “You can’t deal with this man. You can’t trust him. He is a strong supporter of Hitler and a secret Nazi.”

In May of 1938, a few months after Germany invaded Austria, Czech intelligence warned the government that Germany was moving military installations to the Czech border. On May 20, 1938, Benes declared a partial mobilization. The Czech call-up, though successful, enraged Hitler. During that summer, Frank’s brother-in-law, Arthur F. Scott, husband of Nadia’s sister, Vera, visited the Munks in Prague. Dr. Scott, a chemistry professor at Reed College in Portland, and Frank visited the Czech army units on the German border. While impressed by the caliber of the army personnel and the army fortifications, it was clear to both men that the outlook for Czechoslovakia was gloomy. On this trip, Dr. Scott offered to help Frank if he and his family ever needed assistance in the future. Frank said that offer was greatly welcomed since it opened up the possibility of some day living in the United States.

During the summer of 1938, the Czechs tried to enlist the support of the French and British in the face of German pressure to annex the Sudetenland. Public demonstrations against a surrender of this territory occurred daily throughout Czechoslovakia and particularly in Prague, but to no avail. On September 30, 1938, Hitler met with Mussolini, Chamberlain and Deladier, representing Italy, England and France, in Munich. The three statesmen capitulated to Hitler; one-third of Czechoslovakia was ceded to the Germans. These three men believed Hitler’s promise that Germany would be satisfied with this territory and go no further. Chamberlain declared that now there would be “Peace in our time”. Churchill, of course, had an entirely different view of events and his views eventually were proven correct.

Frank told me that the worst moment of his life and the lives of all the Czech people was September 30, 1938, when the major powers sold the Czech people down the river. “To all of us, it was the end of freedom and democracy.” A March 29, 1999, article in The New Yorker magazine suggests the Munich appeasement plays a similar role in the thought processes of our current Secretary of State, Madeline Albright.

The Germans immediately occupied the border districts and many Czech citizens living in the Sudetenland became refugees. The developing crisis finally forced the Munks to think of their own predicament. On November 17, 1938, Nadia wrote her sister, Vera Scott; “Our situation is complicated by the fact that Frank was born a Jew. Already we hear on the street, ‘Jew, you will be shit!’ From the open door of a coffeehouse, a bunch of rabble are shouting, ‘Jews out!’ We wonder when we will be forced to adopt the Nuremberg Laws. That would mean our children will not be allowed to go to school and enter the professions and all the other consequences. Even though I am not Jewish and Frank hasn’t practiced any religion for 20 years as our family has not [practiced Catholicism]… Suzanne and Michael will be condemned for life without a chance to be educated and lead normal lives…. Yesterday in the Sudetenland all the Jews were forced from their homes and made to run to the Czech border on their knees and kiss the ground. But our border guards forced them back, so now they are crowded into a camp on a tiny sliver of ‘no man’s land’ between the borders. It’s raining hard with the temperature near freezing. There are hundreds of them: men, women and children living like hunted animals.” Nadia then concluded this letter to her sister, “…because we have all lost our sense of propriety, I’ll ask you and Art straight out: Would it be possible for you to send us an affidavit, which we would use only when it becomes absolutely impossible to continue living here? I expect we would be able to take several thousand dollars with us legally…so we would be able to support ourselves for awhile after we arrive.”

In spite of the deepening uncertainty, the daily affairs of life somehow went on. Nadia concluded her letter by telling her sister that their mother was “lonely but loving and courageous. She visits us very often and is buying a season ticket to the National Theatre. So she is still an optimist!”

On November 27, 1938, Frank wrote to his brother-in-law, Arthur Scott, in Portland. “At present one has the feeling of being in a house or on a house-top, surrounded by a rising tide and no one can tell how far it will rise….I shall feel very grateful to you and Vera if you could let [us] have that affidavit. We may not need it but it would be encouraging to know that the door remains open.”

