“Green beans! Green beans! “, my 102-year-old great grandmother Maw, barks her guttural German accent, my precocious 10 year old self asking, How did you live so long, Maw”? Green beans? What? Her daughter, my grandmother fills me in. Maw’s a life-long vegetarian and a woman of few words. Green beans, say it all. She never drank, nor smoked. Maw still takes care of herself with a little help from her daughter, Martha.

Every morning, tucked in bed, my younger brother Steve and I hear Maw shuffling down the hallway, in her blue lamb’s wool slippers. A bony hand grasps our bedroom door frame, as she inhales, “Hooo!” exhales,“Tay!”, inhales, “Hooo!”, exhales, “Tay!” Struggling for every breath, on her way to the bathroom.

My parents worked 24/7 in my father’s thriving seafood restaurant/market, Sterling’s Seafood. Every Friday, mobbed. Catholic neighborhood. Fish day. Also…bingo night, Grandma’s addiction, Maw unhappily, our designated baby-sitter. She never, ever descended the carpeted stairway way to our living room. Steve and I rough house to the max. Maw’s nerves on edge. When we break out in a fight. Whatever. Maw loses it. She shuffles stairtop yells “Genug!”, enough! She then slams her ancient, gnarled tree root cane against the banister. Wham! Wham! Wham! Then screeches down in her raspy patois. “Sei eine bose Jungs!” You are bad boys. “Sei ruhig!” Be quiet. “Ich ein mutter und vater tell ven come home. Bose jungs! Bose jungs!”

We never listen. Never stop. Boys will…it went. Maw gives up, slippering back into her room, still ranting, under breath, “Mutter und vater, sei eine bose jungs!” When grandma returns from bingo, hugs and kisses all around. We adore her. She us. Our presents, favorite treats, two Tootsie Roll Pops each, me, cherry, orange, Steve, grape, lime. We suck like crazy, until reaching the prize chocolate center. Yum!

Grandma then upstairs to look in on her mother. We hear a repeat of Maw’s torrent, this time in German. “Bose jungs! Bose jungs.Sie tell Muter, Vater.” Then, emphatic English, “And if you don’t tell em’…I gonna tell ‘em. Maw never does. Grandma likewise. Maw, our necessary nuisance, never a real threat. Steve and I seldom speak to her. She spends days silently sunk deep in her well-worn brown velvet armchair listening to the radio.

Looking back, I see how fortunate Steve and I were, learning firsthand realities of aging und taking care of your body. Maw’s wisdom. Long life’s experience.

I vastly changed my feelings about Maw after I’d pieced together her travails coming to America. Awesome.

Maw, Christian name, Margaret Schwartz, born

in the town of Haan, outside city of Solingen, Germany, happily married to Thomas Albert, a wounded vetran of the Franco-Prussian war, unable to work. Things were tight. Margaret worked as a secretary for Krupp, Inc., once a foremost steel and weapons in Solingen. Krupp now a world-wide conglomerate. Solingen also renowned for its steel knives, once middle age sword kings.

Margaret, a hard worker. One evening, as she slips into her well-worn wool sweater, grasps her handbag, Mr. Krupp’s youngest son, Junior, makes his usual foray down secretary row, lasciviously ogling the pretty young woman.

Junior stops at Margaret’s desk, calling her Maggie. She retorts politely, “Margaret, sir, Margaret Albert.”

Junior, “Ah yes, but I prefer Maggie and I think Maggie, it’s time you got a raise.” Margaret knows what that means, a sexual sojourn in Junior’s office, coming out violated, no raise. Margaret demurely says she is happy with her present salary. “But I insist, Maggie.” Puffed, Junior, “One wouldn’t want to appear ungrateful toward my companies offer, would one? One might find oneself unemployed. Follow me into my office. We’ll settle things.” Margaret’s salary barely enough to make ends meet, without it, she and Thomas would be destitute. She has little choice. Once in his office, Junior has his way. Back then a liberty employers known to take. French, “Droit du Seigneur. Rape.

Junior, “Keep our arrangement silent Maggie. You’ll get your raise. Mums the word. Verstehst du?”, ironically using the German familiar, “du”. Way improper. So was Junior.

Margret says nothing…until she finds herself pregnant. She tells Thomas, he’s devastated. The humiliation facing his family, the whole town. They would be shunned. Ostracized.

Margret bravely goes to the Krup Senior, tells her story, asks help. Junior of course denys all, but his father knows his philandering son. His dilemma? How to prevent a scandal, or worse? Krup Senior pats Margaret on the shoulder, “Don’t you worry, my dear. It will all be taken care of. Come to my office in the morning.”

On her long trolley ride home Margaret fells hopeful that Krup Senior might truly help. “Thomas! Thomas! I’m home.” No answer. “Thomas?” Strange. He is infirm. Never leaves the apartment. The reason for silence revealed as she enters the tiny kitchen. Horrid. Thomas, kneeling, head in the gas oven, dead. He could not live with shame, ended life to avoid it. Margaret stultified. Nowhere to turn…save the promise she felt due her from Master Krupp. Nothing she could have imagined, as she stands bravely before her employer. Krupp simply hands her an envelope and dismisses. Outside his office, Margaret, expecting money finds instead, a one-way ticket to America. Krupp problem solved. Out of sight, out of mind. Fertig. Finished.

Cammed in steerage with hundreds, facing their own fears, Margaret has one hope. A work acquaintance, Eliza Becker, who’d married an American sailor. They live in an American city called Baltimore; a state called Maryland. Margaret uses part of the few marks she has to send a cable. Eliza wires back. Margaret’s welcome to stay with her until she got settled. She breathes a sigh of relief, the first one in a very bad year.

Ellis Island. Margaret, terrified at the immigrant throng, cued up for customs processing. The Custom’s Official speaks no German, typical, America. He signals a Matron who does. Margaret, to her surprise, is processed quickly.

Margaret stays with Eliza, who gets her a job as a domestic, where Eliza is a wealthy family’s nanny.

Margaret gives birth to a baby girl, my beloved grandmother, Martha Albert. Now a single parent, she raises her daughter, seeing Martha has proper religious schooling. They somehow survive. Maw’s third-hand oral history ends here. Sadly, I learn to respect her after she was gone. Kids, too young to know the living family history their elders represent.

Years pass. A friend, on hearing Maw’s saga says I should get a DNA test, confront Krupp, “Get my piece of the pie.” I laugh it off.

My first European trip after college. I make a snap decision, take a detour to Solingen, Krupp headquarters.

Yes, I fancy I will confront Krupp, Inc., demand my…my…my birth right, for God’s sake.

Train to train to cab. I stand before the massive Krupp Building. Gulp. Wimp out, meekly enter the gigantic lobby, straying to the Krupp gift shop. I buy top-of-the-line electric razor. Self-laughing at myself, ‘Goddamn! I’d just paid my own inheritance.’ Fucking razor broke the day I got stateside. ‘Shows ta go ya’.

Still, I come out way ahead. A real Krupp gave me expert advice. Every time I eat my preferred haricot verts, I hear Maw’s voice shouting “Green beans! Green beans!” Margaret Albert, my great grandmother lived to be 106. ‘Pass the string beans, Maw.’