Mike – Lost

On a Saturday night, I had a dream that I woke up, and Dad was standing at the foot of my bed. He told me not to be afraid, but that he was there to help. The dream chilled me. The next morning while Larry was preparing to leave to drive to a conference, I told him about the dream. He said I was daft and left for his destination. About 7 o’clock that night the phone rang. Lee was calling to tell me that on Saturday afternoon Mike was killed in a mountain climbing accident in Garmisch. Garmisch, in the Bavarian Alps, is an Army-owned recreation area for soldiers and their dependents to use.

John Sherman asked me if I wanted to go home with Mike’s body as the official military escort. He made a phone call to make it happen for me. Because Mike’s accident had occurred in a German province, it took ten days to get his body released to the American military. I left Fulda and went to Rhein-Main AFB just outside of Frankfort. I was the only ticketed passenger along with Mike on a C5-A cargo plane with about 60 standby passengers. The plane had just arrived from Turkey. Taxing out to the run-way, there was a mechanical problem. The plane turned around, and I had to spend the night in Frankfort.

The next morning, we departed for Dover, Delaware. The C5-A was a military cargo not a passenger plane. To board the plane I had to climb up a ladder. The crew was aware of my reason for flying, and again I was the only ticketed passenger. The 70 or so seats were directly behind the cockpit with the huge cargo hole beneath. There were a number of soldiers and dependents who were flying on standby. A young Black woman sitting near me started to complain about the accommodations. Next, she loudly declared the area smelled like a dead body. Concerned I would be offended, the Air Force flight crew told me they would move me. They reminded her that she was flying standby on a cargo plane. I declined their offer and tried to sleep.

The flight went directly to Dover Air Force Base as Mike was on board, and we were going to the military mortuary there. When the plane landed an official came on board and stamped my passport. As my clearance was going on, the angry Black girl complained that I was getting preferential treatment. Her husband was told that he needed to get her under control. She had to stand in line to get her passport clearance and luggage for at least an hour. I was taken down to a military sedan on the tarmac.

When we got to the mortuary, I was given a class on the protocol of escorting a deceased service member. The class instructor showed me how to properly drape an American flag on the coffin. He advised me that the coffin should never be loaded without my presence. Because of the embalming process, the head of the coffin has to be toward the cockpit. The mortuary attendant gave me an American flag to drape on Mike’s casket when we reached our final destination. He told me that flags are traditionally given to the service member’s company. He advised me to pack the second flag in my luggage because flags are heavy. I asked for a third flag to give to Lee because he and Jean were divorced.

After I was at the mortuary for about eight hours, the staff came to speak to me. They were unable to reconstruct or to make adequate, cos-metic repairs to Mike’s face. I needed to decide if the body was presentable or to make a decision to have a closed casket. On the mountain while getting up on a ledge, Mike bumped his head. When he stood up straight on the ledge, he was most likely dizzy. He fell backwards from the ledge, and he dropped 1000 feet. After seeing he was unrecognizable, I determined Mike’s casket needed to remain closed. I was instructed to tell his parents that the coffin should remained closed. If his parents elected to see his body as an official escort, I was required to leave the room. Somehow, this negates the Army’s responsibility. I caught a cab to the post guest quarters to spend the night.

The next morning, Mike and I were loaded in a civilian hearse which drove us to Philadelphia for our flight to Texas. At the Philadelphia airport, I went in to pick up my boarding pass. I was approached by an airport staff member who informed me they had erroneously loaded Mike’s coffin. They asked me to go to the airplane’s cargo hole and sign off on the placement of the casket. He took me down the stairs to the tarmac. With two men, one on each side of me holding my hands, I walked on the conveyor belt into the airplane’s cargo hole. Once I approved the placement of the casket in the belly of the plane, they escorted me back upstairs.

I boarded the aircraft and found my seat. The man in the seat next to mine had been watching out the window when I walked up the conveyor belt. He questioned why and what I had been doing. I simply told him that I was traveling with special cargo. On our way to Atlanta where we would change planes, he and I chatted. I did tell him I was coming from Germany. As we were coming into Atlanta, the flight attendant said they needed me to be the first to deplane. She said she would move me to an empty seat in first class. As I was gathering my stuff, the gentleman asked if I were some kind of spy. That made me laugh.

When we landed, they took me down to the tarmac, where Delta had a station wagon waiting for me and Mike. We had a five-hour layover in Atlanta. The Delta people drove us to the cargo area. They put me and Mike’s casket in a small, separate area away from all of the luggage. A Delta staff person came over, and he sat down and chatted with me. He returned to work, and another staff member came to sit with me. I realized that they were intentionally staying with me. I told him that I was okay with being alone with Mike, and he told me that the crew preferred that we not be alone. They went to get me a pizza and held my hand for several hours. The Delta crew paid Mike proper respect of their own volition, which I have always appreciated. When we went back to the plane, the cargo crew had made arrangements for me to be seated in first class. From Atlanta, we flew to Shreveport, Louisiana.

A hearse was waiting for us at the Shreveport airport. When I left the plane, I was again taken down the stairs to the noisy and steaming hot tarmac. The ground crew brought Mike’s casket over to the hearse where I was waiting. Next to the hearse, the driver had roped off a private area where I would place the flag on the casket. I looked up to see Lee standing there. Having to drape the flag on Mike’s coffin with his father watching was the most difficult thing I had ever done in my life. The complete area came to a standstill. All of the ground crew took off their hats and stood at attention. There was total silence as I laid the “Stars and Stripes” over his heart. Mike was three months shy of his 27th birthday.

Riding with Lee, we followed the hearse to Texarkana, Texas where the funeral was to be held. We arrive at the funeral home, and I turned my sweet nephew over to the funeral director. It had been 70 hours since I had left my home in Fulda.

I was exhausted. Mother and Jay had driven from Mississippi. Lee, Kay, Margaret, Van, Billy, Ron and Betty had already checked-in at the motel. Missy and her future husband, Gary, arrived after I got there. Lee got upset about them staying together in a room. To divert the argument, I gave Kay my room key for her and Missy to use. Drawing the short straw, Gary had to bunk with Lee. I roomed with Mother and Jay.

The young man, who was on the mountain with Mike, flew in for the funeral. Heartbroken, he broke down when I gave him the flag to take back to the unit. At the funeral it was 114° in Texarkana. There had been a horrendous, heat wave for several days. Accustomed to the mild summers of Germany, I was wretchedly uncomfortable. Several weeks before he died, Mike visited us in Fulda and left his watch at my house. I gave the watch and the third flag to Lee. I had tremendous difficulty in accepting that my kind, caring nephew could be lost in such a horrendous way. I was bitter over his loss for 10 years.

After the funeral, Mother, Jay and I drove to Galveston, Texas to spend a few days at Margaret’s beach house before heading back to Mississippi. Jay didn’t particularly like to drive. I drove to the island and then on to Mississippi. I stayed about two weeks in Mississippi. The heat in July was so intense, I decided to return to Germany early. I flew out of Charleston, South Carolina.