Meanwhile, Nadia Munk, with countless others, helped in the resettlement of the Sudetenland refugees. During that process, she made the acquaintance of Miss Beatrice Wellington, a Canadian high school teacher from Vancouver who came to Prague in 1938 as a representative from a Quaker group in Switzerland. Miss Wellington, who was helping to evacuate Czechs to England, experienced some language difficulties. She could only speak English and someone from the Prague City Hall asked Nadia Munk to translate for her. Miss Wellington also needed help finding an office and Nadia asked Alice Masaryk, the daughter of the former Czech President for whom Nadia had been a personal secretary, for help in finding an appropriate location. Miss Masaryk was unable to help. A close Munk family friend, however, known to the Munks as Uncle Klouda, a Senator in Parliament, wangled an office for Beatrice Wellington in the Ministry of Social Work.

Miss Wellington visited England during the Christmas holidays and on her return told Frank and Nadia, now friends, that “Hitler will invade all of Czechoslovakia and that, if the Munk’s needed help in getting out, she would try to assist them.” She said that Frank’s Jewish heritage placed the whole family at risk and advised them to leave immediately.

On January 23, 1939, the Czech government, headed by Emil Hacha, ordered the Czech police to cooperate with the German police in suppressing Communist activity. It was a signal that the Czech government would accommodate Nazi policies. “Moderate” anti-Semitism suddenly became acceptable. But life for most people remained relatively normal.

On January 4, Frank applied for visas. On January 28, 1939, Frank again wrote to his Portland brother-in-law. “There is not much change here. Things continue, but very slowly and so far life…is livable. It seems however as if there should be some dramatic development in the European situation within the next few weeks, if not days. Nobody knows what will happen.”

On February 13, Frank received a letter from Dexter Keezer, President of Reed College. Keezer said that while formal arrangements had not been completed, the College had a small grant which, coupled with the possibility of other funds, might be combined to underwrite a Reed College course on the economics of distribution. Keezer asked Frank to mail or wire Reed with a list of the documents required to request a “non quota” U.S. visa. On March 5, Frank wired Keezer: “Can get preferential visa immediately provided you airmail me valid teaching contract stating period of engagement, salary, signed and sealed by qualified college offices. Thanks.”

Frank continued his daily work routine while he waited for a response from Reed. He did have an occasion to verify Miss Wellington’s warning when he visited with a diplomat who later proved to be head of British intelligence in Prague. A third, highly dramatic warning, came from a close personal friend of Nadia’s, Mrs. Bondy, who told Nadia she was divorcing her Jewish husband and urged Nadia to do the same. Many, many years later, Frank wrote, “I was, of course, foolish not to have tried to leave earlier when it would have been easier, but I believed, wrongly as it turned out, that I could weather the storm on account of my ‘Aryan’ wife”.

On the morning of March 15, 1939, a snowy day in Prague, Hitler gave the Czech government a surrender ultimatum and then, later the same day, the German army rolled across the Czech border. That night, a friend, a Czech Senator, alerted Frank that the Germans were in Prague. “In the morning,” Frank wrote, “…I got up at the usual time and drove to my office and, on the way, met part of the German army, tanks, motorcycles, the whole works. There was great confusion because in Prague, until that time, we drove on the left side of the street and the Germans came in driving on the right…I found myself standing between German tanks and the people who were shouting and protesting. It was a real collapse.” That afternoon, he said, the German soldiers stood around mixing with the Czechs. “I went down from my office and there were hundreds of Germans. They had some trouble being understood and I helped some officers communicate with the local citizenry.” The next day, Czechoslovakia was annexed to Germany under the title of the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia.

Frank’s son, Michael, has written a brief description of the events on March 15 and the following days. “On the very morning of March 15, when the Nazis marching into Prague were welcomed by the Hacha government, the Czech authorities implemented the January 23 agreement…and arrested 2000 suspected Communists in the [following] five days. Also on March 15, Czech fascists invaded Parliament and proclaimed General Gajda head of a ‘Czech National Committee’ comprised of the anti-Semitic ANO, the Nazi Vlaska, and Gajda’s National Fascist Community. Hacha abolished parliament and all political parties, repudiated democracy, and condemned ‘Jewish influence!’”

Frank still continued to work daily. “In fact, some of our best customers were German soldiers,” he told me. I asked Frank why he didn’t leave following the invasion. He said, “That is a very good question. I couldn’t conceive of living anywhere but Prague. I had a very good job and we had many very good friends. While we occasionally thought of leaving, ultimately it became impossible because the borders were closed. No one could leave the country without a permit from the Gestapo, the German Secret Police.”

