The Horse Adjutant in pregnancy, and she happened to be taking a bath. While in the tub one of the babies came out! I knew this because my mother shouted for me, “Leon, help!” When I ran to her, I saw lots of blood and a baby in her arms. I helped her as best as I could, but she did not want my help instead she said, “Run, run right away and get the akuszerka (the midwife), Ms. Olszewska. Tell her to come immediately.” I ran as fast as I could to the midwife’s home, and when I arrived, I said something that makes me laugh to this day, “Please come to my house right away. My mother has one baby in her arms and who knows how many more will come?” It was 1937. I was 10 years old. After things were cleaned up, the next day we celebrated with a little cake. This same lady delivered me when I was born. The twins slept in my parent’s bedroom. I didn’t have to be best friends for acquaintances to make a life-or-death difference in my life. For instance, I knew a fellow from school, Zbigniew Mordarski and although I don’t remember much about him, what I will never forget is the kindness of his cousin, Wiktor Mordarski. Before the war, Wiktor was a local attorney in our town. During the occupation, he was considered a menace to that new authority. He was someone that could fully understand the depravity of the situation and do something about it via the law, with his voice, or in politics. For this, he was sent to a political indoctrina- tion center. The center he was sent to was an almost unknown place to the world prior to WWII. It was toward the west of Poland conveniently located along main supply railway routes, Oswiecim (Auschwitz). The entire region of Oswiecim was once owned by a Hasidic Jew, but the Germans converted it to a series of concentration camps. Once completed, it would become the largest concentration camp in the world. Wiktor became one of its first prisoners. You can tell because his tattoo had a low number. Somehow, he also became a blockmaster for its infirmary. Being in this position, even as a prisoner, gave him some access to camp records and allowed him to help out the other prisoners with passes and medi- cine. That is exactly what he did for me, in my most dire need. Without Wiktor, I surely would have perished on more than one occasion. There should be a memorial for him in Auschwitz for all of his effort. One of the highlights of my preparation for this book was finding a couple of photos of him, saved by his family, who are still in Poland (pg.186). I had lots of friends. I remember many of them like it was yesterday. There was Henry Ziołko, the son of the train signaler, and Mendel Sher from Siołkowska Street.
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