He was born in Krakow, Poland, in 1923. When he was 15 years old, Hitler’s forces came through his Jewish neighborhood, torching homes and shooting people in the street. Freddy, along with his entire family, was rounded up and sent to a nearby concentration camp.
He attempted an escape one night, and it worked. He left his family behind and made his way to Russia. But when the Communists got hold of him, they shipped him to Siberia. They then sent him to England during World War II, because the Allies needed translators in London. Freddy spoke English, Polish, Russian, German, and Yiddish.
When the war was over, he returned to Poland to search for his family, but learned they were dead. The house he grew up in was no longer standing.
Freddy had to start his life over.…
The more I got to know Freddy on the Steel Wheels tour, the more I understood why he needed to be there. People labeled him a dope pusher, star-fucker, bullshit artist, and dirty old man, but he was a lot more complex than that.
“Hitler killed my family,” he reminded me one night. “My mudder, my fadder, viped out. But vot can I do about dat now? Sit in de house and cry? Vait for my blood clots to kill me? I gotta live, baby! I gotta prove dey couldn’t finish me off.”
The groupies, glamour, and fast pace offered Freddy a vibrancy he couldn’t find anywhere else. While folks his age were playing shuffleboard, Freddy was hangin’ with the Stones. Every line he snorted and every groupie he laid was an affirmation of life and a proclamation of survival. “Look vehr I am today, and look vehr you are, you Nazi cocksuckers!” Every time he danced at a Stones concert—and man, you should’ve seen him—it was like he was dancing on Hitler’s grave. “I’m gonna dance not just for me, but for all my relatives who can’t.”
Freddy = Freddy Sessler. From chapter 25 – rock and roll rasputin