On April 9, 1939, Frank again wrote to his brother-in-law.

“Dear Art: I hope Mr. Keezer has received my letter sent on March 5…. The Consul in Prague tells me we could get the regular visas in about a year’s time. Only the Department of Labor in Washington could grant an exception. Otherwise, we try to get to England and await further events there. I think it would be very helpful if you could see the man in charge of immigration in Portland and ask his advice about how to get to U.S.A. Other things being left unsaid, I am



Frank clearly was concerned about government censors.

On May 4, President Keezer sent the letter of commitment in contractual form from Reed. It read “I am happy to inform you that you have been appointed Instructor of Economics at Reed College; your minimum salary to be one hundred dollars a month and your appointment to run for two years from the date when you arrive at Reed College which we sincerely hope will be at the earliest possible moment.” The letter was properly notarized and signed. But, of course, it wasn’t received in Prague for several days.

A problem associated with a non-quota visa was a U.S. Department of Labor requirement that academics seeking such a visa must prove that they actually taught courses for two years preceding the request for a visa. On May 6, Frank wrote Arthur Scott that “The American consul in Prague has now found my documents satisfactory, including the proof of a teaching experience of at least 24 months duration, since I produced evidence…[of] lecturing in Economics at the School of Political Science in Prague. The only thing we need now is a valid teaching contract from Reed…. As soon as I can produce this contract the Consul will give me a non-quota visa for the United States.”

On Monday, May 15, a stranger visited Frank’s business office. He showed Frank a card, which identified the visitor as an officer in the former Czech Secret Service. The visitor said, “I am to show you a little paper. I am sure you will not need an explanation.” It was a Gestapo order to arrest all members of the Economic Committee of the National Socialist Party. Frank said “My name was on top since I served as its chairman. I thanked him and went home directly to tell Nadia – ‘We do have to get out as soon as possible.’” Frank never knew who sent this mysterious messenger and he never saw the man again.

The warning came with no offer of assistance. The Gestapo was not permitting anyone to leave the Protectorate. In desperation, Frank asked Mr. Gibian, the Jewish head of the Addressograph Company where he had previously been employed, for help in getting out. Gibian told him that other Jews were able to get Gestapo departure documents by paying off a certain clerk at a particular hotel. Nadia immediately left for the hotel carrying a large sum of money. At the hotel, she noticed a couple who seemed to be waiting for the same clerk. After awhile, one said to the other, “Something’s wrong. We better get out of here.” Nadia instinctively followed them. Later she learned the clerk had been arrested.

Nadia and Frank were frantic. But Beatrice Wellington, with no knowledge of these recent events and entirely on her own initiative, contacted them with a plan! In fact, Frank later wrote, that for weeks Beatrice Wellington had been “looking to find a way…to get us out. I myself [had] been trying hard but all my contacts with the Czech government and authorities were useless since the Germans and especially the Gestapo [were] masters of everything.” It turned out that Miss Wellington had successfully sought permission for forty to fifty Jewish children, whose parents had left prior to the March 15 invasion, to leave the country on May 15 to join their parents in England. At great risk to everyone involved, especially herself, she asked to place the Munk family members on that list. “By a miracle,” Frank later wrote, “there was a Mrs. Munk going and we were all given as her children.” Specifically, Miss Wellington put the names, Frank Munk, age 6, Nadia Munk, age 5, Michael Munk, age 4 and Suzanne Munk, age 2, on gray cards. When the head Gestapo officer signed the cards, for some fateful reason, the cards in their final form, did not list ages, only names and passport numbers.

Michael Munk has noted that on Friday, May 19, “Czech fascists rioted in Brno and Prague, dragging Jews from cafes and beating them. The riots continued until May 28.”   But also on May 19, Frank later wrote, “By another miracle… the contract from Reed arrived [Friday] the day before the transport…was scheduled to go. Within three hours I got from the American consul…the… non-quota visa. All my other papers were O.K.’d by the Consul beforehand… Miss Wellington then got the British and German visas within two hours.”

