During our 1947 concert tour along the West Coast, we noticed that Papá had become very quiet. He often retired to the back of the bus to the bench, on which he stretched out and went to sleep. Earlier he had seen a doctor of homeopathic medicine in New York City, and the doctor told him to stop smoking, which he did. His symptoms, though, did not improve. Papá was always tired and seemed to lose his interest in life. Yet he came with us on tour.
The trip back home seemed to take forever. One day Papá said he felt especially tired. Since he also had developed a suspicious cough, Mother suggested he fly to New York City to see the doctor who had helped him before. He flew alone because we still had concerts on our schedule.
Two weeks later Mother got a message from Papá, who was in a hospital in New York City. She left immediately to go to his bedside. When she arrived at the hospital, she was shocked at the terrible change in him. He had lost fifteen pounds in two weeks, he was very weak, and he wanted to go home. Privately the doctor told Mother that there was nothing more he could do for Papá. He had lung cancer, probably caused by the fumes in the early submarines. The fumes were trapped in the engine room where the officers and crew had to remain when doing underwater maneuvers, causing many of the men to die of this treacherous cancer years later. The doctor said that Mother should take Papá home to Stowe to spend his last days there. Papá was then sixty-seven years old.
When we arrived home following our last concert, the terrible changes in Papá’s face were quite evident. We were glad we had brought home many potted, blooming geraniums to brighten his room. He lay in bed and could hardly talk. Mother had to feed him spoonful by spoonful. We visited with him only one at a time so we would not overstrain him.
My turn came; he asked me how my new bee colonies were coming along. That was the farthest thing from my mind, though he, in his agony, thought of my hobby. My tears flowed. I could not give him the answer; I was simply overwhelmed.
A few days later, on May 30, 1947, he died in peace, surrounded by all of us whom he had so faithfully protected our entire lives. He had always been there, like the air we breathe and the elements we never question. He went with us on tour in his quiet, gentle manner, ever mindful of our needs, as long as he lived. Papá now rests in our family cemetery, surrounded by lovely flower beds.
Only after all these years of struggle to make a new life in America have I been able to think in depth of my father’s life with us. Yes, as great as he was during the First World War in the service of Austria’s navy, he was even greater during the later part of his life, as the father of his singing family. He lived this new life with utter selflessness in this new and strange land.
Our concert tours continued without Papá, but we felt as if he were still with us. Each year we made two long tours throughout America, eventually singing in every state except Alaska. One season we gave concerts all across Canada. We sang in the Hawaiian Islands several times. In 1950 we traveled to South America for concerts where we sang in the Teatro Colón in Buenos Aires. That same year we returned to Austria.
We seemed to be away from home more than ever, but we had a small staff of faithful friends who remained in our house in Stowe. They attended to the guests who came to ski or to take their vacations among the Green Mountains. They kept the house in good order and forwarded our mail. Knowing that we were away from home for many months, the friends at home prepared a newsletter for our family. Our sister Rosmarie, who did not go on tour with us, and Mary Louise (Mary Lou) Kane, a young teacher who was working at the Lodge, were the writers and editors. These newsletters told all we possibly wanted to know: who came and went, the weather, and other bits of news. We read them in the bus while going from city to city, passing these reports around to everyone in the family.
Whenever we came home from our long trips, the home staff prepared a big welcome for us. It was wonderful to come back to a clean house, decorated for Christmas, and sleep in our own beds with clean sheets. How heartwarming it was to enjoy the meal prepared for the weary travelers and to return to such a grand home and friends!
But the breaking up of our family singing group was inevitable. Rupert pursued his medical degree, married, and raised a large family. He could no longer sing with us. In 1948, Werner had married Martina’s friend Erika, but he still toured with us. Johanna married and left the group in 1948. That same year we took the oath of allegiance to become citizens of the United States of America. In 1951 Martina, who had married a year and a half before, died in childbirth. Then in 1954, Lorli married and began raising her family.
To continue performing as the Trapp Family Singers, we had to add non-family members to our group. The new members were gifted musicians who had voices similar to ours. They were all fun as travel companions, but of course, they had to be paid a salary, which reduced the family income. None of us family members ever received a paycheck for singing. The arrangement among us had been that we worked together, and each received what he or she needed. Mother had suggested this, and she called it “Christian communism.”
