From the Alamac Hotel, NYC

To Huntsville, Alabama: May, 1954

Rainer Klauss

LHS ‘64

Sometime early in 1954, two German engineers working for the Army Ballistic Missile Agency at Redstone Arsenal had a conversation something like this (in German, of course): “Good day, Herr Klauss. This is Hermann Wagner. I have learned that you are taking your sister-in-law to New York City in May for her return to Germany.”

“Yes, Herr Wagner; that is the case. My wife’s younger sister Irene has been visiting us for the past year, but she’s ready to go back home and pick up her life there. Her departure is early in May. Why are you interested in this matter?”

“I recently received notification that my wife and daughter are scheduled to arrive in New York City around the same time.  They’ll be sailing from Bremerhaven on an Army transport ship that’s also bringing over a group of young German women who are being reunited with the American soldiers they married in the past few years. Postwar brides.” 

“Gudrun and her mother didn’t come over with me last year when I took the ABMA job because my wife’s mother needs special healthcare.  Also, I wanted to test the waters here first, to see if I liked the job and life in Alabama. We have recently made arrangements for the continuing care of Gudrun’s grandmother in Germany, and the three of us are ready to start our lives in Huntsville as a family.”

“By the way, I heard about your trip to New York through the grapevine. (One equivalent German phrase for that idiom is “Es ist mir zu Ohren gekommen”: It has come to my ears.) I realize that you and I hardly know each other, but I have a favor to ask. If the dates of your sister-in-law’s departure and the arrival of Margarete and Gudrun are close to each other, would you consider ferrying my wife and daughter to me on your return to Huntsville? I will help with any additional expenses, of course.”

It was a big favor and one that came out of the blue, but my father felt a strong sense of solidarity with the men who had worked at Peenemünde, the German rocket development center, and their families. He also knew about the concerns and difficulties of immigration firsthand. “Herr Wagner, why don’t we take a look at the proximity of those projected dates, and we’ll go from what we find there, alright?” They saw that my aunt’s ship sailed first and then several days later Frau Wagner and Gudrun were scheduled to arrive in New York, so there wasn’t a large gap of time between the two events. There shouldn’t be a lengthy and costly wait. Once that critical matter was clarified, my father realized it would be easy to give the Wagner family a helping hand. “Herr Wagner, I will bring them to you.” 

I don’t know why I won the big prize of accompanying my father and aunt to New York City on a lengthy trip during the school year. I don’t recall pleading to go, but I was happy to be included in the adventure. Aunt Irene (Tante Rena) and I doted on each other, and my parents understood that it was going to be hard for me to let her go. It wasn’t a big deal to pull me out of school. Well before we left, my father secured the approval of the principal at East Clinton Elementary for my early departure from the second grade.  

As a kid from a small Alabama town, I was captivated (and a bit daunted, surely) by the spectacle of New York: its massed, towering cityscape, the noise, the crowds, and the pace and profusion of its urban life. Feeling safe, though, in the company of my father and aunt, I was wide open to the novel sights and experiences coming my way. While we waited for Tante Rena’s departure date, we took a few excursions. My father had brought along his home movie camera, and the first scenery he filmed captured part of our tour of the Bronx Zoo. 

Near our Manhattan hotel, the Alamac, we lunched at an Automat, one of those famous, but now long-defunct Horn & Hardart food emporiums. Stacked arrays of small chrome-rimmed windows with food behind them lined its walls. One walked to the appropriate section, spied through the glass to make sure of the dish, slid nickels into a slot, twisted a knob, flipped up the door, and then pulled out a tasty bowl of mashed potatoes and gravy, a chicken salad sandwich, or a piece of cherry pie. Comfort food, do-it-yourself style. One evening we ate in a cafeteria—our first ever visit to such an establishment. Tantalized by the mélange of aromas and dishes, I lingered at each section, finding it hard to make a choice from such abundance.  Mmm, that looks delicious. What could it be? “Can I have two desserts, Vati (Daddy)?”

When it came time to say Auf Wiedersehen to Tante Rena, my sadness was mitigated by the enthralling spectacle of the dockside scene: the hustle and bustle of the workers, the excited passengers, the clamor, and the huge ship itself. I didn’t know then that I would be seeing her (and many other relatives) a short two years later when our family went to Germany for the summer of ’56.  And that I would get to experience two grand shipboard adventures of my own.

Two days into our wait, my father, via a message passed on to the hotel, learned that the ship carrying Gudrun and her mother had been tasked to help a distant vessel in distress. Their ship changed course to assist, but midway into its rescue mission was notified that another ship would get there sooner.  The transport altered its course again, turning the whole journey into an 11 or 12-day transit. This meant a longer and unexpected wait for us.