Frank and Nadia immediately arranged their personal affairs. They paid a British couple they met while skiing to take a huge straw hamper filled with paintings, silver and clothes to England with them. Nadia gave two fur coats to a member of the British consular staff and Miss Wellington took some jewelry. It was all later returned to the Munks.

On Saturday morning, May 20, the family left their home by taxi. They were leaving a beautiful house that they had recently built in a Bauhaus style development on a hill overlooking Prague. The beds were still unmade. They told the maid and cook that they were off for the weekend and would return Sunday evening. They told their plans to Nadia’s brother Vladja, and to no one else. They took the taxi to the Wilson train station. Tickets were purchased and the train slowly pulled out. Miss Wellington saw them off. By this time, she had helped a number of other people escape. She told Nadia: “Whenever she saw people off at the station, her knees were like boiled macaroni!”

The border separating the Protectorate from Germany was about 30 minutes north of Prague. The Munks were virtually the only passengers in their railroad car; the refugee children were in other cars. When the train stopped at the border, two SS men in black uniforms with skull and cross bones on their hats, members of the S.S. Death Head Brigade, asked for documents.

Frank wrote: “My spirits sank to the lowest level ever. I turned over our passports, our Gestapo permits, and also our tickets. [One man asked] ‘How did you get the exit permit?’ I knew we would be lost if I seemed worried. [Knowing the Germans and their sense of subordination] I answered very businesslike, ‘if you have any questions why don’t you call your headquarters in Prague and they will tell you.’ All of this in German, of course.” The SS officer noted that there were no ages on the cards, just names and passport numbers. They said nothing, collected the documents and walked straight to the station building. Frank said “I was never so scared in my life. I knew they could take us off the train and that would be the last of us.” During an interview, Frank used a curious phrase to express his horror of the moment: “My heart was in my pants.” But before reaching the station, they turned in their tracks and came back to the train. Frank was prepared to be arrested but instead, they simply said, “Heil Hitler. We wish you a pleasant trip.” Frank mumbled something. The train started immediately and, shortly, they were in Germany. Reflecting on that experience, Frank thought that his reply made the SS interrogators believe that they might get into trouble with their superiors were they to question the documents, since the signature on the permit was that of the Head of the Gestapo in the Protectorate and it was genuine. The original list submitted by Beatrice Wellington, you remember, listed Frank as 6 years old and Nadia as 5. Had the SS officers telephoned Prague, the correct ages on file there would have exposed the entire scheme. “It was our salvation that the gray card issued by the Germans didn’t give ages – only the names and passport numbers. But it was a very narrow escape.”

Frank and Nadia remained extremely apprehensive. The family still had to spend the rest of the afternoon and all night in German territory. Frank was concerned that the SS men from the Czech border might alert Gestapo agents along the way. When the train arrived in Leipzig that evening, on the platform was a man in the brown uniform of the Nazi Storm Troopers waving at them. [Hitler had two private armies – the Nazi ST and the Nazi SS. The Storm Troopers were organized to fight street wars and the SS to fight international wars.] The man on the platform was a German lawyer with whom Frank had had business dealings some five years earlier. At that time, the German, a man named Thiersch from Leipzig, visited Prague to ask Frank to keep funds for him since he, Thiersch, mistrusted Hitler and wanted some money held outside of Germany. Czechoslovakia seemed a safe place at the time. Frank held these funds as promised and, following the invasion of Czechoslovakia, Thiersch returned to Prague and collected his money. At that time, Thiersch said that if Frank ever needed help to send him a wire saying “Aunt Mary arriving at…” and he would be at the Leipzig train station. When Frank wired Thiersch from the Wilson Train Station, immediately prior to departure, that Aunt Mary was arriving, he was not aware that Thiersch had joined the Nazis. He was shocked when Thiersch appeared in uniform on the station platform; Thiersch brought oranges for the two children. More important, his welcome greatly impressed the train conductor who treated Frank and the family with fawning respect after Leipzig. The night trip through Germany was a night of fear, fear Frank said that you couldn’t possibly imagine. Finally, though, the train reached the Dutch border. When the Dutch conductor relieved the German conductor…”my wife practically kissed [him].” Frank told me.

