Many relied on translations of Hilda Taindel

By JORDYN GRZELEWSKI

jgrzelewski@vindy.com

CANFIELD

When a Vindicator reporter interviewed Simone Arnold years ago about her work teaching English as a second language, Arnold insisted that the real story was her mother, a German immigrant and prolific translator.

Hildegard “Hilda” Taindel, however, didn’t want to be interviewed.

“She said, ‘Absolutely not,’” said Arnold.

After living for years in communist Romania, Taindel was never comfortable drawing attention to herself.

“My grandma, her whole life, was afraid someone was going to take her away,” said her granddaughter, Andrea Simkins of Boardman.

Two months after her death July 19 at age 93, however, her family was ready to share her story.

“This is for her,” said Arnold.

Gathered around Simone Arnold’s dining table at her McCarty Drive home, she, Simkins and Simkins’ father, Andrei Taindel, reflected on the woman they affectionately call “Buni,” a shortened form of the Romanian word for grandmother.

Though they heard all the stories from her, they also have the memoirs that Taindel wrote herself.

Taindel was born Nov. 24, 1922, in Dusseldorf, Germany.

As a child, she moved with her family to the U.S. so her father could work at Youngstown Sheet & Tube. The family was based in Struthers until moving to Romania in 1938 because of her father’s work.

On the brink of World War II, the move opened up a monumental chapter of Taindel’s life.

In the fall of 1944, shortly after the Soviet Union invaded Romania, Taindel learned that she likely would be sent to a refugee camp for Germans, then to a concentration camp.

“You can’t imagine what was in our hearts that day, when we had to leave everything behind and go,” she wrote.

Her redemption was Anton “Tony” Taindel, her boyfriend at the time. Worried for Hilda’s safety, Tony suggested they get married right away.

“On the same night that we got married, when I was still in my wedding gown, the police came to my door and told me I was to report at the police station with them. I took off my wedding gown while they waited,” Taindel wrote.

Because she married a Romanian, however, she avoided the concentration camp.

“Finally we were all safe, for the time being,” she wrote. “But we were always afraid that things could change.”

The couple remained in Romania for many years, living under communist rule. All of their children – Andrei, Adriana and Simone – were born there, and Adriana still lives in Bucharest.

Hilda, fluent in English, German and Romanian, was a translator doing work for embassies.

“Even now, I can just hear the typewriter keys,” said Arnold, recalling how her mother would wake up before her kids to get work done.

Anton died in 1966. In 1970, Taindel returned to Youngstown with Simone and Andrei.

She worked for 15 years at the International Institute of Youngstown. She also did translations for immigrants, something she kept doing until just months before her death.

Two months after losing her, Taindel’s family members smile often as they recall her kindness, even shedding a few bittersweet tears.

“She was excellent, because she’d always guide me the right way,” said Andrei.

Adriana, calling from Bucharest, described her mother as “a smart person, very kind and understanding.”

Simkins fondly recalled the 25 years during which Taindel lived at her parents’ Boardman home.

“Growing up, my grandma was always there,” she said. “She taught me how to knit, how to sew, how to crochet, how to cook.”

Taindel’s grandsons also lovingly reminisced about their grandmother.

She was “the kindest person that ever walked the face of the earth,” said Mark Arnold of Manhattan, N.Y.

“Her mindset was always thinking of the world as a big place, and that kind of shaped my thoughts to want to get out and see the world,” said Tony Taindel of Charlotte, N.C.

Simone is moved to tears often while speaking of her mother. The two shared a deep bond, spending several hours together each day.

Arnold keeps at her home a souvenir bell that Taindel once won on a ship, and a smoking tray that belonged to her father. Both were brought to the U.S. years later, as the Taindels left communist Romania with just three bags.

The relics mean “everything. This is who we are,” Simone said tearily.

All of the belongings, photographs and memoirs, however, aren’t what really matters to the family.

“We don’t need to look at all this. We know what my mother was,” said Simone.

“If you see the true meaning of good, that is my mom,” she said.