No Name, No Number, No Publication Outlet: My Cousin Puts her Father’s Auschwitz Survival Story on Kindle

Posted on December 20, 2025 by gretchenwing

Fifteen years ago, I interviewed my LA-based cousin, Susi Kaminski Klein, about her experiences as a child survivor of the Holocaust. Over the course of four days, hanging out here on Lopez Island and visiting beautiful Victoria, BC, I recorded Susi narrating her story.

Susi & I taking a break from history in Butchart Gardens, 2010

Nine years ago, I blogged about Susi’s story as depicted in Jewish Journal of 2016. You can read that here.

Five years ago, with some urging, and a TON of formatting, research and illustration help from my cousin Helen (Susi’s daughter), we turned those notes into a book.

Helen should’ve gotten co-author billing!

But the lede I’m burying here is this: COUSIN HELEN WAS WAYYYY AHEAD OF ME! In 2011, four years earlier, she had already published the story of her father, Fred Klein. Here it is:

Something you have to understand: back then, self-publishing was HARD WORK. I’ll get to that part in a moment.

What I wanted to know was how Helen’s experience interviewing her father compared to mine, interviewing her mother, and…well, I’ll let Helen tell it. Cuz?

“This will be a short and possibly unexpected answer. I never interviewed my father to capture his story. My father started writing his book, believe it or not in 1997! He went through a number of iterations. During the process he found several people who were willing to edit his work and give him ideas on organization, grammar, etc. I was not involved in that process at all.”

Well, that tracks. Susi had separated and Fred by the time we met, so I never got to meet Fred. From what I’ve learned, I think he must have been an impressive man. Maybe daunting to interview? Not really, Helen said, but…

“I think I would have found it extremely challenging to interview my father. Not because he would not be willing but it is such a vast subject, I would really have had to figure out where to begin, how to organize and structure the questions etc. so honestly I am grateful my father wrote his story on his own and got some guidance from others on organization and structure.”

Keep in mind, my cousin’s working full-time during this entire period. When I interviewed Susi, I had just left my teaching job, so I had the time I needed to organize her story after capturing it on tape.

Also…as Fred Klein’s book cover intimates: he survived Auschwitz. While Susi’s story was horrific and traumatic, including her father being sent to the concentration camp Theresienstadt…it did not involve Auschwitz.

Full disclosure, I’m only partway through No Name, No Number, which is written as a mix of personal account and history lesson. History, I think, is more and more necessary these days when precious little Holocaust history is taught. But personal stories are the most poignant.

Here’s an excerpt from Ch. 7, where, in 1941, still living “freely” in Prague, teenage Fred is forced to labor on a collective farm. I have bolded sentences that especially capture the personal reality of the horror.

“For me, the worst part about the camp was the strenuous physical effort required. I was in extremely bad shape, not accustomed to the job, never having learned to push myself. Sometimes the grueling twelve-hour workday seemed like hell to me. I thought I would never last through them. I had to shovel some three hundred times earth up to a little metal wagon. Sometimes I had to carry very long tree-trunks with a fellow forced laborer. Most of my fellow inmates were in better shape than me and enjoyed teasing me. They had me carry the thick end of the tree-trunks which was so heavy that I almost collapsed, whereas the other fellow had it easy. Had I been in better shape, the work would have been exhausting, but tolerable.”

Fred as a still very young man, after the war, now living in Argentina

Here’s another excerpt, from Ch. 11, where in 1944, 22 year-old Fred is unloaded at the dreaded camp. Notice the detail in the middle of the passage:

“I jumped out of the cattle car. Barracks, barracks, barbed wire, gleaming lights. SS men with police dogs, wielding whips. Pajama-clad figures – kapos – and other prisoners, something I had never seen before. This place was cold, frightening, there was nothing soft to humanize it. I stared briefly at the hellish scene, and then I took off my glasses. Shouting and shoving, the kapos and prisoners herded us into rows five men deep and made us stand still. The dogs of the SS were poised to attack us. Somehow the pajama-clad prisoners got us moving forward in a single file.”

“I took off my glasses.” To me that act says, I will not look at this. I will get through it.

Fred with baby Helen in Buenos Aires, 1958

So, Helen– your dad wrote out his own book. Why was it not published right away?

“What I can tell you is that my father tried very, very hard to get his book published. He wrote lots of letters to a variety of publishers, but none of them seemed interested. I don’t even know if he ever got answers.”

It’s painful to reflect on this answer. There are so many Holocaust stories. The simple truth– that the sheer quantity of such traumatic stories affects their “marketability”–hurts my stomach.

Helen finishes:

“He finally gave up looking for a publisher, and sadly resorted to literally going to Kinkos, making copies of his book, getting the books comb-bound, and then trying to distribute his book that way.”