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Published in: on June 15, 2010 at 5:28 pm  Leave a Comment  
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The Last Hurrah

We landed at Rein-Main Air Force Base, and the military police with drug-sniffing dogs throughly examined our luggage. We were picked up by Larry and went to Fulda, Germany. At the height of the Cold War, the military mission in Fulda was to stand ready against a potential attack from the Soviet Bloc. The Fulda Gap was the most likely, strategic entryway into Germany by the Soviets. The Russians could deploy a large-scale tank attack through the valley and lowlands.

In Fulda, the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment’s assignment in the event of war was to delay a Soviet attack until other units of the US V Corps could be mobilized and deployed to defend the Fulda Gap. On their uniforms, soldiers wore a patch with a rearing, black stallion. They were referred to as the Black Horse Battalion. The Fulda Gap is roughly the same route Napoleon used to retreat after his defeat at Leipzig where he escaped back to France.

As a military dependent, I was required to keep at least a half-tank of gas in the car along with an emergency kit should we have to flee. My assigned, designated point of escape was to Italy. Although I considered us sitting ducks in Fulda, my view point was that the Red Army would over run and not destroy Fulda as they would need a staging ground. The Soviet forces goal would have been to occupy Frankfort which is the financial center of Germany. I felt much safer in Fulda than I would have been while fleeing to Italy.

The Iron Curtain, which divided the two Germany’s, was a series of fences and outposts which were manned at all times. The point of the wall was not to keep us out, but to keep the East Germans in. The border operations on the East-West German borders patrolled 24/7. The 11th Armored Cav, with the Calvary being tanks, trained in the field. At least once a month there would be an alert. An alert is an exercise in practicing going to war. In the middle of the night the phone would ring, and every soldier began the exercise to prepare to go to war. We lived out on the economy not in the military family housing, and the Army airfield was less than two blocks from our house. Before the phone rang for an alert, I would hear the noise from the helicopters and know that another alert had begun.

We lived in a temporary apartment for a couple of months waiting for an apartment to become available. We finally found an apartment and moved into a small village outside of Fulda. Our widowed landlady was a wonderful lady, and she was almost Larry’s size. Her husband died later from injuries that he had received as a prisoner-of-war in France. German houses are constructed to accommodate several generations. Anna’s parents had passed away, and her oldest daughter moved from Fulda when she married. Anna and her teenage daughter, Tia, lived downstairs, and we had the upper floor. Anna’s yard was completely filled with a garden where she grew most of their fresh food. In her side yard was an orchard of plum and apple trees. She bred rabbits for meat, and she kept a cow in the village barn. I could always tell when she had been to milk the cow as the rank, barn odors clung to her. From her house we could see the main clock tower in the village, it was over 900 years old.

I once asked her why the German population had followed Hitler’s ideology. She had been young when the war started. She told me that if anyone made the slightest remark they were reported to the German SS police force. She knew whole families that disappeared, and one could not trust their life-long, closest neighbor.

I bought a standard, all-most poodle. His father was questionable, but he resembled his poodle mother. When I started house-breaking him, a major storm came in leaving several feet of snow. I walked him daily, and he learned to lift his leg on the snow bank. When the snow began to thaw, I had to re-housebreak him because he couldn’t find his marked places.

Dona came to visit for several weeks, and on her last week there Vana came to Germany. We went to the airport to pick up Vana. The girls were in the back seat and were excitedly chatting. Dona was telling her about all the things she had done when I heard Vana say, “Do you think we will find any place with good German food?” Laughing, I told her, “No, but we can find Italian.” She died on the spot. Several days later, they took a train to Paris and both came home with their own stories to tell. Wanting the girls to experience German beer at its very best, we took them to the Kruezburg monastery.

Just outside of Wildflecken, Germany in the Rhon mountain area is a monastery named Kruezburg. The parking lot is midway up the mountain, and you have to walk a distance to get to the cloister and the brewery. On one of our first visits, it was a sunny day and while hiking up the trail we spotted sunbathers on the mountain side. Coming closer, Rob realized they were au naturale. Having to traipse through a gaggle of nude girls to go to a monastery certainly gets the attention of a 13-year-old. The monks raised Saint Bernard dogs, but the main attraction on the Kreuzberg is the brewery. The monks brew what is considered by many to be one of the best beers in the world. It’s a dark, smooth beer and was served in half liter mugs. In the winter months they produced a dark bock beer. We skied one weekend up in that area, and we went to a massive castle for a Frankenstein Halloween.

One summer weekend, we took Dona and Rob to Heidelberg to see the “lighting of the castle.” A beautiful castle dominates the Heidelberg skyline and looms over the Altstad (old town). That night, we found a spot on the Neckar River bank to see a spectacular, fireworks show which erupted in glorious colors and cascaded from the towers of the castle.

On a Saturday, we went to a small village which had a “people” parade. The village invited people to march in their native costumes. Men, women and children from other countries and the states of Germany came dressed in their finest garb to march down the cobblestone street. At local folk fests or at beer gardens, German men wore the traditional, leather lederhosen with braces, and the women would don colorful, drindle skirts and aprons.

On another Saturday, I took Rob and Dona to an Army air show. It was crowded, and we were standing in about the 10th row. A Dutch parachute team jumped from a helicopter at 10,000 feet. They formed a circle, and when they separated, I saw one guy bump the feet of another jumper. Watching, I realized his parachute was not opening, and he was in free-fall. I told Dona and Rob to turn around and to stand with their backs to the airfield and to not watch. I watched the parachutist and the crowd. The moment the unfortunate Dutch-man hit the ground, I turned around. Putting my hands on the kids backs, I moved them forward toward the car. As we walked to the car, the ambulance was making its way to the scene of the accident. Concerned about the reaction of the crowd, I drove out im-mediately. The kids at first were quite, then sad and then animated. It upset all three of us.

We went to the Schũzenfest folk fair in Fulda, and Dona loved going to the marketplaz for the breads and cheese. Being a beautiful girl, she caught the eye of a young, German motorcycle cop, named Heinrich. In his leather, police uniform and on a shiny, black motorcycle, he cut quite the figure.

We went to the Witches’ Tower which was a women’s prison in the Middle Ages and was actually part of the original fortification in Fulda. We visited the Fasanerie Palace which started as a hunting palace for a prince, and it was later turned into a summer palace. Rebuilt after World War II, the palace has excellent examples of exquisite furniture and paintings from the 1700s. Over the years with remodeling from Rocco to Baroque to the present Neo-classical style it became an elegant palace. The formal, terraced garden was transformed into a more naturally landscaped park over the years.

For everyone who came to see us, we toured Fulda. The Catholic Church is dominant in Fulda. It was the first seat of Catholicism that St Boniface established in Germany. The crypt holding the remains of St. Boniface (d. 754) is in the Fulda Cathedral (Dom). The Dom had a domed roof with magnificent, twin spires. While we were there the wildly popular Pope John Paul II visited. All of Fulda shut down for the day to see him.

