Stephen Shooster not change the fact that I lived in constant fear that at any moment I could be singled out and arrested for being Jewish. I pushed all of this out of my mind and worked diligently to build the road. Eventually, the foreman took notice of my effort. Approv- ingly, he assigned me to the quarry to load stones on trucks. This was harder work, but I was up for it. Looking back, work would be my salvation over and over again. We were not the only road camp. We were part of a massive concerted effort. There were many other camps up and down the road for about a 20-mile stretch. The farthest was building a dam on the Dunajec River. This river flowed forcibly from the moun- tains into the mighty Vistula River making for a good supply of free power. One day, I took a walk to see all the camps along the road. Each had its own character depending on the race, age, and disposition of the leader. Some of the camps were manned solely by Jews. I watched how these men toiled under harsher conditions than the rest. Because I was living with the non-Jews, I was free to come and go as I pleased. This is how I heard that one of my cousins was executed. He got sick with typhoid fever. When I heard this news, I could not even flinch in fear of giving up my own identity. Up to this point, I think the main reason for my safety was that the foreman of my camp, even though he was a German, he was focused on completing the road and needed all the labor he could get. He didn’t care about anything else. I had no idea how long it might last, but being out of immediate danger, I just did my job and said nothing. One day, a fellow laborer and Catholic friend of mine, Adam Kmak, came up to me and said, “Leon, I think your family is in trouble. I heard that the Jews from Grybow will be deported to the ghetto in Nowy-Sacz tomorrow.” I quickly gathered what little I had and left. If he was right, I did not have much time to get back. Even though this affected many of the other boys also, like the Lipczers, I slipped away from camp by myself and walked through the back roads by the compass in my head. I knew those backwoods well. I think my friends were restricted by their armbands. At the time, I was fearless. I would frequently go off into the hills and trade for food or even ask the Germans for things I wanted. They never suspected my race. I was just a kid to them. When I arrived at my home, my mother and sisters were crying hysterically, the baby, too. My father was breaking the kitchen furniture. He saw me as he smashed a chair and said angrily, “We are not leaving them anything.” Without pause, he gathered the next chair to smash it while he spoke. Then catching his composure, he put the chair down and turned towards me, “Why did you come back here?” I told him the truth. “I wanted to help you. I heard the town will soon be deported, and I was scared for you.” In a cold voice, he said, “We will help ourselves. Go back. It is enough that they will
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