1945 - 1970 Switzerland - Growing Up

I was born on September 15, 1945, on a farm in Spiegel, just outside Bern, Switzerland. My parents, Kathy Nydegger and Werner Imhof, had just become parents for the first time—lucky me!

Two years later, my sister Hedwig joined the family, and not long after that came Elisabeth. I remember the day Elisabeth arrived as if it were yesterday. We had just moved to Biel/Bienne because my father had taken a job as a specialty carpenter with the Swiss Railroad Company. Our apartment was still a bit in chaos when my mother came through the door holding a new baby. To me, it seemed like babies just… appeared. When Herbert was born three years later, I was seven and still hadn’t solved the mystery. Either my parents skipped that lesson, or more likely, my memory did.

I liked being a big brother. I fed Herbert mashed carrots and potatoes, watched him teeter into his first steps, and saw the world open up for him. On his third birthday, Dad built him a rocking horse named Bambi. Painted brown with white spots and a white mane, Bambi was the star attraction on Rennweg 70. Kids from all over the neighborhood came to admire it—but Herbert guarded it fiercely. No one else was allowed to ride.

At that time, Biel/Bienne was a bustling town of 70,000, known for its watchmaking industry. We lived in Mett, a small suburb, in a three-bedroom apartment on the ground floor. It came with a workshop, a cellar in the basement, an attic dormitory and storage room, and a vegetable garden out back that was practically a second food pantry. My brother and I shared a room on the ground floor, while my sisters ruled the attic.

Life revolved around small shops—the baker, the butcher, the grocer. Later, when supermarkets appeared in the city of Biel, my mom sometimes sent me on my bike to stock up on bulk items like flour, sugar, and cooking oil. Money was tight, so the garden was essential. We grew almost everything ourselves, and when fall came, my mother filled a clay barrel with sauerkraut and lined shelves with jars of preserved fruits and vegetables. Those preserves were part of what carried us through the long winter months.

We were rarely indoors. If it rained, we played cards or board games; otherwise, the soccer field, forests, and mountains were our playground. During high school, our family delivered magazines by bicycle every Wednesday and Thursday evening, no matter the weather. That little income was put in a piggy bank for our annual hiking trip in the Alps—a reward we never missed. Travel was always by train or postal bus. My dad’s SBB perks and free passes were a huge help, and believe me, we made the absolute most of them.

I started school at six. Over nine years, I had five teachers. The first, Elisabeth Blaser, was a strict disciplinarian whose wooden ruler left vivid impressions on my knuckles. Ouch! My favorite teacher, though, was Heinz Fuhrer in fifth and sixth grade—I loved his style—he taught using examples that actually spoke to me. By seventh grade, ink wells were eliminated in the Canton of Bern, and traded for fountain pens or ballpoint pens—I remember this being a big excitement. Around the same time, my half-uncle Urs bought me my first pair of skis with steel edges and Kandahar bindings. He and his fiancée Rita often took me along to Les Prés-d’Orvin for a long skiing weekend. Coca-Cola, Bazooka chewing gum, and blue jeans were making their way into Switzerland, too. I finally got my first pair of jeans in eighth grade and felt like I belonged to the modern world.

I was never a straight-A student. I loved history, geography, singing, and PE, but French, math, and writing were uphill battles. Homework had little chance against a good soccer game. My grades hovered around C’s, with the occasional B—, and I somehow managed to scrape through all nine years.

Looking back, my parents did an incredible job raising four kids. Despite modest means, they gave us love, structure, and strong values. Dad was usually the disciplinarian, while Mom was much kinder and nurturing—and together, they were a great team.

For my high school graduation in 1960, they bought me a bicycle—a gift that felt like freedom. I went on many solo biking tours, joined the Radball team, and loved Orienteering runs. Soon after, I began a watchmaking apprenticeship. During the week, I worked in a small factory; on Wednesdays, I attended the Gewerbeschule (professional school). At first, the craft felt like a secret code, but soon it became interesting. I had excellent teachers and was able to apply the knowledge to something tangible. I started to blossom - the Heinz in me finally woke up!