The wooden pulpit in front of the high altar was hand-carved by two generations of craftsmen. It has an ornate spiral staircase leading to the pulpit where the priest stands high above the parishioners. In the church museum, they have wonderful statues and paintings. As you go down the stairs to the vault there is a large, bronze statue at the entrance. It has been rubbed by so many hands over the years that all the patina is worn from the statue’s foot. In the vault or basement there is a section in the walls where just the hearts of cardinals are buried. Looking up at the ceiling in the nave, you can see tiny birds nestled in a wreath, or petite, Baroque angels with their gold-tipped wings jutting out.

Next to the Dom was St. Michael’s Church. With its foundation built in the early 900s, it is one of Germany’s oldest churches. It is a Gothic style church perched high on a stone wall overlooking the Fulda Cathedral.

Fulda has many Baroque treasures in wonderful surroundings. The Residence Palace was built in the early 1700s and is an excellent example of a Baroque building. The interior has been beautifully refurbished with fine furnishings, and they have an excellent collection of porcelain items. On the extensive, palace grounds was a Orangerie, a 1700s house for citrus plants and the formal gardens which were incredible in the spring.

The last Christmas we were in Fulda, the Paris National Ballet company performed The Nutcracker in the Residence Palace. I had to pinch myself. I was watching a world-famous Parisian ballet in a Baroque palace; it was a Cinderella moment.

Larry was the manager for the Officer’s Club. Again he had late hours, and he was constantly at the club. I found a civilian job on post for the Non-Appropriated Funds (NAF) division. I worked days, and Larry was working at night. The NAF department’s mission was to insure that the regulations, procedures and accountability for the club operations, Rod and Gun clubs and the Morale Support Fund were in compliance with the military guidelines. Club management and the club employees fell under NAF division which eventually created problems between Larry and me.

One day, I was walking out of Officer’s Club, and the new regimental commander was entering. He stuck out his hand to shake mine and he said, “John Sherman Crow.” Without batting an eye lash, I extended my hand and gave him my full name, “Nancy Kay Shapiro.” It struck him funny, and for the next two years my job working for John Sherman was a joy. He was from Louisiana, and he was authentically Southern. He had a first cousin, named John David Crow, who was the 1957 Heisman Trophy winner from Texas A. & M. The Crow family always referred to each of the cousins by both of their given names.

My office was in the Headquarters Building on the second floor across from the Community Commander’s offices. Next to my three-quarter-walled office was a bull pen where military support personnel worked. There was a full-bird colonel who would come to the office. He would make huge demands on the military support staff and in particular, the 2nd lieutenant who was in charge of the Moral Support Fund. The colonel would make an excuse to come into my office to visit me, but in reality he thought it fun to watch the turmoil he had created with the staff. On one occasion, I expressed my observance and asked him why he drove the staff insane. Smiling, he said that seeing them running around like chickens with their heads cut off entertained him. It even amused him that I had nailed him. Listening to the hubbub and peering over my office wall was a frequent activity for him.

John Sherman met with the Community staff on a regular basis. On our first briefing with him, we were invited to his private office where he was sitting at his desk. He indicated that we should seat ourselves at his conference table. Once we were all at the table, he put a lead-crystal ashtray and a pack of cigarettes on the table. He sat down and promptly leaned back in the chair, bracing his feet on the edge of the conference table. During the meeting, he started to light a cigarette, and he offered me one. I pulled my cigarettes out of my pocket and put them on the table. John Sherman and I were the only two people smoking. A briefing can last several hours, and eventually the lieutenant nudged me wanting a cigarette. John Sherman countermanded, “No, if you didn’t bring your own, that is too bad.” He loved pulling rank.

V Corps Headquarters in Frankfurt managed all the appropriations for Fulda. At the end of the physical year, any budgeted monies not spent by the military have to be reported. The following year’s budget would be decreased by the amount not spent. John Sherman had me keep projects ready to submit for year-end funding in order to capture any excess appropriations from V Corp.

John Sherman knew he could count on me. Because I was not in the military, he would give me unique assignments. He instructed me to do a survey on the border for anything the troops on border patrol could use. I was to be flown by helicopter to these sites, but he warned me about the helicopter crew. John Sherman advised me because I was a female and a civilian, the crew would do their best to terrify me.

The next morning, I got on the helicopter, and one of the two pilots handed me a head-set with a microphone. They gave me brief instructions on how to speak to them. In a cloud of whirling dust, the helicopter roared to life, lifted and began its advance – then the games began. They flew nap-of-the-earth which in essence is to fly as fast and as close as possible to the ground. When a tree, hill or a building came on the horizon, they popped over it at the very last second. I refused to let them know that the wild and woolly ride shook me.

We stopped at my first assignment which was a listening post. When we landed on a mountain side, the only visible sign of life was a chimney. In the side of the mountain was a room where they sat listening for activity across the border. The troops spoke several languages among them and spent weeks at a time at this remote outpost. I toured five more border sites that day and visited with the troops to see what items they could use. Because of the isolation, the troops mainly wanted cross-country skis, movies and gear for the day rooms. I can attest to how difficult it is to spend six hours in a cold, noisy, bone-rattling helicopter. On the next leg of our journey, the pilots thought it would be funny to fly me on the East German side of the border, while the pilots technically remained in West Germany. When the helicopter hovered sideways with my fanny suspended in East Germany, I finally laughed. My flying cowboys were ecstatic.

Another year-end project was to remodel and expand the Rod and Gun Club. I prepared additional plans for a new bowling alley for Morale Support Fund. All these projects were funded because we were prepared and immediately submitted on short notice.

Rod and Gun Clubs were on every garrison, and anyone attached to the military could use the facilities. Rod and Gun Clubs had shooting ranges, small bars, and they sold weapons. Their primary purpose was to sell rifles, revolvers, shotguns and ammunition. The clubs had access to international brands of hunting rifle at prices much lower than in the US.

John Sherman called me down to his office. He asked me to take a package via helicopter to the post at Wildflecken. He instructed me that under no circumstances would I reveal what was in the package, nor to whom I was delivering the package.

I drove to the helicopter airfield where two pilots had been alerted and were waiting for me. This time there were no games. The flight was about 30 minutes, and when we landed a car was there to pick me up. I was escorted to the commander’s office, where he patiently sat with me for at approximately 45 minutes. We made small talk until he was notified that a general’s helicopter was landing. I said that would be my appointment. The colonel escorted me to the car and I was driven back to the airfield. A lieutenant stepped out of the general’s helicopter and asked me if I had the package for Heidelberg. I handed him the package, and I returned to the helicopter to fly home.

The point of the whole episode was to avoid any military person in our command having any direct contact with the package. As I was a civilian female, John Sherman knew I would avoid a direct command by an officer. A general had purchased a hunting rifle at the Rod and Gun Club in Heidelberg. When he returned to pick it up at a later date, the rifle was gone. It had accidentally been sold. A general carries a lot of weight, and everyone took his threat to close down that Rod and Gun Club, seriously. They found the same model at the Fulda Rod and Gun Club, and its transfer was given to me.

Several weeks later, the colonel from Wildflecken was in Fulda. Upon leaving the Community Commander’s office, he saw me sitting at my desk. He knocked politely, and I invited him to enter. After a mo-ment of amenable conversation, he asked me if I were able to relay why I had been in Wildflecken. Informing him I was still unable to discuss my mission, he saluted me and left. John Sherman thought that was a hoot, and he saluted me.

