Back in May 1873–when Kerry’s grandfather Fritz Kohn was born to Benedikt and Mathilde, both ethnic German Jews–Horni Benesov was called Bennisch, and it was a thriving mining town. Today, 131 years later, it has fallen on harder times; the precious metals have petered out and factories closed down and unemployment is approaching 17 percent. But the newfound Kerry connection is giving the 2,400 inhabitants something to celebrate. If the New England senator becomes president, Klech hopes he will visit. As it is, the mayor plans to make Kerry an honorary citizen and install a memorial plaque where his ancestors’ house once stood.
Not that there’s actually any trace of the Kohn family these days. The small house was razed long ago and in its place is a garden that belongs to Bohumir and Jarmila Sindler. Gone too is the brewery where Benedikt, and later Fritz, both worked. “We have just found out about this and I’m so proud to have a connection with a possible future U.S. president,” says Jarmila, who moved to her two-story house just off the main square in 1963. “We all support him 100 percent, not just because he seems like a kind, good person but because we hope he can help the town too.”
The couple’s son, Radek, says the whole family is closely following Kerry’s primary wins on TV. “Every time Kerry appears on the news my wife says, ‘hey, there’s your neighbor,’” he says, laughing. In the cramped betting office next door which also doubles as a bar, there have been no wagers made yet on Kerry’s chances, but locals are already gambling on a better future. “Not many towns can claim such a connection, so this can only be good for all of us by attracting tourists and raising our profile,” says locksmith Josef Kaspar over a 60-cent beer.
Kerry’s Jewish roots were dug up after a letter from one of his staff arrived at the local archive office in the nearby town of Opava, bearing an official Washington seal. “It said that John Kerry, who was seeking election as American president, wanted to trace his grandfather Frederick Kerry who had been born in Horni Benesov,” recalls archivist Jiri Stibor. “At that time we’d never heard of Kerry so weren’t sure what to make of it.” After hours of searching revealed nothing, Stibor flipped to the back of a faded yellowing file and discovered what he was looking for–among the logs of Jewish families.
In those darker days, it was common for Jewish births to be listed separately, explains Stibor. “I hadn’t been looking for Jewish names, but there was an entry for Fritz Kohn along with a note that he had changed his name to Frederick Kere in 1902,” he says. “I wrote back immediately but never heard any more.” It turns out Fritz was the second of three children born to the Kohns in Horni Benesov. Another older son who was probably born elsewhere was later listed as living in the house.
At the turn of the century the family moved to Vienna, leaving behind not only the village but soon their name and Jewish faith as well. As was common at that time, the Kohns changed their identity as they sought to integrate into a society permeated by growing anti-Semitism. By the time Fritz sailed to the United States in search of a new life in 1905, he was Frederick Kere, a Catholic. The repudiation of Jewish roots was common practice in the late 19th and early 20th century, according to Sarah Stein, an assistant history professor and specialist in modern European Jewish history at the University of Washington. “Converting from Judaism often created more business and social opportunities in those days,” says Stein.
If the family had stayed, Jarmila Sindler believes that Kerry would probably not be alive to put Horni Benesov on the map; they likely would have perished with most of the region’s Jews in the Holocaust, she says. Even if they had survived, they probably would have been among 2.5 million ethnic Germans expelled from post-war Czechoslovakia for supporting Hitler’s occupation. Now, more than a century on, villagers are hanging on to the hope that Kerry may, even unwittingly, boost their fortunes. “Life here is difficult, but hopefully everything will change now. Tourists may start coming here and that would create many jobs,” muses Bretislav Cubik, a 29-year-old designer. Even the mayor feels sure the village is closing a chapter on its troubled history. “At the very least,” says Klech, “the Czech government should take us more seriously now and give us desperately-needed funds for repairs and infrastructure.” Wishful thinking? Maybe–before any of that happens, plenty of stars have to align. And Kerry, wherever he’s from, still has a long way to go to get to the White House.