The reviews were still favorable, and we were delighted by one in the Philadelphia Inquirer in December 1953 after our appearance with the Philadelphia Orchestra, directed by Eugene Ormandy. It read in part:
Undoubtedly this distinguished singing ensemble has no peers among any present day family vocal groups, if indeed there is any other such organization functioning in the field of music…. It is their authentic and indigenous singing, its unmistakable authority, its fine fullness, fervor and flavor which gives the Trapps their distinctive position. The vocal versatility of the Trapps, their wonderful coordination, unity, balance and blend of tone was magnificently displayed.
In 1955, the family made a long tour of New Zealand and Australia, stopping in Hawaii and the Fiji Islands to give concerts. The audiences were very receptive. In Honolulu, for example, a reviewer noted the “enthusiastic audience,” and he praised “our impeccable singing” with “a subtlety of vocal blending which can best be compared to the most skillful orchestration.” We were gone half a year, and everyone except Mother had the feeling that it was our last big trip. We had come to the end of our inner resources and endurance. Personally, I was sure of it. During one concert, I had a coughing spell that I could not suppress. I had to leave the stage, and I felt that it was the end of my singing in public.
For twenty years, we had sung with untrained voices. That was a feat in itself, simply surviving vocally through all those concerts. God had made this possible, and we served Him as well as we knew how. We realized—some sooner than others—that this mission of singing was over. It was time for a change.
When we returned to Stowe after the Australia—New Zealand tour, Mother asked us, “Do you want to go on tour once more? This time it would be to Japan.” One by one we replied, “No, Mother, we do not want to go on another tour.” Mother did not try to persuade us, but I know she would have loved to make that trip.
So, on January 26, 1956, in Concord, New Hampshire, we sang our very last concert. Through all the years of giving concerts, we performed in thirty countries. We “children” needed to further develop our personalities and potentials. We had been together for many years because of necessity and circumstances. We had functioned like clockwork with each doing his or her job, each singing his or her part, with Mother winding the clock. It was time to step out on our own. As we went ahead into our new lives, we found out that God did not abandon us.
The Trapp Family Lodge had been Mother’s dream come true. Ever since the director of the Vienna Choir Boys had told her that they operated a hotel in the Tyrol during their off-season, Mother had held on to this idea. At our concerts she invited the audiences, “Come to Vermont and enjoy a wonderful vacation at our farm.” When I heard her say this, I thought to myself, Where is she going to put all of these people? The summer guests arrived regularly, beginning in the mid-1940s. Throughout those years, before we added additional guest rooms to the house, we children gave up our bedrooms to guests and moved to the third-floor attic to sleep. The nonpaying guests started depleting our small financial reservoir, even though they helped us with the work, so we started charging for board and lodging. Little by little, Mother engaged outsiders to help with the cooking, housekeeping, and serving of meals. There was a need for an office, which was placed just inside the front door. Our home had become a hotel. That was how the Trapp Family Lodge began.
When our concertizing came to an end, most of the family left the Lodge. Many of our paid workers were kind and loyal to Mother, but the mixture of the family doing the work and those paid to help and supervise did not fare well. Our home had become too large for the family alone and too small for the mixture of family, staff, and guests. Rupert, Johanna, and Lorli had left before the end of our touring. In 1956 I knew that it was time for me to leave the nest. I joined Mary Lou Kane in starting a kindergarten in Stowe. Two years later, after the town of Stowe introduced kindergarten classes into the public school, we moved our kindergarten to Glyndon, Maryland.
When we toured in Australia, the apostolic delegate of Sydney had asked Mother if some of the family would like to help in the missions. Mother was impressed with the idea and thought that she might start a school to train missionaries at the Lodge. After returning home from our Australian tour, we discovered that the money we had earned there could not be transferred to the United States, so the money was used to fund this mission trip. Mother, Father Wasner, Maria, Rosmarie, and Johannes left for New Guinea in 1956. Maria, Rosmarie, and Johannes were lay mission helpers in New Guinea, while Mother and Father Wasner traveled to various places in the South Seas on a fact-finding trip. The plan for the missionary training center never materialized. My sister Maria remained in New Guinea for thirty-two years, but Rosmarie and Johannes came back after two and a half years there. Johannes then studied history and biology at Dartmouth College and served time in the National Guard. Following that, he received a master of forest science degree from Yale.