The Officer’s Club consumed Larry. He was obsessed in having everything run perfectly. He had navy and black tuxedos custom-made and asked his father to tailor several suits for him. His strange obsessions were becoming more apparent. If he came to my office the whole time he stood at my desk, he would reorder and realign everything. When he left, my desktop had everything lined up in a perfect row. If I were sick and stayed at home, he would make up the bed with me still in it. Having to be alert to Larry’s many moods and the endless shadow-boxing became my constant companions.

A brand new 2nd lieutenant was assigned to the Officers club for hands-on training as he had just graduated from club management school. Jerry Walters and his wife, Deborah, were from Missouri. She had polio as a child and had a deformed hip which created a difficult gait for her. She was an extremely, pretty girl with curly, brown hair flowing below her shoulders. Newly married, she had never been away from home and was homesick. She hung out with me as Jerry’s hours at the club were terrible. Having additional help at the club didn’t improve Larry’s hours at work.

Debbie and I went to a crystal factory. She had a Heinz 57 pup that we left in my car. Walking out of the store, I was carrying all of the shopping bags as Debbie had difficulty walking down the hill. Her dog saw us come out of the building. Jumping excitedly, the puppy knocked the car out of gear into neutral. The car started to roll downhill and was headed straight for a Mercedes. Our first instinct was to start running. I was loaded down with the fragile crystal we had purchased, and Debbie’s balance issues made it impossible for her to run. I shouted, “Walk, don’t run.” As we sauntered toward the parking lot, I watched my car creep down the grade. Just as the car rolled close to the black Mercedes, it stopped. Everything turned out okay, we were laughing and happy. When she asked me why I had stopped running, I said, “The car was insured, but the crystal wasn’t.”

Taking the Walters with us, we drove to Switzerland. We begin to near the Alps as the day began to fade into twilight. Rob, Debbie and I were in the back seat of the car. We were leaning back and forth, across one another, and craning our necks to see the backdrop of the mountains in the evening light. We checked into a Swiss chalet, and the next morning, we awoke to a wondrous sight. The mountains, we had briefly caught sight of the night before, were the foothills – the Alps stood majestically behind them.

We rode a cog-train up the mountain to a small, picturesque village, Grindelwald, which sits on a glacier beneath the Eiger Mountain. Grindelwald is surrounded by the spectacular mountain trio “Eiger, Mönch & Jungfrau” A book and movie named the Eiger Sanction were recently released. It was exciting to see the sheer, north face of the Alp which was prominent in the movie, towering at 13,025 feet. We spent the day in the village shopping, eating and enjoying the spectacular view. There was an ice museum in the glacier with all the statues carved in ice. Switzerland is more pristine that Germany if that is possible. In the German villages, paper and trash were always policed, and on Saturday, everyone swept and washed their front walks and the street.

Jerry was assigned to the Frankfort Officer’s Club. In January, we went to Frankfort to spend the night at their high-rise apartment to watch the Super Bowl, together. The Dallas Cowboys were playing in Super Bowl XII. Jerry, Rob and Larry were beyond, ecstatic when Dallas won. “How Bout Them Cowboys,” was the national chant for a year.

Anna’s married daughter and her family decided to return to Fulda, and they wanted to move back to her house. Anna had already found us a new apartment which was under construction near the air field. The Germans are so smart in the way they construct and heat their houses. The foundation was laid, and I watched as the construction crew stacked large cinder-blocks and applied stucco to the outside. Every room had a separate radiator. Furnace fuel oil was extremely expensive, so all the doors were kept shut. The radiators are only turned on in the room being used, and the door is always kept shut. Heating only what is needed at the time is an efficient way to conserve fuel oil. The kitchen and bathrooms had individual water heaters which hung on the wall. When I needed to wash dishes or take a bath, I turned on the water heater which held just enough water for the job.

Because electricity is extremely expensive in Germany most homes don’t have large refrigerators. With limited space for storage, Germans shop daily for meat, fresh fruit and vegetables. In downtown Fulda, there was an open-air market with stall after stall of local vendors selling vegetables, fruits and fresh-cut flowers. The bakery, the butcher market and the grocery store were located around the marketplaz. I loved going downtown to the marketplaz. The stunning flowers brought in year round from Holland or Israel always made me happy.

I traveled for my job. I went to a NAF seminar in Heidelberg. My roommate was a German girl who informed me that when she traveled, she was not married. I don’t remember her ever spending the night in our room the whole week, she only showed up to change clothes.

When I traveled, I rarely used all my per diem pay. I would split the remainder with Rob in exchange for him keeping the house up and getting a meal together on the day I came home. Traveling by train, albeit a super fast train, always made me homesick and miss Daddy. He would have loved the idea of a Euro-Rail pass to travel anywhere he wanted.

I was sent to Munich for a week to attend and speak at a NAF school for Morale Support Fund military personnel. I had been asked to speak on accounting at the Friday afternoon session. This time the Army quartered the attendees in temporary apartments, and my new, German roommate informed me that she had the same standards as my previous roommate. During the week, she brought her brand new friend back to the apartment because we had a large, living area and television.

Most nights we ate together as a group. On Thursday night, we went to a popular disco named the Yellow Submarine. The walls had been built to hold a fish tank that completely surrounded the club. Inside, the yellow walls had portholes, and you could watch sharks circling the build-ing. The guys partied hard.

By noon on Friday, the ones with hangover were barely able to function. My session was to be on MSF accounting issues. I realized it was fruitless to try to teach a bunch of half-whole, hung-over soldiers. Required to take a test on the information they covered during the week, they were concerned. My class was the last one of the week. Knowing the questions for my portion of the test, I advised the guys that I would teach the test questions for 15 minutes then allow them to nap.

When I was assigned to go to the seminar in Munich, I realized it was the last weekend of the famous Oktoberfest. I made a request of the Army to keep the apartment for the weekend, and Larry and Rob drove to Munich to attend the festival. Larry and I were at each other’s throats, but we called a truce long enough to get through the weekend.

We lived in the village of Sickles, and Rob was able to use the German he learned at school. He met a girl in the village and started hang-ing out with her. Her family lived close to the air field. He was invited to stay for dinner one night. He had always spoken German with her family, and they did not realize that he was an American dependent. Her father made a disparaging remark about the American military during the dinner. Rob felt he needed to inform the father that he was American. Rob spoke German so well the father didn’t realize he was an American. Impressed that Rob had proper manners when he was in their home, her father said he had misspoke and would reconsider his views on Americans.

Rob had two constant buddies, Pete and Joey. They forever were in trouble for small, but many infractions. They usually managed to get caught when they were up to no-good. They played on the 8th and 9th grade football and basketball teams. Rob had a teacher named Tom Shilitoe both years. The first year Tom taught Rob, he would call me whenever Rob was disrespectful, rowdy or failed to turn in an assignment. We would talk to Rob and punish if necessary. Tom called me frequently, and I began to be concerned about Rob getting through his class. Fortunately, he was able to advance to 9th grade. Over the summer, Rob grew to be over six feet tall. The following school year, Tom started calling me. After the third call to complain, I informed Tom that he needed to find a way to deal with Rob. Rob was larger than Tom, and Tom was on his own. Rob may not have improved, but I no longer had to referee on a daily basis. Since Rob was far from an angel, I am sure Tom had a rough year.