Ouch. But then here comes my cousin, to ease her father’s pathway:

“Originally, I published my father’s book in 2007 using Blurb.com. That process was long and tedious, but I pushed through it as I really, really wanted to get it done while my father was alive. Little did I know back in 2007, when I completed the publishing on Blurb, that my father would live to 100, something I am ever so grateful for!”

Which brings us back to this moment. Blurb.com no longer exists. Fred Klein passed away in 2022 (at the age of 100, as Helen said). But thanks to his daughter, Fred’s story lives on…easily available on Kindle! Click here to download and read No Name, No Number, for free.

I would like to thank my cousin Helen for her perseverance (not to mention all the photos!)…and my cousin Susi for hers. They are both role models for me.

And, in this season of deepest darkness, please say an extra prayer for the Fred Kleins of the world. May their stories find resonance.

May their stories become, some day…rare.

My Democracy Anti-Panic Medicine: Read Joyce, Read Joyce, You Have No Choice/But to Carry On

Posted on October 31, 2025 by gretchenwing

Not that Joyce. Nothing against Dubliners or Ulysses; I just don’t think they’ll help get you through another week of our current presidency. I mean Joyce Vance, author of this book that was waiting for me, hot off its October 21st release, when I got home from my canvassing trip this week:

To judge a book by its cover, this one looks boring. To me, though, it looks like mental health. I thought I’d take a minute to explain why.

I’ve written in some detail about Common Power, the Seattle-based organization I’ve been teaming up with since 2019 to phone-bank and canvass in “red” or “purple” states.

In 2022 and 2024, I canvassed in my home State of North Carolina, where my folks still live. This year Virginia has some important elections, so I went there (visits to sister & niece a bonus).

Part of Team Fredericksburg on the canvass trail

Between doors (we knocked on about 2,000 during the days I participated in Fredericksburg, then Richmond), I split my awe between the lovely big deciduous trees of the east…

…and creative Halloween decorations.

But the best part of CP work, to me, isn’t actually the conversations on voters’ doorsteps (though those can be quite moving). It’s the TEAMWORK, the FELLOWSHIP.

especially at a dumpling restaurant at the end of a long day

Which brings me back to Joyce’s book, whose opening line is, “Could I have picked a worse time to write a book about saving democracy?”

My answer is: no, this is EXACTLY the right time. Because now more than ever, we need to know we “have friends everywhere” (as they say on Andor), and we need to get our hands on some how-to.

However, if podcasts are what your life has room for, Joyce is all over that landscape. I first discovered her via Substack, where her Civil Discourse unpacks the week’s latest legal WTF?!! as only a former U.S. Attorney (and current law professor) can. Each post ends with, “We’re all in this together.”

Or you might just as easily find her on the brilliant panel-pod, Sisters in Law…

…or untangling legal threads with her former U.S. Attorney boss Preet Bharara. I recommend ALL these pods as a way to feel a little more on top of things…a little more prepared for what’s coming, because–

“Hold UP, Gretchen,” I hear you say. “What makes you think I want MORE civics in my life? Don’t you understand what the news is DOING to me??“

Oh, I do. It was doing the same to me, before I found my people in Common Power, and now–with the magic of podcasts–people like Joyce Vance.

[Shoutout to another GREAT, whom you might already have discovered: historian Heather Cox Richardson.]

While I’m only halfway through Vance’s book, I’m happy to report that the final chapter–titled We Are the Cavalry–is chock-full of options for resistance, participation, finding community, pointing yourself towards hope…or, as one heading puts it, “Understand That Protecting Democracy Comes in a Lot of Flavors.” (146)

This is Fredericksburg’s Rappahannock River at sunset. Not a flavor; it just looks like one, eh?

In this moment when the bad guys want us to despair and give up, Vance offers this uplifting reminder:

“Although we may be on our own, we are not all alone. We truly are in this together. We have one another, a community of like-minded people across the country who care about democracy. That may seem to be a slender thread, but it’s how we, like others who have faced similar challenges in the past, are going to get through this.

So, gather your resources and take courage.” (138)

Joyce’s chickens also make appearances on her Substack, so I’ll close with this:

Do yourself a favor: Read Joyce. [Support her by clicking here to buy her book!] You will feel empowered–because, as she says, we’re all in this together.

All We Have To Fear Is Fear Itshelf: My Parents’ Greatest Gift

Posted on May 24, 2022 by gretchenwing

Hyperbole alert: my parents have given me and my sisters uncountable great gifts over the past 6 and a half decades, starting with, y’know…life. Nurturing. Education. That ol’ stuff.

