Rudi Richardson US Army Veteran, Germany
I was born, Udo Ackermann, in Germany on May 28, 1955. My mother was incarcerated for prostitution and gave birth to me in a prison in the small Bavarian town of Aichach. I was a product of post-war Germany, and one of the 5,000 German Black children born during the allied occupation of Germany during 1945-1955. Unfortunately, all mixed children of color were scattered throughout Germany to various institutions and orphanages. Germany didn´t want us because of our color. I was immediately taken away from my mother who was still serving time in prison and given over to a foster care family who physically and sexually abused me. Because of the international outcry as to the plight of German Black babies and their need to be adopted, I was adopted by a American couple who were stationed in Germany.
Life was good for a few years, until my adoptive mother started disintegrating
before my eyes because of drug addiction. Although my family was dysfunctional, we maintained a semblance of normalcy, but from an emotional and spiritual standpoint, bankruptcy had already been silently declared.
For 32 years I was a drug addict, descending to the lowest depths of society, living on the streets, homeless, and going in and out of prison and mental hospitals. I started suffering from post -stress traumatic syndrome because of early childhood sexual abuse, and at the time I was going through these episodes, I thought I had lost my mind. Who would believe my report?
Today I have recovered from drug addiction and through my many painful experiences I experience life on a deeper level. There is an old Negro spiritual titled, "My Soul Looks Back In Wonder as to How I Got Over."
My Shining Hour
Around 1954, my mother Liesolette was arrested and incarcerated for prostitution while pregnant with me. I was born in a women’s prison in Aichach Germany on May 28, 1955 and was given the name Udo Ackerman.
I was adopted by an American couple in 1958 from the children’s home I was placed in from prison. Decades later, I would recall the sexual and physical trauma and abuse that I suffered being in the care of the foster home located in Schweinfurt Germany along with many others children who were living there as well.
During my early adolescent years I inwardly knew that I was adopted, yet it was never mentioned, never talked about. I had mixed feelings about my mother…I thought well maybe she is my real mom, but I didn’t look anything like my daddy.
As children growing up my sister and I witnessed many tragic events many of which are heavy and painful. It was around two in the morning, and I kept hearing this shuffling noise in the bathroom. It frightened me. I did not want to get up and investigate until my sister said, “Rudi, let’s see what is going on.” When we got to the bathroom we saw our mother sprawled out on the floor with a nasty gash on her head. She seemed incoherent and had taken too many sleeping pills. My sister and I helped her to her room and put her to bed. From that day onward and for decades afterwards our family became unwilling participants on a roller-coaster ride of mother’s addiction and unmanageability - careening from the throes of psychological duress and emotional volatility that crashed through the very gates our of our lives. I would follow this same path of addiction years later. This is not an indictment or placing blame on anyone. It is my belief that addiction is but a thin and transparent bandage which temporarily hides pain that will inevitably seep from its pores.
I started using drugs at the age of 16 and thus began my descent into the gates of hell. In retrospect, had I not used drugs, I would not be alive today. I would have sought out some other self-destructive way to try and assuage the pent up feelings inside me. I used drugs simply because I did not want to feel the pain. I did not want to live under my skin.
My school grades plummeted and my dress deteriorated. I became a shell living inside a shell. I began running away from home getting into brushes with the law and got arrested for joyriding. An agreement was made between my parents and the probation officer that I would join the U.S. Army. I clearly remember that life changing day - my parents were sitting to the right of me. My mother started to speak becoming quite emotional; telling the probation officer that I was adopted with tears streaming down her face. Crying as to how she and my dad did their best. My Dad looked like he lost all sense of where he was. I was hurt and felt very alone.
I was stationed in Berlin and that is where my first memory of abuse surfaced. I was lying on my bed having some sort of out of body experience. I thought I was dying…floating….next minute…I am a toddler lying in a hospital bed seeing two nurses in some type of nunnery apparel coming towards me. I was screaming for my life as one nurse came towards me with a pair of scissors and starts cutting bandages from around my head. Next thing I know I am eighteen again scared out of my wits and afraid to be in that room by myself. These memories would continue to surface for the next 30 years. Often a feeling of intense fear, anxiety and a foreboding feeling of asphyxiation would prompt them. Sometimes these memories would surface through a blinding migraine followed with a bright flash. Other times they were triggered by stressful events.
