And there is his problem. Fred has a birth certificate saying he we born in New York City when in reality he arrived in what was then East Germany. His parents had suffered through the bombings and shortages of World War II then suffered the deprivations of the collective system. His father worked on a factory assembly line. They were gray people in a gray country.
Young Fred (nee Casper Schaffer) glowed with an enthusiasm for learning, experiencing and expressing. As he progressed through his school years. He excelled in his studies, especially literature. He loved poetry so in his college years he hung out with students and faculty who read, wrote and discussed poetry. Soon Fred recited his own works in crowded apartments out of sight of authorities. He even helped publish a literary magazine.
When he published some of his own poetry, he ran up against the state. Friends had warned him several times that his poems were too personal, that they strayed too far from praising the glories of the cooperative efforts of the people.
The young lark fresh from the nest hopped
to the ground, pecked at an abundance of
insects until bigger birds chased him away.
He flew up defying the law of gravity, ignoring boundaries, into a plot of his own
where he could sing his tune.
These lines brought the police, the state and the Communist Party down on him. He was hauled off to jail and held for a week alone in a dark, damp cell. He had plenty of time to imagine the terrors that awaited him. When he finally came before a judge he was given a choice. Since he was young and talented, he could be released but never again publish his poetry or he could go to the coal mines for five years where life was hard, the guards cruel, and many did not live out their sentences.