franzl, ca 1928

My grandfather died 22 years ago today.

This summer, I visited Vienna, his hometown.  I thought a lot about him and about whether he had walked the same routes, seen the same buildings, gone to the same cafes.  I stood outside his childhood home, wandered around his neighborhood, loitered in front of his father’s store and wondered if I were literally standing in the ghosts of his footsteps.  I hope so.

There is so much I wish we could say to each other.

Frank Markus Hoffer (1909-1991)

Frank, his older brother Hans, and me at Blindengasse 29, August 2012