My tenure in the Army was some of the most confusing times for me. Not only was my drug addiction full blown, my surfacing memories of sexual abuse began to play havoc with my sexuality and I was afraid to talk to anyone. This was in the 70’s and I wasn’t going to divulge the issues that were banging my insides like a wrecking ball. My drug and alcohol problem worsened and needing money I robbed a German civilian to get some cash, got busted, and received a court martial yet given a chance to be rehabilitated at Ft. Riley Kansas. From there I was re-stationed to Ft. Benning Georgia and I immediately latched onto a pretty woman in Georgia simply out of desperation to stave off the confused sexual feelings that were raging inside me and from that tenuous relationship came two beautiful daughters. Fifteen years later, Linda would divorce me. Looking back, it was the best thing that happened because my life was totally unmanageable and I needed help.
The next twenty years up until the time of my deportation back to Germany were times of hopelessness and despair. When Linda left me, I just totally gave up. I threw in the towel. Inside I felt like rotten bones – full of self-loathing and self hate. I began living on the streets, smoking crack, prostituting, winding up in prison and jails and going in and out of mental institutions for major depression. I know for a fact that prison saved my life because I was on a self-destruct mission. I would try to find solace in Church, but I was too ashamed as to what was going on inside of me and when I did try and discuss my issues, I felt judged which only exacerbated my emotional self.
During my second term in prison I located my biological mother through an organization called Friends Outside. Two weeks later, came a letter from Friends Outside stating that my mother did not want any contact with me. I was floored. A week later, I received a letter from Germany which read, “Hi Rudi, We are your brother and sister……” Letters and photos were exchanged and it would be another year before my mom decided to communicate with me. Tragically, my mother would succumb to cirrhosis before I had a chance to see her.
I would go on to meet seven of my brother and sisters after I arrived back in Germany in 2003. Meeting them for the first time was strange. I am the only mixed race child out of all my eight siblings. There are two brothers that do not know about me simply because of my mixed race.
I was eventually deported back to Germany after living in the U.S. for forty-six years. When I was in the airplane with the immigration officer sitting beside me with a 45 under his coat, I felt that somehow I was going to find myself. Through it all, I never gave up my faith in God.
I touched down in Frankfurt Germany on April 24, 2003 met by two German police. After a lengthy interrogation, they released me and sent me to social services. I would wind my way back to Berlin and was subsequently housed through the social services to the Salvation Army Men’s home in Berlin.
One day while staying at the Salvation Army Men’s home I was in my room, lying on the bed. I heard this loud banging on my door, which startled me. The social worker was frantic sputtering in broken English about someone on the floor convulsing in their room. Immediately, I ran inside the room to see a young man with a needle in his arm overdosed on heroin. My first move was to take the needle out of his arm and place him on his back. He started turning blue and began bleeding from his nose. I knew he was going fast so I proceeded to give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
Regrettably the man did not make it and the shock of seeing that young man dying in front me and triggered a mountain of my repressed memories, and. for a month, I lived out the horror and sexual abuse that was done to me at that foster home in Sweinfurt Germany.
Through therapy both in Berlin and London I have slowly been able to come to terms with myself and integrate the trauma of my past. Today I am still in recovery. I am not totally out of the woods yet, but I do have a compass and a boxful of hope and loving and supporting friends.
Today I am Founder of a charity that engages the homeless in London and I have found the Kingdom of Heaven right here on earth. It is through the being service for others that I have truly found myself.
Rudi Richardson
Rudi Richardson" I am also a US Veteran who was deported in August of 2003 after living in the United States for 45 years. Please see article http://www.spiegel.de/international/germany/0,1518,651989,00.html. Now I am Founder of a Homeless Charity in London: www.streetlytes.org. I take responsibility for my actions, but nonetheless I paid my dues. I have tried to resolve my regrets and have made tremendous strides in my recovery and inner healing, however, my pain of deportation from a country of which I honourably served still resides in me. I am grateful for people such as yourself to bring this issue to light. Sincerely, Rudi Richardson, Founder & CEO of Streetlytes-UK."
