Today would’ve been my grandma’s 100th birthday.
Hard to believe. I was born when she was 49, and somehow, I always thought she’d outlive us all.
Lately, I’ve been spending more time at Kolping Haus — the community hall tucked into Cincinnati’s West Side that I grew up believing my grandma at least partially owned. That’s how often she was there. And how comfortable she was in that space. She worked so hard there (really everywhere she went). She was tough, fast and thorough. Other Germans would say to me (like one did a few nights ago), “Your Grandma was one hard worker.”
For decades, my grandma, Anne Conrad (or Anne Wessels, as she was known shortly before my birth) and to throngs of people both here and in Germany as “Tante Anni” (she was everyone’s “Aunt Anni”) practically lived (and did for a while after my first grandpa died and before I was born) at Kolping. She was part of everything—events, festivals, lots and lots of cooking in the kitchen, bingo night, you name it. She was also the president of the Women’s Auxiliary and in 1963, Schützenfest Queen (along with my grandfather, Stephan, who died before I was born). And during Schützenfest, Cincinnati’s oldest German festival that brings the Cincinnati-German spirit into full bloom, she worked tirelessly for hours in the kitchen preparing the food they’d sell to raise money. Every year. Like clockwork.
I’d tag along when I was a kid. I’d help my step-grandfather, Chris Conrad, set up the festival’s public address system, test the microphone and later act as an announcer during the festival. I also remember feeling special because I was with Grandma, and Grandma knew everyone. It seemed everyone there was her buddy. I remember I could walk up to people I thought were strangers and simply say, “Do you know where my Grandma is?” And they inevitably pointed me in her direction.
This year, after nearly two decades (maybe more; I’ve lost count) of being a member and doing barely anything to contribute, I signed up to volunteer for the entire Schützenfest weekend. Every day. Friday through Sunday. You’ll find me in the über-German “LaRosa’s Pizza Booth,” because that’s where they needed the most help. And because I miss her.
When I started attending the general membership and the festival prep meetings, I didn’t expect anyone to remember her. It’s been four years since she passed, and even more years since I stopped taking her to meetings. She used to love to go but stopped wanting to go when she couldn’t remember the names of the people she’d known since she immigrated here in 1954. Her Alzheimer’s was getting worse, and though she’d never fully admit it, she was embarrassed. She died on May 10, 2021, a month shy of her 96th birthday.
But something struck me this year, and I asked if I could get involved. I felt the time was right to act on something I had wanted to do for years. Emery, Nicole, my cousin Marianne and I helped out for a few hours two years ago in the pastry booth and Emery totally loved it. She’s been requesting to help out again ever since. Another good reason to help out. (Emery will be helping out, too, all weekend.)
“Who was your grandma?”
So, I sat in the meetings. Some faces looked familiar, but very few names. I doubted whether anyone would know me. But then someone would ask how I got involved, and I’d talk about going there as long as I could remember, about the home movie of me eating a hot dog, sitting on a picnic bench when I was a toddler, my sister nearby in a stroller, during Schützenfest.
Then some would ask, “Who was your grandma?”
I’d say, “Anne Wessels. Or Anne Conrad.”
And then came the smile. The laugh. The recognition. They remembered. One person started to well up — which made me do the same.
“Oh, Tante Anni! I loved Tante Anni!”
It turns out, even long after you’re gone, if you’ve poured enough of yourself into a place — fed enough people, joked with enough people, were kind to enough children, filled enough bellies, made enough memories — you’re never really gone.
Happy 100th, Grandma. I’ll be in the pizza booth if you’re looking for me.
They were short on booth sponsors this year, so I decided to have a booth dedicated to my Grandma and Step-Grandfather. He was also a guy I shared a lot of good times with, and we had some similar interests, like setting up that PA system. This sign will appear on the soda and water booth. He died in February 1996, and I miss him often.