The boys had a female teacher, who gave them an assignment with the caveat she would not accept any homework that was not in a folder. Having a very small PX, the few folders available were sold instantly. The boys took turns in submitting their assignment because they had one folder between them. Rob was the last one to turn in the assignment. When it was returned to him, it had a red F across the front page. She learned that he had borrowed the folder and gave him a failing grade. I normally backed teachers, but I felt she had gone too far since his work was fine with the exception of the folder. I went to the school and spoke with her, but she was adamant and unwilling to reach a compromise. I quickly tired of being stonewalled and informed her, “The only reason you gave the boys Fs is because they don’t allow you to give Gs.

When I returned to my office, I was still fuming. When I ran into John Sherman, I proceeded to rant about the teacher. He thought my “G” remark was funny and agreed the shortage of a folder did not condone her actions. Several days later, Rob was happy as his stubborn teacher had been transferred to Frankfurt. Going downstairs, I asked John Sherman if he had gotten rid of her. He smiled and said, “Nobody gives Gs in my command.” Gotta love him.

Billy came to Germany to look for opportunities as an opera singer. She found a job on post at the military barbershop. She had previously owned a large barbershop in Houston. A military barbershop has “one cut fits all mentality,” and the barbers are extremely busy. She became upset when she was expected to sweep up the hair that fell at her station. She later said that it was a learning experience sent to her by God. Apparently, God wasn’t willing to sweep, so she quit.

At the community theater on post the Morale Support Fund built private, sound-proof rooms, so the soldiers could play their instruments. I asked for permission to allow Billy to use a music room to practice. I was cooking dinner, when I got a call from the lieutenant in charge of the MSF. Billy had decided that all of the soldiers using the facility were a disruption while she rehearsed. She took it upon herself to throw them out of their own building. She was asked to leave. Next, I asked the chaplain if she could practice at the chapel. I found an Army wife to accompany her on the chapel piano. That was short-lived when Billy argued with her. Fortunately, she found an opera group in Austria who put up with her for another six weeks before she returned to Houston.

Morris and Tootsie were waging a war with me. They asked me to find a Hebrew teacher for Rob to prepare him for his Bar Mitzvah. I refused. I felt it was hypocritical of them, and especially of us to have a coming-of-age, religious ceremony. For years, Larry had refused to attend services, and Rob wasn’t particularly interested in studying Hebrew. His grandparents had never been interested in his religious education, so it seemed to me it was all about a party for their friends. My views prevailed, and there would be no Bar Mitzvah in Houston that summer.

Much to my surprise and chagrin, they announced they were coming to Germany that summer. I assumed it would be paid by Rob’s Bar Mitzvah party fund. Although, Morris had refused to visit a Nazi country when we lived in Hanau, they flew into Frankfort. I toured the palace and Dom in Fulda with them and then took them to the Officer’s Club to eat dinner with Larry. Every place we went, Morris insisted on speaking Yiddish to the wait staff or salespeople. Most Germans don’t understand Yiddish much less with a Texas accent.

We took them to Rothenburg-ob-der-Tauber which is a medieval city which sits on the plateau above the Tauber River. It is truly the best preserved walled city in Germany. Surrounded by the ancient fortifications and with its charming shops and winding, narrow, cobbled streets, Rothenburg is history at your feet. To see it, you have to walk as most of the city is car free.

Unaccustomed to speed, Morris hated riding on Germany’s autobahn. Larry drove at 100 MPH, and Morris was clinging, white knuckled, to the dashboard. He finally insisted on Larry letting me drive. Anxious to get home, I managed to stay at 80 MPH.

We drove to Amsterdam, Netherlands. Holland is technically only the center region of the Netherlands not the whole county. They speak Dutch which is similar to German, but many people in the Netherlands speak English.

Amsterdam, what can I say – I loved it on sight. Amsterdam which is largely below sea level is built with a series of canals and dams dating from the Middle Ages. The five of us went on a boat sightseeing tour of the canals. We looked up at the tall, narrow canal houses with huge windows where we saw large hooks mounted under the roofs’ eaves. A canal house’s stairway is so narrow, it is difficult to move in furniture. The furniture hooks are used to hoist large items up to the windows where the furniture is swung into the wide windows. We sailed out to the main harbor where freighters from exotic places were moored.

We toured the Heineken Brewery and the Anne Frank House. The attic of the house was the hiding place of the teenage Anne Frank while she wrote her diary during World War II. Amsterdam oozes atmosphere with its narrow streets, picturesque canals, unique shops and numerous open-air markets. The Dam Square with the Royal Palace and the Ode Kerk (Old Church) which is in the center of the Red Light district are all glorious example of Renaissance styles with their amazing facades.

Amsterdam’s Sailors’ Quarters is one of the few red light districts existing in Europe in its original, classical form. We parked on a narrow street, and Tootsie and I started walking towards the bawdy Red Light District. A young man approached me and said, “ Do you need any coke?”

“Nope,” was my reply.

He came back with, “How about some hash?”

I smiled when I told him, “Only if it’s corned beef.”

We got to the canal where the registered prostitutes are on display. The quaint, old canal houses have the famous red lights in the red-fringed window parlors where the ladies reveal their wares and are eager to bargain. In the Red Light District, it is impossible not to be struck by charm of the very old buildings, leaning at odd-angles and the tree-lined canals in the middle of a party atmosphere and sex for sale.

Larry, Morris and Rob were walking ahead of Tootsie and me. Under the twinkling lights on a canal bridge, I saw a beautiful girl approach them. She assumed that the guys were there for Rob’s first excursion. I saw Robin turn bright red in the night-light, and I realized what was being said .

In the former Jewish quarter is the Jewish Historical Museum which we visited the next morning. The museum is a part of a complex of synagogues. There is a theater which was used during World War II as a deportation center for Jews who were being sent to concentration camps.

That afternoon, we went to the Rijksmuseum which is home to two of my all-time, favorite museum exhibits. The collection of antique doll houses was fabulous. I can’t begin to describe all the many, wonderful doll houses with rooms filled with elegant, delicate and tiny pieces of handmade furnishings. The whole room was an instant transport to a little girl’s land of make-believe.

Then in the main art gallery, I found Rembrandt’s Night Watch painting. It is Rembrandt’s largest canvas, and its beauty stunned me. When Rembrandt painted it, he was out of favor. He correctly feared that the painting would not be displayed in a prominent place with good lighting. Initially, he did not want to paint the militia company, but he was a friend to the captain of the company and finally agreed to paint it. With limited studio space, he rented a warehouse to paint such a large canvas. When it was completed, it was too big to move from of the warehouse. Rembrandt had to remove the stretchers, and then re-stretch it when he was ready to hang it.

Rembrandt’s amazing and effective use of light, shadow, and the perception of motion with the military company coming out of an alley behind the captain and the lieutenant is astonishing. The other militia figures are in the shadows with only their faces illuminated. Rembrandt’s use of glowing light on the hands, hair and faces of the forward characters make them seem real. Wow, it still blows me away.