Father Wasner stayed to work in the missions in Fiji for approximately five years. He was then sent to the Holy Land to be in charge of a papal mission. Later he was assigned to be rector of a seminary in Rome, Italy. Upon his retirement he returned to Salzburg, where he lived until his death in 1992.
After her return from the South Seas, Mother took several trips to Austria, shopping for items for the Trapp Family Gift Shop. When she was back in the States, she spent much of her time giving lectures.
Even though Mother had the imagination to make the Lodge a beautiful place and had a soft spot in her heart for the guests, managing the hotel’s finances was not her strongest point. She turned these duties over to Johannes, and he took over the running of the Lodge in 1969. Things went well for a time, but in 1980, tragedy struck.
On December 20, in the middle of the night, the Lodge burned to the ground. I was living and working in Maryland by then, and early on the morning of December 21, I received a call from Lorli. She said, “It happened last night. The Lodge burned down.” The “it” she referred to was a dream that Papá had told us about. He dreamed that our house burned down, and we were all very busy, but he was not with us anymore. When Lorli said those words to me, I recalled the dream. Later, I heard details about the fire.
The Lodge was filled to capacity with guests, who were there for the holiday celebration and skiing. The temperature was below zero with a great deal of snow. Mother lived in a second-floor apartment, and her ninety-three-year-old secretary, Ethel Smalley, slept in an adjacent room. Mother, Ethel Smalley, and another friend were rescued by a heroic fireman who took them out on Mother’s snowy balcony down an icy ladder.
When the night watchman discovered the fire, he ran through all the long corridors shouting, “Fire! Everybody leave immediately!” The guests responded and went out into the freezing temperatures in their nightclothes. At that very moment, the town of Stowe came to the rescue. People arrived from the other lodges with blankets and coats, offering to take in our helpless guests. Anyone who had an empty bed in his or her home showed up to give it to one of our shocked and freezing guests.
The fire department could not save the wooden building. A lack of water and the subzero temperatures made it impossible for them to do anything to save the Lodge. All the guests were accounted for except one man. He had gone back into his room to retrieve his wallet but did not make it back out. Johannes, who lived with his family down the road in a small farmhouse, came racing up in his truck. He could only stand there and watch the Lodge go up in flames.
Although I realized the devastating effect on so many people, I was not sorry to hear that our first home in the United States was destroyed. It had become too small and uncomfortable for guests to enjoy and for the staff to work in. For Mother, however, it was a terrible blow to see her life’s work disappear. She never quite recovered from the shock.
In the morning, the rising sun looked upon a large heap of ashes, four chimneys, and the cement foundation that only the day before had held up the Lodge. Johannes, the president of the Lodge, then had to make a decision: to sell the property or to rebuild the Lodge. He chose to rebuild it and to make the new Lodge into the strongest and safest possible building. He would also make it a comfortable place where guests could spend their vacations. It would be a larger and more beautiful building, in the same style as the old Lodge.
With the help of an excellent local architect, Robert Burley, construction of the new Lodge began in 1981. On December 16, 1983, the new Lodge opened. When it became evident that many people were interested in taking extended vacations, Johannes agreed to add time-share chalets on the property down the road from the main Lodge. Mother lived long enough to see the completion of the new Trapp Family Lodge before she died in 1987 after a long illness, at the age of eighty-two. She was laid to rest in our family cemetery.
Strong in her beliefs, Mother lived her life passionately without compromise. Although she was not always easy to live with, I am grateful that she seized the opportunities that made it possible for us to share our musical talents with the world.
As I am writing this book, it occurs to me how things have changed for our family. After years of serving meals to our guests in the old Lodge, the family is now being served delicious meals at the new Lodge. We enjoy its beauty and hospitality.