The trip ended at Flushing on the Dutch coast. “But there was a problem,” Frank wrote: “we were not permitted to take any money out and I was afraid to try smuggling. Unknown to me, Nadia had taken one single $20 bill. She concealed it behind a picture of a German town in the rail car. Once across the Dutch border, she tried to take it out but, alas, the bill had disappeared somewhere behind the wall. We were then penniless, but happy.” The family ate nothing on the two-hour ferry ride to Harwich, England where the American husband of another of Nadia’s sisters, a Guggenheim Fellow at Cambridge University, met them. The next morning, Frank took the train to London, went to the British Committee for the Refugees of Czechoslovakia, and borrowed funds to get his family to the United States. 

After a steamship voyage aboard the S.S. American Merchant across the Atlantic, the Munks arrived at Ellis Island in New York with three dollars and food saved from the ship. The money was sufficient to get a taxi to the New Yorker Hotel. “Since it was hot, I put the whole family in the bathtub of the hotel and went directly to the American Committee for Refugees from Czechoslovakia.” There, Frank borrowed needed funds. On the way to the West Coast, he made a stopover in Chicago to convey important messages from Havel’s group to President-in-exile Benes. President Benes arranged for Frank to lecture at the University of Chicago where he earned a stipend of $500, his first American income. From Chicago, they continued on to Portland, Oregon. His interview with me concluded, “You know the rest of the story.”


Frank Munk, my wife Susie’s father and thus my father-in-law, taught at Reed College from 1939-1941 and then for three years at the University of California, Berkeley, where he was a Professor of international politics and political economy. In 1944, he became Director of training for UNRRA and was stationed at the University of Maryland for two years. In 1946, he was named Chief Economic Advisor to the UNRRA Mission to Czechoslovakia and Austria. (Click here to read of this experience.) During the latter part of that year when he was considering returning with his family to Prague, a friendly Russian Colonel secretly told him that if he wanted to succeed in Prague, he should join the communist party. This advice convinced him that he should return to Reed College as a professor. He remained in Portland for his lifetime. At age 65, he retired from Reed and was a Professor at Portland State University until the age of 88.

Frank was an intellectual – he studied everything from the weather to security markets to international politics. For more than 20 years he appeared weekly on Portland television where he conducted a one-person program devoted to international politics. He founded the World Affairs Council of Oregon in 1950. He was later named First Citizen of Portland and became a well-known public figure in the state.

Frank didn’t suffer fools gladly. He did, however, have a modest sense of humor and an extraordinarily quick wit that kept him in constant demand as a speaker. At a party my wife and I gave for her parents on the occasion of their 50th wedding anniversary twenty-three years ago, his wife, Nadia, spoke glowingly about her life with Frank and concluded by thanking him for every day of the last 50 years. Frank responded with four words, “What about the nights?”

Frank was fully conversant with computers and used one until a few days before his death in January of this year. Several weeks before he died, he broke his pelvis and soon decided it was time to bring his life to an end. He intentionally discontinued medication for diabetes and congestive heart failure, fell into a coma, and died peacefully. When I interviewed him in 1998 for this paper, he expressly intended to attend this presentation.


I am interested in your perspective on what you found to be interesting within this paper. If you could please send me feedback, I would be grateful.  Thank you.

Related Books



Chamberlain and Appeasement: British Policy and the Coming of the Second World War; Robert Alexander Clark Parker


Czechoslovakia Between Stalin and Hitler: The Diplomacy of Edvard Benes in the 1930s. A history by Igor Lukes.


Letters from Prague: 1939-1941; Raya Czerner Shapiro and Helga Czerner Weinberg


A Thousand Kisses: A Grandmother's Holocaust Letters; Henriette Pollatschek, Renata Polt (Editor)


To Save a Life: Stories of Holocaust Rescue; Ellen Land-Weber


From Prague After Munich: Diplomatic Papers, 1938-1940; George F. Kennan [Out of Print]




A Stricken Field; Martha Gellhorn. [Out of print. Compilations of her reporting are available in The Face of War and The View from the Ground.]


Life With a Star; Jiri Weil


Mendelssohn Is on the Roof; Jiri Weil



Return to family history



TheRagens Home Page   Family History   Recommended Book Lists   Wine Tastings and Recommendations   Wildlife Photos   Feedback and
Site Registration


Amazon Logo


by title by author