Leaving Amsterdam, we drove to Zamenhof in the central Holland area where the “greatest flower show on earth” takes place. The Dutch have been growing tulips for over 400 hundred years. The multitude of tulips and the combination of colors were enchanting. Tootsie and I loved the tulip fields. Again, I was happy to be at the right place and at the right time for flowers. We stopped in the countryside to look at an old windmill where we met a family that lived on a river barge.

The following March, we flew to Houston for Tootsie and Morris’ 50th anniversary party. She had the party at the Warwick Hotel which is surrounded by the museum district, Rice University and the Miller Outdoor Theater at the park. It was a lovely party with all their family and friends in attendance. For the ten days we were in Houston, we stayed at a hotel near their house.

Our next trip was a tour to France and on to Paris. Robin’s girl-friend was a senior in high school. She smooth talked her parents into going on the tour, also. We stayed in a small Parisian hotel, and Rob doubled with a single captain. Rob swears he had his first excursion in Paris.

We entered France through the city of Strasbourg, where we previously visited to shop for clothes for me. German clothes swallowed me, and I went to France where I could find my size. I loved Strasbourg, but was happy to roll through it this time.

We went to several military cemeteries in the Verdun area. After we toured the French memorial building, we walked around to the back of it. There I saw small windows around the edge of the basement. The small, oblong windows were at ground level. Being my normal curious self, I bent over and looked inside. Much to my amazement, I was looking into a mass grave for thousands of unidentified French and German soldiers. Seeing an unexpected jumble of bones and realizing it was the grave of unknown solders was unsettling.

In the Champagne region, we toured the Moét & Chandon winery where Dom Pérignon is made. In the grimy, underground cellars, we saw thousands of dusty bottles undergoing the fermentation and aging process. We were given a glass of champagne when we reached the main shop. From there we went to the famous Rheims Cathedral which had wonderful, stained-glass windows which depicts the process of making wine. Over the centuries, many French kings had their coronations in this amazing Gothic cathedral.

At the hotel in Paris I stepped on an elevator, and the young man running the elevator spoke to me in French. I didn’t have a clue what he was saying, but his voice was melodious. After hearing the harsh German dialect for so long, I fell in love instantly.

We went to the Louvre, where I was disappointed in the Mona Lisa. I think I expected it to be larger than life, and I was surprised to find it was a 30” X 20” portrait much like one would get from a professional photographer today. Di Vinci did regain my respect when we went to Italy. Originally a palace along the banks of the Seine River, the Louvre has been a museum since the French Revolution. The Louvre has a wonderful Egyptian collection, and the ancient Greece section with the Venus de Milo is exceptional.

We walked through Tuileries Park which begins at the Louvre and runs along the Seine to Concorde Square. It stretches straight down the Champs-Élyśees to the Arc de Triomphe. This is Paris at its best. The Parisian architecture of grand buildings, wonderful homes and apartments, all of which have been carefully preserved over the years, give Paris a presence that can’t be found in any other city.

Paris is called the “City of Lights” and at night the wide boulevards, bridges, monuments and the Eiffel Tower all glow and shimmer in the street lights and spot lights. Another favorite of mine was the beautifully decorated Galeries Lafayette department store. It is massive. It has so many salons, departments and restaurants, it could take all day to explore.

Along the Champs-Élyśees, we went into the perfume stores and then to the candy and chocolate shops. In the French candy stores, you first select a beautifully trimmed, decorative candy box. Then you select piece-by-piece, the fabulous chocolates which are done with an artistic flair only the French can do.

Strolling down the Champs-Élyśees to the Arc de Triomphe traffic circle and over on Avenue de Wagram, I found a kosher delicatessen quite by accident. When I walked in the deli, I could smell the garlic and dill from the kosher pickles. It was the kind of shop that has your mouth-watering the minute you walk in the door. We ate lunch there, and on the next evening we picked up food to take back to the hotel for dinner.

In Montmarté, we went to the Sacre Coeur Basilica which looks like a delectable, white French pastry perched on the highest hill in Paris. We saw the Montmartre windmill which has inspired many famous and unknown artists. At the bottom of the hill we walked the street where the street artists sketch and sell their artwork to the throng of tourists.

We wanted to see the famous cabaret the Moulin Rouge which is the home of the famous dance, the Can-Can, but it was for adults only. We had a quick tour of the well known Pigalle Place. Like Amsterdam’s Red Light District, Paris’ Pigalle Place is the home of all that’s X-rated: peep shows, sex shops, prostitution and strip clubs.

Paris was all about food even when I didn’t order it. We walked a lot and it was a very warm day. We stopped at a typical sidewalk café to get a cold drink. The waiter approached us, and I confidently said with my Texas accent, “Cinq, Cokes Monsieur.”

It seemed forever before he came back and dropped five grilled ham and cheese sandwiches in front of us. Trying to explain to him that I didn’t want sandwiches that we wanted Coca Colas became an ordeal. Irate, he finally showed me on the menu, Coque Monsieur. I realized I had indeed ordered grilled ham and cheese sandwiches. When you piss-off a French waiter, they will always win. His French didn’t seem as lovely as the elevator operator’s French.

Versailles really lived up to its reputation. The chateaus and the gardens at Versailles are the finest collections of 17th century French art in existence. King Louis XIII’s former hunting lodge was transformed and enlarged by his son Louis XIV, who installed his court and government there. The palace was embellished with new apartments during the 18th century in the reigns of Louis XV and Louis XVI. The royal family and the court were forced to leave Versailles after the French Revolution.

Marie Antoinette had a hamlet built as a private, summer home in the midst of the phenomenal, formal gardens. It was an unexpected jewel for me. At the palace we toured the fabulous Royal Apartments, the Marble Court, the Hall of Mirrors and the Queen’s apartments, all of which attest to the decadence and to the glorious art of the era. The history of the Kings and Napoleon in this wonderful setting made it possible to visualize the elite’s lifestyle in the 1700s.

Mother and Jay decide to come to Fulda before they married. Ruth had passed away, and Jay still lived in the apartment above Mother. Lee’s oldest son, Mike, from his first marriage was stationed in Germany. He agreed to come to Fulda by train to see his grandmother. He had a several hour lay-over in Wiesbaden. Since Wiesbaden was only an hour drive away, we drove there to pick him up at the bahnhof (train station). Mother had not seen Mike since he was 14-years-old, and she was concerned about recognizing him. We were standing on the platform at the train station when a blond, young man jumped off the train. It didn’t take us long to see that he had the distinctive stride of his Dad.

We toured Fulda and the surrounding area. I asked John Sherman for permission to take them to the border. On an Easter morning we were put in a military sedan for the drive to the border, and our tour guide was a sergeant whose wife was a friend of mine. When we neared the border and passed the Verboten (Forbidden) signs at the one-kilometer zone, I sensed Mother was anxious. At the border there is the wire fence, but there was also a wide, deep trench which was engineered to keep vehicles and tanks from crashing out. Along with a second, inner fence line were rows of observation towers, minefields and tank traps.

