The arrival of the Lutheran World Federation’s request on Easter struck the Rev. Dr. Frederick Otto, a Lutheran pastor, as more a calling than a coincidence.
The decision he and wife Georgia made to move from the freedom of Fremont, Ohio, to Cold War Berlin meant that milestones of their children’s lives would arrive in another country.
Reality education
The spacious house on Clay Alee in the American Zone wasn’t far from the U.S. Army Base, where her brother would be stationed.
The villa “was used in World War II as an R&R location for senior Nazi officers,” recalled Margretha (called Greta) Ellis. “There was a room up in the attic covered with newspapers from that time supposedly used as insulation by the radio men on duty with the shortwave and carrier pigeons.”
For the first year, the Otto children attended the school provided for American military children. Then, to encourage the children to learn German, their parents enrolled them in German private school.
They also provided a wider education in the realities of the Cold War world.
“In the early years before the Wall went up, Dad would ask us to take a ride to ‘see the lights’ at night,” said Maria Otto Bell. “We would drive downtown and the lights would be blazing and very colorful and vibrant.
“Then he would always drive through the Brandenburg (Gate) into East Berlin and down the main street. It was like being in a different world — dark and deserted. The contrast really stuck with me.”
It was as striking to her sister in the light of day.
Confirmation
“Papa had asked our dear family friend, Pastor Werner Arnold, of the large Marienkirche in East Berlin to give me catechism classes,” Greta Ellis explained.
“There was only one other girl in the class, since, at the time, being a Christian and taking part in church-related activities (in the Eastern sector) meant a student could not go past the ninth grade and parents might not find a good job.”
“On those days, Papa could not take me to the East Zone for class, I had to ride the subway,” said Greta. “Being 13, I found it a very scary experience.”
“There were guards with dogs at the subway stations,” she said. “And there was just a tense atmosphere, ... It was like going from Technicolor on the West side to black-and-white on the East Zone.
As striking to her sister were family visits to Pastor Arnold’s home.
“When we entered, Sigrid (the pastor’s wife) would first put the telephone on a fat pillow and cover it with a coffee cozy, because their phone was tapped,” said Maria Bell. “I could not understand how people could live day after day ... always afraid of uttering the wrong thing.”
In contrast, “I have wonderful memories of gatherings of the bishops from both East and West Berlin at our home,” she said. “Dad would make his famous Otto spaghetti sauce with all the fixings, and I played waitress.”
“They would have a wonderful evening and then we would air the house out for the next days to rid it of the terrible black cigars they all smoked.”
Then came Aug. 13, 1961.
Church of ghosts
“It was a Sunday morning,” Greta said. “My Papa had the Berlin American Church which held its Lutheran services in a lovely German Church. Some folks referred to it as the church of the Holy Ghost because we had quite a few agency and other intelligence types as members.
“Right after church, Papa took us for a drive to see what could be seen.”
“I vividly remember the East German guards with their rifles and bayonets. People were standing around looking dazed.
“There was an uproar because some lived in one zone and worked in the other,” Greta said. “Families were suddenly divided.”
Photojournalism
With the Wall up, the Otto family photo collection began to resemble the news photography of the time, including a man shot to death trying to flee and memorials built for others who suffered that fate.
“Over the course of time, some 200 died trying to escape,” Greta Ellis said.
Sundays became, in some ways, an unholy day.
“Families would stand on either side and wave their white handkerchiefs at one another — suddenly the only way they could see one another. Then, the terror when someone would be reported killed.”
Fifty years later, news footage of a man being dragged back into the East by authorities and another being shot roll in her mind.
“Sometime after that, Dad was contacted by Berlin Free University students about obtaining communication gear for their tunnel project. (Her husband) Marc and I still have the two remaining field phones.”
‘I am a doughnut’
But life went on.
On Dec. 22, 1962, Maria married Army Capt. James Chenault at the Berlin Brigade Command Chapel.
Her father served as pastor and Frederick Otto Hartel, the American commanding general, gave her away in marriage.
“Gen. Hartel picked me up at home with a wedding coach complete with a footman and dappled gray horses,” she said. “The coach was a Berlin tradition.”
The couple’s stay in Berlin was near an end when President John F. Kennedy famously visited and gave his “Ich bin ein Berliner!” speech.
“The literal translation of ‘I am a Berliner’ should have been ‘Ich bin Berliner,’” Bell explained. “The Berliner Pfannkuchen (called the Berliner) is a jelly-filled donut,” she said, so Kennedy’s remarks “implied he was a doughnut. The Berliners got a hoot out of it.”
A career-changer
Maria and her husband shipped back to the United States that summer of 1963. Two years later, told that it was no longer safe for Frederick Otto to cross the border into East Berlin or East Germany, the Ottos relocated their lives and their Chantry Music Press to Springfield.
The reassuring sound of American tanks on the streets of Berlin led daughter Greta to choose an Army career.
“I felt the U.S. Army kept us safe in Berlin, and that had a deep impact on me as a kid.
“Once I was on active duty,” she added, “they just kept offering me great assignments.”
But there’s no doubt the education she and Maria received on her Papa’s drives and in the shadow of the Berlin Wall forever changed their lives.