I earned 20 francs a week, and Dad suggested putting half in a savings account. A valuable lesson—though I spent much of the other half on Beatles LPs. I played them constantly while studying, which prompted Dad to ask me to turn down the “jukebox" regularly. My parents never did warm to the long-haired rockers with electric guitars of the 1960s.

In 1964, I graduated first in my class and received my Swiss Watchmaker Diploma. In addition, the mayor presented me with a special award for never having a grade lower than 1.5 throughout the three and a half years. I’ll never forget seeing tears in my father’s eyes.

The following year, a ballroom dance class changed my life. That’s where I met Ursula. We clicked immediately, first on the dance floor and then in everything else. Falling in love was so profound for me, overwhelming, and sometimes paralyzing. She was a beautiful person inside and out—and became the love of my life.

Let me interject a brief history of Ursula’s family:
Ursula Noth-Schumacher was born, together with her twin brother Waldemar (Walo or Wally), on May 1st, 1949, in Biel, Switzerland. Yet the prelude to the family’s history began intriguingly in Schleswig-Holstein, West Germany.
Ursula’s paternal grandfather was a Swiss dairy farmer who had moved to Flensburg in 1928 to introduce cheese-making to the region. Her father, Conrad Noth, retained his Swiss citizenship and began an apprenticeship as a butcher with the Schumacher family in town. It was there that he met and fell in love with their daughter, Gerda. Conrad and Gerda eventually married and had two children just as World War II broke out. They lost everything in the process, and to make a long story short, after the Nazis separated men, women, and children, Conrad was forced into labor camps but later managed to escape with a friend and make his way to Switzerland. Meanwhile, Gerda endured her own nightmare and tragically lost both of her children in the struggle to survive. Despite everything, she recovered her strength and also managed to escape to Switzerland, where she and Conrad were miraculously reunited to begin a new life together.

When I turned 20, it was time for the infamous 16 weeks of Swiss military training. The fitness tests were strict—lots of sweat, a few groans—but the toughest part wasn’t push-ups or long marches. It was being away from Ursula. We kept the postal service busy with our steady stream of letters, and those weekends of leave? Let’s just say they made the wait worthwhile and unforgettable.

I trained as a medic and enjoyed it so much that I actually signed on for a longer stretch. Somewhere along the way, I was promoted to sergeant, picked up the “Sharpshooter” emblem with the trusty Sigg-210 pistol, and discovered I had a knack for discipline and leadership. Those army lessons stuck around long after I hung up the uniform.

Ursula and I shared a love for travel. We camped through Switzerland, Spain, Italy, and Croatia, and drove through Germany and France. Each trip only made us hungrier for the next.

After graduation, I landed a job as a production manager, more than doubling my salary. I’ll never forget my father’s reaction when he realized his son was earning more than he was. Soon after, he suggested I contribute more to the household. At first, I was taken aback, but in hindsight, it pushed me to grow up and eventually move into my own place.

In 1968, I joined Rolex in Geneva—a big step up. Working for such a prestigious brand was an honor and an opportunity to learn more. Besides polishing my French, it also gave me a perspective on various possibilities for growth within the industry - maybe even a career abroad.

When Ursula graduated as an architect, we got engaged. She found work in Lausanne, and our weekends together were magical. Sometimes we’d cross into France, staying out all night at discothèques with friends. We were, as people say, the “young and restless.”

Then, in December 1969, a newspaper ad caught my eye: "Watchmaker For New York". After talking it over with Ursula, I applied and landed a job with Piaget’s U.S. distributor. We soon learned that marriage would make the paperwork for the immigration process easier, so we didn’t waste any time.

On January 16, 1970, we married in Biel/Bienne, with Ursula’s twin brother Wally and my sister Elisabeth as witnesses. It was a simple ceremony followed by a family celebration at my parents’ apartment. Just like that!

Leaving Switzerland was easy for us—but not so for Ursula’s parents, who had to watch their only daughter prepare to move to a country so far away. While waiting for our papers, Piaget trained me at their facility in La Côte-aux-Fées, enduring a long and cold winter. Thirteen months later, everything was ready. Ursula and I set off to begin our new life in the United States, boarding a plane for the first time in our lives.Read more