Hermann Lacher

 Hermann Johannes Lacher. September 18, 1915 - March 15, 1994. My Father.

Dad was born in Hofgeismar, a small town just outside Kassel, Germany. He was a teenager during the great depression, which may have been more depressing in Germany than in the US. Among other things, they produced The Socialist Party chaired by Adolf Hitler.

Dad graduated from a Gymnasium school, the "college track" for German students, more or less equivalent to our high school + 2 years of college. He became an exchange student to the University of Georgia where (1) he achieved a Master's in History and (2) married my Mom, Sarah Rhodes. These two milestones made it possible for Dad to obtain a resident visa and work toward (3) US Citizenship.

To switch from a student visa to a resident, the first step was marrying Mom, then drive to Miami, jump over to Cuba, and re-enter the US with a new permission slip facilitated by having a US citizen spouse. This was about 1938 ... when it was increasingly clear that returning to the Vaterland was not a good idea.

Dad had two brothers and four sisters still residing in Germany (along with his parents, "Grossvater und Grossmutter") whom I never met until 1950. I was too young to appreciate the nuances, but it was a difficult time for the Lacher side of the family. My uncle Fritz was conscripted into the German army and took shrapnel to his knee on the Russian front (permanent disability, but survived!). I recall from about 1945 for 10 years or so we would pack up goody boxes with coffee and pecans for Christmas in Germany. 

In the early 1940s, Dad entered the US Army Air Corp and was stationed in Bermuda where he taught language skills (French, German) to US air crews flying missions behind enemy lines. I can only imagine how it was for Dad's parents (my grandparents) to have sons fighting on opposite sides of WW II.

In the early 50s, the Lacher grandparents visited us. The high point of that, for me, was when Grossvater stripped down to nichts and slipped on his swim trunks ... on a crowded Daytona Beach - girls aghast, boys snickering in admiration.

After the war and a brief stint working for Noland Company (a hardware chain in Montgomery) Dad landed with Scott Foresman & Co, a textbook publisher. He was a travelling sales/editor with an 8 state territory (Louisiana to Virginia and the rest of the south). Travel was by company car. He worked at that for many years, made lasting friends at universities and colleges all over the south. Plus, the company car was usually new and upscale.

Dad passed away unexpectedly while visiting his sister in Kassel, a few klicks from where he was born. Mom and sister Ellen went over to settle things, but were unable to bring back the ashes ... due to that infamous German red tape. A few weeks later, Mom found a beat-up package delivered to the front porch by UPS. It was Dad. The end.