As we wound our way along the eerie-quite border and neared the first tower, an East German soldier who was carrying a high-powered rifle got on a motorcycle. The soldier began to keep pace with us. Mother was terrified as the two military vehicles rolled along in unison. I kept reassuring her, and finally the sergeant told her that we had our own guns.

We passed the towers which were on the East German side and were manned 24 hours a day. Each tower overlooked the next tower. If the soldiers on tower duty tried to make a run for the border, they would be shot down. The East German soldiers were rotated on tower watch in order to keep them from getting buddy-buddy and helping each other to escape.

Shortly, we arrived at a remote outpost for our military, where we went up to a platform which overlooked the valley and a small, typical village in East Germany. The village was completely automated to look like people lived there. Lights would come on at night, and the milkman would come in the morning. It was a village devoid of villagers. The fake village was a listening post for the East Germans to track the movement of the US military. Unnerved, Mother never appreciated the unique bonus of being the rare, American female who actually went to the border.

Larry, Rob and I next went to Spain. We invited Pete to come with us for Robin to have someone his own age along. I found a reasonably priced condo in Tossa de Mar for the week. Riding through the south of France, I was struck by the beauty of the rolling plains. It was what I had imaged Spain would look like. I saw red-tiled roofs and large haciendas on sun-bleached, rippling plains. I could have easily been on South Texas’ coastal plains.

Tossa de Mar is 60 miles north of Barcelona on the Coasta Brava. It was a medieval village with cobbled streets and a magnificent, ancient castle. Stacked above the beach is the lush, mountainous area where we found our condo. We let the boys rent mopeds as to climb the hill back and forth to town was rough. I thought they were old enough to have their own adventures. We would eat breakfast at the condo and would spend the day wandering and relaxing. Tossa de Mar was not the typical, tourist beach town, it was very much an ancient village.

I couldn’t adjust my appetite to the Spanish dining hours. We rushed to town to have lunch as everything was closed from 2 to 6 o’clock. The restaurants began serving dinner at 9 pm. I was always hungry at the wrong time, usually during siesta.

We took the boys to dinner at a lovely restaurant which was on the Mediterranean Sea. When I saw the Mediterranean Sea, I was amazed at how uniquely clear and blue the water was. Accustomed to the brackish Gulf of Mexico, the Mediterranean blew me away.

At the restaurant, Larry talked the boys into ordering lagnostino, a shellfish. The waiter came with a copper chaffing dish and prepared the meal in front of us. He plated the rice pilaf, and next he placed the lagnostino still in their shells on top of the rice. The waiter presented the first plate to Pete. Pete patiently waited for Rob’s portion to be served. When both boys had their plates in front of them, Pete looked up and very seriously said, “You know, I think I got all the ugly ones.”

I wanted to go to Montserrat to see the Black Madonna. There was a tour bus leaving from the next village. I caught a taxi, and the driver flew over the mountain at a break-neck speed. I was early for the tour. When we got to Montserrat, I was surprised to see a mountain of barren rock with almost nothing growing on it. Near the top of the 4,000-foot mountain is a monastery which is home to about 80 monks. Next to the monastery is the basilica where the famed statue is kept. The small, wooden statue is of a seated Black Virgin with a baby Jesus on her lap. Her dark color is due to changes in the varnish with the passage of time.

We spent a day in Barcelona and went to the Barcelona Cathedral. During the Roman Empire, the first basilica was built in the 300s AD. Over the centuries, the Barcelona Cathedral has evolved. Of all the Gothic buildings I saw in Europe, this was the finest.

I thought the women of Barcelona were exceptionally gorgeous. With their sleek and shiny, black hair they were so chic and beautifully groomed. We went shopping in one of the large department stores, where I bought the fabric fan that is always on my coffee table. We went to the old port and saw replicas of the ships of Columbus, the Nina, the Pinta and the Santa Maria. We walked through the La Ramba area where the locals shop on a crowded, pedestrian mall of several blocks. There were hundreds of caged canaries for sale. It was not your typical open-air market.

Germany and Beyond

On my 23rd birthday, the family threw a party for me. Straddling my hip as they sang, Happy Birthday, Rob chimed in, singing out, “Happy Birth-too.” Repeatedly, we would light the candles on the cake to encourage him to sing and blow out the candles. Tootsie asked if they could keep Robin on a Sunday afternoon, and I dropped him off at their house. When I returned hours later, they had never changed his diaper – neither knew how.

Preparing to go to Germany, I got our passport picture, and I sent it to the Army as requested. The Army insisted that small children be on the mother’s passport, and that they process it. Just before Rob’s second birthday, we left Houston. At the airport, both Mother and Tootsie were distraught over losing the baby. With his grandmothers sobbing, Robin was upset as we walked across the tarmac to the airplane. I carried Robin up the boarding stairs while he waved to his grandmothers. As we reached the top step, the plane’s engines roared to life.

The flight attendant reached out for him, and he started screaming, “I want off!” He cried all the way to Washington, D.C. where we changed planes.

Arriving at McGuire Air Force Base, New Jersey, I checked in for our flight to Germany. The terminal was packed. A young airman informed me that my passport wasn’t available, and I would need to wait. After an hour, I went back up to the counter and sat my cranky child on top of it. Asking the status of my passport, I was again blown-off. Telling the airman that I was standing there until my passport was found, I pinched Rob’s chubby leg. Naturally, Robin started crying and screaming. The airman was getting edgy. An Air Force sergeant was walking by and couldn’t ignore a crying toddler. He suddenly remembered seeing Rob on our passport picture. He found our passport on the desk of an airman who was on leave. Finally, we embarked and headed for Frankfurt, Germany. Larry picked us up in his brand-new, two-seater, MG B convertible. Bitten by the racing bug, he had joined an auto racing club on post.

We lived in government housing in Hanau, Germany, and Larry was assigned to the Finance Department at Pioneer Kaserne. Kasernes are small, military posts dating from Hitler’s regime and have been occupied by the American military since 1945. Hanau was the home of the Grimm Brothers, and many, ancient sections still look as if they were part of the original Grimm’s fairy tales. In the early hours of March 19, 1945, Hanau was violently shattered by a massive, allied air strike. Nearly 85 percent of Hanau was destroyed, and it seemed the city had suffered a mortal blow. Brick by brick and with copious help from the US military, Hanau was rebuilt. The street outside Pioneer Kaserne was referred to Hookerstrasse, where some Kraut sisters were selling it on the street.

When I first arrived in Germany, Larry explained the monetary system to me. It seemed simple enough – four Deutsche marks were equal to one American dollar. He drove me to the main department store downtown and dropped me off, telling me he would pick me up in two hours. Busy wandering around the store I didn’t buy much that day, but I learned fast how to navigate the money and language enough to venture out on my own.

The government housing was built by the German Army in the late 1930s. The high buildings had three floors of apartments, full length basements where we washed and dried our laundry, and temporary apartments in the attic. The buildings were separated into three stairwells with six apartments in each section. With eighteen stacked neighbors, it was virtually impossible not to know everyone’s business. Each apartment had a balcony where we sat outside, if it were ever sunny. Sunshine was a precious commodity in Hanau, the eternal, winter-looking skies were overcast 85 percent of the time. Whenever the temperature neared 80 degrees, most of Hanau shut down and went to the outdoor pool. The pool made waves and on sunny days, it was so crowded, one could barely see the waves.

