Opa Johan...

This page is dedicated for Opa (Grandpa) Johan. Opa Johan is one of Bandung citizen in the past. He was born in Semarang, on 1924, moved to Bandung on 1932, study in Holland on 1939-1949 period, and left from Bandung on 1954. His house in the past located in Lembangweg (Jalan Setiabudhi) and his last office is in G.E.B.O company at Groote Postweg accross of Alun-alun Bandung (right now Gedung PLN at Jalan Asia Afrika). Now he lives in North Carolina, US and still remember most of details about his life in Bandung..

In 1932 I came to my aunty Nel (my mothers unmarried sister - school principle – teacher English) who lived on the Helmers weg (now: Jalan Dr Rajiman-gg) across from the branch HBS (high school). I came with my sister from Purwonegoro (Central Java) where my father was field manager and irrigation engineer for the sugar plantation and factory Klampok. I loved the coolnes of Bandung compared with the heat where I came from. I first went to the BSV private school which was located at the shore of the Cikapundung before the bridge to the Bandung city center. Later on, because of the economy of the time (world crisis) my parents also came to Bandung and I was moved to the government school “1 A” at the Sumatra straat.

Meanwhile my father, who also was an architect, built for the city government of Bandung cheap housing for the victims of the economy crisis from “ampas” (the compressed sugar cane after it went through the sugar pres to remove the liquid). Then he started to build his design of a villa for my aunty Nel and for himself at the djalan Lembang about ten km from the city of Bandung. The house was built from brick and stone and solid teakwood .We the children lived with Aunty Nel, because my father had meanwhile also a government assignment to run a thee plantation “Sukamaju” near Lembang. After I married and returned to Indonesia from the Netherlands I still lived in the bungalow of the big house. You can see the picture of our big house in 1953 on the picture below. My father standing on the gallery in front of the house and my wife Maria with little Julia next to him. The other children in the yard are my brother's children.

The pavilion in the right side of the picture and the bungalow, of which one sees the roof behind the pavilion have been demolished by the recent owner of what is now Graha Asri Hotel, Jl. Dr. Setiabuhi 372. In the picture below you see the lobby of the hotel (entrance) which used to be the garage of the main building

There is interesting story about the construction of this house, The huge teakwood logs were hand sawn at the place and Chinese cabinet makers made the woodwork with great precision. When the cap was in place the workers, as is tradition, placed all kinds of fruit at the roof beams to please the spirits and bless the house. My sister and I climbed onto the roofing beams and ate from the fruit. When, the next day, the workers saw that the ‘spirits’ had eaten from the fruit they were very pleased.

I have another interesting story when I was student of Government school, one outstanding and stinking event happened on a Saturday afternoon when I was to show up at a basketball competition back of the school. (basketball was then played as the original game prescribed” a real bushel basket without bottom, no backboard and on a grass lawn.. A real challenge!). I came from km 10 on the Lembang weg (now: jalan Dr. Setiabudhi) down with my bicycle to play the game. At one point I was close behind a truck of the BMC, Bandungse Melk Centrale (office building of this company is still exist at Jalan Aceh. See 1930 building's picture-gg).

The truck was loaded with cow dung. Suddenly the truck had to stop for something happening on the road. I could not stop fast enough on the incline, hit the truck and was thrown over the bike into the truck bed where I landed softly into the dung. To make the story short, the driver was so nice to deliver me at the school. The school attendant was so nice to hose me off and got me in the best shape he could. My play buddies, however, would stay a mile away from me and reminded me of it for the rest of my school days.

I left for Bandung for study on 1939-1949 period. In the age 25th I came back to Bandung with my family and live in Bandung with different political condition after Indonesia Independence on 1945. Hereby below I send the picture of us as young family on the Harley.

