Peter W. Schramm served as the Executive Director of the Ashbrook Center from 1997 to 2013. Under his leadership, Ashbrook grew into a national organi

Born American, but in the Wrong Place

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2021-07-02 19:30:01

Peter W. Schramm served as the Executive Director of the Ashbrook Center from 1997 to 2013. Under his leadership, Ashbrook grew into a national organization, reaching teachers, students, and citizens in all 50 states. His most enduring legacy is the students who he personally challenged and inspired in the classroom to be the best human beings and citizens they can be. Peter grew up in communist Hungary, from which he and his family escaped to America in 1956. He loved America and passionately defended her until his death in 2015. This is Peter’s story, as recounted by him in 2006.

My father, William Schramm, was not a mechanic or an engineer, but in post-war 1946 Hungary he somehow managed to build a car out of scrap parts. It was nothing more, really, than an engine with four wheels and a flat-bed in the back. Apart from military vehicles and Dad’s creation, cars on Hungarian streets were an extreme rarity. They just weren’t available and, even if they had been, there were no jobs and hence no money with which to purchase one. A young man in those days, my dad already had quite a few responsibilities and mouths to feed. And, of course, I was about to be born; another very hungry mouth to feed. But Dad has always had an enterprising and entrepreneurial spirit. So he built this car, and he went around combing the countryside for junk to sell or trade. We survived.

On one such excursion, he came upon a man standing in front of what appeared to be a broken down Volkswagen bug. The novelty of the situation and the look of exasperation (or maybe desperation) on the man’s face were enough to make Dad stop. The driver of the vehicle turned out to be a decommissioned U.S. officer who happened to have been born in Hungary. He was taking some time off to tour the country. Dad was able to help him get the car going again, and the man offered to pay Dad in dollars. You must understand that, at that time, a few American dollars were like bags of solid gold. But Dad was too proud to take the money—despite how much he needed it. The man was grateful, however, and he offered Dad his business card. It read, “Dr. Joseph Moser, DDS, Hermosa Beach, California.” “If you ever need anything,” the man said with real meaning, “don’t hesitate to call.” Dad did not refuse this offer. He took the card and gave it to my mother for safe-keeping. She would hold on to that card for the next ten years.

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