While my father and I waited for Gudrun and her mother to arrive, we went to the movies several times and went back to the Automat and cafeteria.  At the famous Radio City Music Hall, we saw Rose Marie, the remake of the 1936 movie musical starring Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy. This version starred Howard Keel, Ann Blyth, Fernando Lamas, and Marjorie Main (who delighted us in the “Ma and Pa Kettle” comedies in the 50s). The major production was filmed in the Canadian Rockies in Cinemascope and was MGM's first US produced film in that new widescreen medium. I would consider it a sappy movie if I saw it now, but back then, immersed in the marvels of the Big Apple, I’m sure I was a very impressed youngster.

After the two-day delay in reaching New York, Gudrun and her mother were guided through immigration procedures at Ellis Island with military assistance (because Herr Wagner worked for the ABMA) and were then brought to the Alamac. The officer accompanying them called my father, and we came down to introduce ourselves and take over the escort duty. Gudrun and I (7 ½ and 8 ½ years old) hardly took notice of each other. She has a good reason for not remembering that first meeting. She felt miserable, having spent much of the trans-Atlantic trip in the ship’s sick bay, seasick to the max and hooked up to an IV—her suffering prolonged by the aborted rescue mission.

After that brief introduction and greeting in the hotel lobby, we showed them to their room and let them unpack and settle themselves--as best they could after so many days of sickness, worry, and uncertainty—with yet another long stretch of travel ahead of them. After a few hours, we joined them, and our parents, Herr Klauss and Frau Wagner, became better acquainted. I’m sure Gudrun and I didn’t communicate at all. We had an ironic language barrier: My German-speaking ability had mostly wasted away, and Gudrun knew no English.  

We left for Huntsville the next morning (the 7th or 8th of May), and as my father drove to the Heart of Dixie in our ’51 Mercury, Gudrun’s ordeal continued. Carsickness replaced seasickness. Hell on wheels, poor baby. She slumped against the corner of the backseat, eyes closed; a mountain of my comic books lay between us. My father headed south with dispatch, but took time for a quick side trip through Washington to give the ladies an official welcome to their new country. There’s a family joke that we left one of Gudrun’s barf bags in front of the White House. 

We got to Huntsville about 8 P.M. on the 10th of May. It was Sunday. My father had called my mother from the road and told her that we would be getting in that evening. She called Herr Wagner, and he was at our house to welcome his wife and daughter. It was a joyous reunion for all of us. Es war ein freudiges Zusammenkunft fuer alle.

This Mother’s Day will mark the 72nd anniversary of that arrival, a day that is marked on our calendar every year. Gudrun and I did not get off to an auspicious start all those years ago, and our relationship has had twists and turns that put it in doubt, but the universe has blessed us.

Finally, a distinction of our relationship—besides its longevity—is that Gudrun and I are the only children of the Huntsville German rocket team families who married within that circle. It seems fitting, don’t you think, that people with the unusual (and occasionally troublesome) names of Gudrun and Rainer ended up with each other? 

Note: The Alamac Hotel was built in 1923.  In the spring of 1924, still imposing in its newness, it hosted the World Chess Championship. Emanuel Lasker bested the reigning world champion, Jose Capablanca.  Alexander Alekhine, the Russian Grandmaster placed third. Years later, in the pre-war period, Gudrun’s father, Hermann Wagner, a chess grandmaster himself, played Alekhine in a tournament in Germany. The building still stands at 160 West 71st Street in Manhattan and is now called the South Pierre, having been turned into rental apartments in the 1970s.

Searching Ellis Island Records

Tommy Towery

LHS '64

Last year when Sue and I visited New York, a trip to Ellis Island was part of our tour. While there I learned there was a place where one could search the records to find out about immigrants who passed through there. The records are available to the public. Rainer's article reminded me of that, and I took the opportunity to look up Gudrun's name in the database of arrivals. The image above is what I was able to find.

I searched for the ship using Gemini's AI program and it gave me the following information.

The USNS George W. Goethals (T-AP-182) was a prominent United States military transport ship that served during World War II and the subsequent Cold War era. 1  Named after George Washington Goethals, the Army engineer who oversaw the construction of the Panama Canal, the vessel played a vital role in transporting troops, military families, and refugees. Post-War "War Bride" Voyages: After the war, the ship was famously used to bring thousands of "war brides" and their children from Europe to the United States.

Departure: The ship departed from Bremerhaven, Germany, on April 27, 1954.

Voyage Delay: The journey took approximately 11 to 12 days. The ship was delayed because it was briefly diverted to assist a vessel in distress, though it was eventually called off when another ship reached the site first.

Passengers: The manifest included many "war brides" and families of German engineers moving to the U.S. for work with the Army Ballistic Missile Agency (ABMA) in Huntsville, Alabama. Notable Arrivals

The passenger manifest for this specific date includes: Margarete A. Wagner and Gudrun A. Wagner (the 7-year-old daughter who later married within the Huntsville "rocket team" circle).

You can do your own search for individuals who entered the United States through Ellis Island by clicking on the image below or going to the website at https://www.statueofliberty.org/arrival-search/

The Wayback Machine

What Was The Automat?