But this one? This one’s right up there, beyond bicycles and maybe even musical instruments. It’s a slow-mo gift, for sure, but it…has…begun: my parents are starting to divest themselves of Things.

Exhibit A: the basement of my childhood home, a few years ago

I can’t call it “de-cluttering,” because most of it is great stuff: sports equipment, books…more books, more sports equipment…OK, that’s pretty much my family in a nutshell. They also have a lot of art, but I don’t think they’re giving that away just yet.

Most specifically, my mom startled me this week by mentioning the “bare shelves in the living room.” Now, I knew of my dad’s plan to donate all his science books to the Duke Bio-Sci Building’s Student Reading Lounge–a place dedicated to the delicious art of book-browsing, a practice that’s gone the way of the card catalogue. But I didn’t realize he meant to donate them, like…now! So I got my mom to send me some pictures.

Here’s the “before”:

You can’t tell, but take it from me–those books go floor to ceiling, two full walls’ worth.

And here’s, well–now:

Clearly, there’s still one shelf to go…but I kind of hope it stays there as a reminder of all those decades.

Still more, off to the right of the frame…Also, still a dog. Some things don’t change.

To give a sense of the history of our house’s book-walls, here’s me and my mom and sisters with our grandparents back in…let’s say 1964.

So. Let this be a lesson to me. What lesson? Pick one: Never too late to divest yourself. Never too old to surprise your children (my parents are about to be a combined 179 years old). Never too old to make a difference in this world. Or just to finally do what they made us girls do, and Clean Your Room!

What’s next? Stay tuned. My Amazing Parents continue to amaze me.

Hurts So Good: When A Book’s Too Painful To Recommend, But Too Powerful Not To

Posted on April 19, 2021 by gretchenwing

Anyone else ever have this conversation?

Friend: “So what’re you reading these days?”

You: “Omigod this BOOK. It’s so INTENSE. The plot is masterful, and the details are so IMMERSIVE. It has a total hold on me.”

Friend: “Wow, sounds like I should read that next. What’s it called? Can I borrow it when you’re done?”

You: “Ummm…sure. But it’s also really super sad. It’s kind of bumming me out, to tell the truth.”

Friend: “Oh. No thanks. I don’t need more of that in my life.”

You: “But it’s so GOOD!”

Renoir, Woman Reading (courtesy f_snarfel, Creative Commons)

Anybody? Anybody?

My latest engagement with an entry in the Bummer-of-the-Month-Book-Club is the Pulitzer winner The Orphan Master’s Son, by Adam Johnson. It’s been around a few years, and only fell into my hands by accident–somehow finding its way onto my bedside pile without any known recommender. I picked it up and, as perfect illustration of the cliche, found myself hooked by the first page.

Damn it. Had I read the blurbs, I probably would have passed. But I’m not a blurb-reader.

This book is PAINFUL to read. For starters, it’s set in North Korea. Additionally, it’s set in North Korea. And, as if that weren’t enough–North Freakin’ KOREA.

But those Pulitzer-givers know a thing or two about literature. Not only does the book twine different genres–identity odyssey, thriller, love story–it also switches point of view here and there, from close-third person narrative of the main character, to state-run propaganda blasts repurposing the very story you are reading, to a first-person accounting, up close–way too close–to North Korea’s vicious prison “life,” by an unnamed but increasingly conflicted interrogator.

And the writing? I’ll let it speak for itself.

“Jun Do’s reward for these achievements was a listening post in the East Sea, aboard the fishing vessel Junma. His quarters were down in the Junma’s aft hold, a steel room big enough for a table, a chair, a typewriter, and a stack of receivers that had been pilfered from downed American planes in the war. The hold was lit only by the green glow of the listening equipment, which was reflected in the sheen of fish water that seeped under the bulkheads and constantly slicked the floor. Even after three months, Jun Do couldn’t stop visualizing what was on the other side of those metal walls: chambers of tightly packed fish sucking their last breath in the refrigerated dark.” (p. 40)

I would love to be able to talk with someone about this book, to discuss questions and groove over passages. But I don’t want to give it to anyone without warning, and most people, once warned, sensibly pass. That got me thinking about other books in this category. Here are a few that come to mind:

The Spectator Bird by Wallace Stegner. He’s one of my, let’s say top three, favorite 20th century authors. Angle of Repose, his Pulitzer winner, is incredibly sad, but I can still recommend it to anyone, especially over the age of 30. But this book kind of destroyed me for a while.

The Killer Angels, by Michael Shaara. I mean, it’s about the Civil War, so that’s a teensy hint I should have taken.

Probably the queen of books too terribly powerful to pass on to people you like is Beloved, by Toni Morrison. Please read it anyway, if you haven’t yet. But give yourself lots of breathing time.