The family on the Harley Davidson picture was taken in 1952 in front of the Lembang house. I sit on the tank like the military riders in WWII. I am there 28 years old. Behind me sits Richard (2), Julia (4) and my Dutch wife Maria also 28. The Harley is a true story in itself. I needed transport to go to work in Bandung, but had no money to buy a car or even a motor cycle. In the yard the japs had left a heap of car and motor cycle parts. I found half a motor engine I recognize as that of a 1927 Harley Davidson. 1000 cc head side valve. It was full dirt and worms crawling out. It had only one cylinder left that was frozen to the piston. That was what I started with. My father (architect and engineer) said that I never could do anything with that piece of junk. My brother Arie (engineer) said the same. My cousin Leo Beretty ( student engineer at your university) said that it would become a very dangerous machine if I ever could make something out of it. I was stubborn and a smart elik. To make a long story short. I keep on collecting parts from benkels junk yards and even the passar maling in Bandung. From all the parts I collected I could use about one third. So this is how I built a very useful, very trustworthy and very powerful vehicle that gave me and my family the best service during my last years in Indonesia. The frame was 1922. The engine was 1927 and completely built up from scratch. The tank was old and leaking and I repaired it by soldering a new skin over the old. The gearbox was from a side span motor and I had to block the reverse gear. I bought that in the passar maling in Bandung for 19 rupiah. ( tawar, tawar). The steering bar and fork came from a 1942 Harley and a welder from my (G.E.B.O. ) company, where I worked as a statistician, helped me to convert the fork to fit the old frame and also helped me to put the exhaust system ( made from piece of elctric pole and truck exhaust pipe) together. The wheels were old fashioned big diameter narrow tire wheel from an Indian motor cycle. I found moder rims and converted the wheels by shortening the spokes by way of a die that I made in my vise. ( I still have that vise). The saddle was original Harley and I upholstered it with goat leather and built in a cushion on the tank I could sit on. The head lamp was from a militairy weapon carrier and was very bright. Later I got a duo seat on which our children maid could sit. Quite a sight with the 5 of us in a row. My cost? 800 rupiah non inflation. When I left indonesia in 1954 I sold the Harley with the help of a bengkel friend of mine to an indonesian teacher for 3000.00 rupiah. Who knows perhaps the monster is still around.

Digging in old pictures I found several pictures from the harley and entourage. On the above picture from left top and clockwise: Maria and Julia with the motor cycle as it was in the beginning. Then next, you see the frame and half an engine in it. The gearbox I bought at the 'passar maling' for 9 rupiah. The boy behind the frame was my neigbour who liked me very much and what I did. Then Maria and the two kids on the Harley as I had changed it . I made a cowl to protect my legs from the heat. You see the motor cycle had hand gear shift. One also had to fill the oil tank with oil often as the oil was not circulated but after use was sprayed on the chain. You also can see the saddle I made from goat leather and extended it on the tank.

Above picture shows the kids again sitting on the beast. The picture in the right shows Maria and Julia acting if she was riding.

About my childhood in Bandung, when we still lived on what was then the Helmers weg, there was a big open field adjacent to the branch High school across from our house. We children played there every afternoon until dark. Sometimes I liked to just lie on the grass and look at the wonderful shapes of the clouds. It was then that I saw many kites in the kite season dancing in the air. I wanted to do that too, and my aunt gave me a beautiful kite with a long tail to make it more stable. Soon I had mastered the skill of kiting (I thought). I was one afternoon lying on my back admiring my kite when I fell asleep. When I opened my eyes again there was no kite. I soon learned that Indonesian kiters were kite fighters. The line attached to the kite has glass powder glued to it. They manouvered their kites in such a skilled way as to try and cut the line of the kite they are fighting with. Their kites are very manouverable and unstable and require much skill to be handled. When a famous fighter kite would be cut and, carried by the wind came sailing down, many boys and even men went after it jumping over fences and through yards and climbing walls to claim ownership of that particular kite. I got so involved in the game of kite fighting that I made my own line by pulling it through a hot can of Kah, or wood lime, and then through a can filled with glass powder. It took skill to manouver the kite without cutting your own fingers. A little nudge was enough to make the kite go into a deep dive. Sometimes disappeared behind the trees. Another nudge and it climbed up again. One also could make the kite go horizontally to the right or the left or make a loop-the-loop so as to snare the enemy's line and cut it.

Our lady neighbours liked to sunbathe in a surrounding tent wall in their back yard. From my neigbour boy friend, I knew they were naked. One day I came upon a big champagne bottle that was made out of presspapier and looked like the real thing. I tightened that with a meter or two of line to the tail of my kite and started to fly and manouver the kite over the sun tent. One should have seen the flight of those frightened ladies in their bath towels etc. out of the suntent into the house. Yes, I had to hear the reprimand for my impolite behavior. Hey, teenager, what can you say.

Here is a family. picture of my father Julius Henri (age 12) next to him Oma Juul, my oma. She was a daughter of a regent, Javanese. I don't know her maiden name or from where.

You know, we children looked at our father for guidance to become an Indonesian citizen or not. Our family lived there already since the 18th century. But in those days of take over the government and also some people were belligerent toward the belandas. I still remember clearly how on the day of take over I stood by myself on the asphalt in the middle of jalan Lembang at the bottom gate of our property. In those days there was not much traffic. I realized then that I had no country no more and I cried. I looked at the street and said to myself: "You can't any longer call that your street Johan. Holland was politically my country, but emotionally Indonesia was". And look what happened; God blessed me greatly and modern technology let me be back in a flash. Thank you thank all of you. My old person is bathing in the same sunshine that stays over my head as over yours thousands of miles away. I think much about you all and old memories keep filtering in.

Opa, currently live in Oriental USA, rode the newer harley.