I was born five minutes before midnight, Sunday, September 19, 1909. Though my long life walked the border between adventure and disaster, my birthday still qualified me for the nursery rhyme's designation: "Sunday's Child"-- a person blessed with good fortune.

I inherited my blue eyes and blond, wavy hair from my mother, Angela, a stunning woman with high cheek bones and Nordic features, who was raised in Posen, a large city in Poland. Her mother, Balvina Bogdanowska, a well-known actress in Warsaw and among Posen theater circles, was devoted to the study of Polish music, theater, and art.

Resenting Germany for annexing parts of Poland and occupying Posen, she gained notoriety for her fierce patriotism. Bogdanowska's outspoken bluntness favoring Polish independence, often provoked trouble with the authorities. Because she was more preoccupied with theater and politics, she didn't devote much of her time to motherhood. Bogdanowska sent her daughter, Angela to a convent, to acquire an education along with feminine refinements so she could still carry on with her interests without the responsibility of parenting a child. Soon, Angela ran away from the priory to live with a friend, a young countess on a large country estate. The young debutantes loved living recklessly, throwing gala social events, mixing with high society and entertaining themselves with romantic adventures. Dapper gentlemen of the noble class eagerly courted them, supplying them with many intrigues and secret rendezvous. At the age of nineteen, my mother became pregnant with me.

Clara Bock, my mother's half-sister, acted more like my mother than my natural mother, Angela. Her kind hand tenderly guided my way.

I called Clara, "Ciocia", which means "Auntie" in Polish. Ciocia looked Mongolian, with olive skin, pitch black hair and dark eyes. An earthy woman, so different from Angela, Ciocia possessed a personality charged with passion and flamboyance. I have never loved another person in this life so much as I loved her.

Both Ciocia and my mother were probably the children of free love. They never spoke of a father.

Ciocia married a harbormaster named Bock. I called Bock, "Schwardrofskie," but I don't know why I used that name. I think it means "Uncle" in Polish. Their marriage produced no children. Perhaps that is why they showered me with so much affection. My favorite memories were living with Ciocia and Schwardrofskie in Hamburg. My mother emulated her mother pursuing an acting career, touring Germany. Consequently, I rarely saw her during my early childhood. Ciocia raised me and I never met my father.

My mother's story concerning him still left me wondering if she were telling the truth about him. Before leaving for one of her tours, she took me aside at the white, picket gate, the entrance to Ciocia's little farm.

"Boobie," (her affectionate nickname for me), remember your heritage. Though you don't know your father, you are of noble birth. Your father was a handsome, young cavalry officer. He appeared so dashing, I could not help but fall in love with him. We planned to elope to America and marry, but only a week before our departure, he was thrown from his horse during a fox hunt. His head struck a rock and he died instantly. Heartbroken by the loss of my love, I left the country estate and traveled by train to Hamburg to live with Ciocia and give birth to you."