Gustav Adolf Krieger
My Father, Warren, formed much of the character for Gus Krieger, Kati’s eventual husband. He was a gentle man devoted to my mother. For a male in the 1950s he was decidedly ahead of his time, recognizing his wife as his equal. He also helped cook and clean house once she went to work.
Warren was one of that generation that saved the world. His battalion was the sole 90 mm gun outfit chosen for the Utah Beach assault. During the Battle of the Bulge he was given a rifle and sent into the woods to kill the enemy. He relived and related those horrific experiences only as he lay dying. He had suppressed them for sixty-four years.
He is unlike the men of this tenement, this block, this neighborhood. Some of them surely do not smoke or drink, as he does not. Some certainly do not gamble, as he does not. A few refrain from cursing, as he refrains. Perhaps a handful actually save money as he does. Many respect their mothers, but how many take the time to visit them, or fathers, too, on the one day off they get per week in this outer circle of hell?