Williard Finkbinder

The automat was an early 20th‑century self‑service restaurant where customers bought freshly prepared meals from coin‑operated glass compartments—an innovation that helped launch America’s fast‑food culture.

🍽️ What an Automat Was

An automat was a restaurant built around vending‑machine–style food service, where diners selected dishes displayed behind small glass windows and unlocked them by inserting coins. This system eliminated waitstaff and emphasized speed, affordability, and efficiency.

The concept originated in late‑19th‑century Germany and the Netherlands. 

The first American automat opened in 1902 in Philadelphia, created by Joseph Horn and Frank Hardart. 

🏙️ Why Automats Became So Popular

Automats exploded in popularity in the 1920s–1930s, especially in New York City, because they offered:

Low prices (many items cost a nickel)

Fast service with no tipping

Freshly prepared meals constantly restocked from the kitchen

Democratic, communal dining where people from all walks of life shared space

Horn & Hardart became the dominant chain, turning automats into cultural icons of urban life. 

⚙️ How the System Worked

Customers browsed rows of glass-fronted compartments.

Inserted coins → turned a knob → retrieved the dish.

Behind the wall, kitchen staff refilled empty slots to keep food fresh.

This created a seamless, contactless, cafeteria‑style experience decades before modern automation. 

📉 Why Automats Declined

By the 1950s–1970s, automats struggled due to:

Rising labor and food costs

Suburbanization pulling customers away from downtown

The rise of drive‑thru fast food (McDonald’s, Burger King) offering even greater convenience

These pressures eventually pushed the classic automat out of mainstream dining. 

🤖 Modern Echoes of the Automat

Today’s automated dining—robotic restaurants, self‑service kiosks, AI ordering, and conveyor‑belt sushi—are direct descendants of the automat idea.

Examples include:

Touchscreen ordering kiosks in fast‑food chains

Conveyor‑belt sushi pioneered in Japan in 1958

Fully automated restaurants using robots for cooking and serving 

These modern systems revive the automat’s core promise: fast, efficient, low‑labor dining.

When I first saw "That Touch of Mink" in 1962, I was fascinated with the concept of the Automat restaurant. I had never been to New York City and would not get to visit there until last year (2025). By that time, it was a memory of the past and I never got to visit one. The closest I ever got to one was to visit a cafeteria where you could individually select individual food items from a counter and interact face-to-face with real people. I can't remember the name of the cafeteria which was located on the Parkway back in the Sixties, but I still remember it seemed expensive to eat there. I thank Rainer for reminding me of my former thoughts about such places.

When I was in college and working at the YMCA there was a machine there with the glass doors and coin slots which featured various sandwiches and snacks. Last year on our trip to Alaska, Sue and I found machines in the airports which did the same and some even featured fresh salads, and one robotic coffee making machine.

Last Week's Questions, Answers, And Comments

J.R. Brooks, LHS '64, "I enjoyed your latest, including the piece re our mill villages."

Taylor Wright, LHS ‘66, "Tommy, your story on the school patrol brought back a memory of my sixth grade stint at Universary Place Elementary. Somehow I was selected to be on the the school patrol that year.However my service was short lived due to a run in with another student. One afternoon as the busses were loading one guy was acting like an idiot,hollering and being disruptive.I asked him to calm down and he said that I was not a patrol boy since I hadn't gotten a badge yet.I guess my authority was questioned so I slammed him in his seat. The next day I was called to the office and the principle relieved me of my duties. What makes this ironic is that in service I was a military policeman and managed to hold my anger in check whenever faced with belligerent soldiers."

Steve Cook, LHS '66, "Hey Tommy-Really enjoyed your article on the School Safety Patrol . It brought back many memories as I was a Patrol Boy both at Lincoln Elementary and then at Lakewood Elementary when Lakewood was opened. At Lincoln, we manned a crossing at Meridian Street so that kids could safely cross the street at our post. At Lakewood, it was mostly opening the doors for carpool riders..but it did get your face in front of the young ladies that went to Lakewood! I remember Mrs. Chapman being the Lincoln School Safety Boys supervisor but can't remember who was the Lakewood supervisor.. If anyone remembers Mrs. Chapman you know you could not forget her....she was strict but really an excellent teacher and school counselor. Sargent Guthrie with the Huntsville Police Department was our police sponsor and would always drive by to check on us .........always a professional police officer to us. The attached photo was taken at Lakewood School -Feb 1960. Seems as the Huntsville Times was doing a feature on Safety Patrol Boys and just happened to visit Lakewood at the right time. Jim Broughton, another Lee grad, was the young man in the middle of the photo. Can't remember the young girl's name.... Thank you for all you do to keep us together and my condolences on your loss (cousin Brian Towery).

Max Kull, LHS '67, "I was looking at a preview of your upcoming issue for 5/11 and noticed Steve Cook's Safety Patrol photo.  I'm pretty sure the girl in the center is Sherry Atkinson LHS '67."