The family housing area was next to the Dunlop Rubber Company which made tires and other rubber products. The wind would deliver a smelly, black haze which hung over the housing and in particular my wash on a daily basis. Next to our living area was a campground, primarily habituated by Gypsy travelers. Another reason to dry my wash in the basement, they stole from us. With very limited Commissary and PX facilities, I purchased fresh vegetables from a vendor who came to the housing facility twice weekly. The vegetable man also sold candy. When he beeped his horn, the children emptied the building in a flash. The German beer company delivered twice a week, picking up empty bottles and replenishing beer and soft drinks by the cases. German beer bottles still had the signature ceramic caps, the original flip-top stoppers. Once a month, I packed up Rob and an ice chest and drove up to a small, mountain village to buy meat. Knowing the butcher shop received fresh meat on Monday, I would show up on Tuesday.

We watched German television, and I loved the fact they didn’t interrupt shows with advertisements. They air commercials in 15 minutes blocks between shows. To watch television in English, we watched the Armed Forces Network (AFN) which was produced by the military. On June 5, 1968, while feeding Rob breakfast, I was watching the morning news. The show was interrupted by special coverage on the death of Robert Kennedy in Los Angeles. Shortly after midnight, Kennedy was brutally assassinated in a hotel kitchen after giving a speech. It struck me that everyone I knew at home were asleep and wouldn’t be aware of this tragedy for hours. In July, 1969, we anxiously waited for the moon landing, and we watched Neil Armstrong’s first walk on the moon. We watched the moon walk on German television and flipped back to the AFN channel to catch it in English.

Frequently, I loaded up Robin, and we would tour every castle, summer palace, museum and cathedral in a 50 mile radius. He took many an afternoon nap, while I was in route to a castle. The autobahns (highway) don’t have speed limits, and they are built for high-speed. Leaving after lunch, we could tour an ancient castle and be back in time for dinner if we didn’t get slowed down by a honey wagon. On the small farm roads, the farmers drove horse-drawn wagons that were piled with cow manure for the fields. The wagons were covered with a tarp. The offensive odor announced itself, miles before you caught up with it. With its cargo stacked high, the bulky, crawling dray was difficult to pass.

Larry raced the MG in the touring-sedan-class at local, sanctioned events and racing tracks. Needing to have a special deferential installed every time he raced, he found an auto mechanic in a nearby village. A typical, Germanic blond with stern features, the mechanic, Wolfgang was extremely tall, at least 6′ 6”. On the rare occasion, when Wolfgang smiled, he was the sexiest man I had ever seen. Larry had Wolfgang install a safety roll-bar and special seats with double over-both-shoulders harnesses in the car. He was overly concerned about his safety, but never thought twice about Rob sitting on the back ledge. I finally talked him into installing a lap belt in the back.

The racing club members attended road rallies, where I rode with Larry as the navigator. I had to navigate as Larry had zero sense-of-direction. He wouldn’t let me drive the MG until I could go into left-hand curve at 70 miles-per-hour, speed-shift down and once hitting the apex, exit the curve at 70 miles-per-hour. Then, he decided I would have to spin the car, three times, on wet cobblestone at 45 miles-an-hour and finish, facing the right direction. Once I mastered that feat, he didn’t find another excuse to prevent me from driving the car.

We traveled to every possible event on the Grand Prix racing circuit, we could manage. Our racing club would set up a small, tent city on the campgrounds adjacent to the bigger tracks. Circling our tents the like Old West wagon trains, we camped at Nurburgring for the German Grand Prix. Many of the Formula One teams’ pit crews would hang out with us because we had American food, booze and cigarettes. When the Italian team arrived, the party really started. Graham Hill, from England, was a World Champion driver and his team was very accessible and friendly. In the pit, his crew put Rob in the Formula One car. I took pictures of him wearing a hat signed by Graham Hill. Unlike the never-ending, left-turning, NASCAR tracks, Grand Prix tracks vary from six to nine miles, with hair-pin curves and treacherous, high speed cornering. The sport involves more than just speed, it requires skill, agility and nerve.

Formula One racing is an international sport. In circuit racing when a driver goes to the winner’s circle, his country’s national anthem is played during the ceremony. At the race in Belgium, the Mexican racing team won, and the track officials were unable to find the Mexican national anthem recording. In a scramble to provide music, La Cucaracha blared from the speakers. Only the Americans thought it was hilarious.

We went to Spa, Belgium for the Belgian Grand Prix. Near the track, we stayed in a small hotel where the Italian team had already checked-in. Happy to see us again, the Italian team offered to drive me in the pace car around the track that evening. Lapping the track in a Ferrari is almost indescribable – the speed, the noise, the hot smell of Castrol and the phenomenal thrill are still with me. Our treating the Italians to a bottle of whiskey at Nurburgring really paid off. We were sitting in the grandstand, on the day of the race and just as the field of cars roared past me, one racer clipped another car. The second car spun and careened until it slammed into the wall just beyond the grandstand. Unfolding in slow motion, I watched each, individual piece of the wreckage fly from the race car, momentarily suspended in mid-air until it came crashing down to the track. Mesmerized, I realized the whole scene had occurred in under nine or ten seconds.

In route to Belgium, we visited the tiny Grand Duchy of Luxembourg. Surrounded by Belgium, Germany and France, landlocked Luxembourg was the most European of all the many countries we visited. In Luxembourg City, street artists would re-create in pastel chalk famous paintings on the city sidewalks. Their realistic renderings were absolutely breathtaking, and I couldn’t believe their wonderful art would be left to the elements.

While in Luxembourg, the club visited, en masse, the American Military Cemetery and Memorial. Being in the military, the guys wanted to visit the grave site of General George S. Patton. Patton was buried there, after being killed in a wreck when his car’s driver smashed into a 2 ½ ton Army truck in Germany. The chapel and memorial sit in a wooded area with the graves of our military gently, sloping down the hillside. Many of the graves are for soldiers who lost their lives in the “Battle of the Bulge.” The “ Battle of the Bulge” was fought across Belgium and Luxembourg with General Patton’s armies merging victorious against 250,000 German soldiers. Leaving, I couldn’t help noticing the much larger cemetery across from the American cemetery – it was for the German Army.

We spent a day in Amsterdam before going to Zandvoort in northern Holland to attend the Dutch Grand Prix. Zandvoort is a beach town on the North Sea, and the race track is next to the beach. It was June, but the relentless winds made it feel like it was the dead of winter. On the morning of the race, it was windy and raw. I decided to keep my sleeping bag handy. From my perch on the sand dunes at the track, I watched young women in bikinis, sun-bathing on the beach below. The healthy, endowed Dutch girls frolicked on the beach as if it were a 90 degree day. I watched, sitting in a folding, lawn chair, shivering in a sleeping bag with blowing sand stinging my face. When we returned to Germany, we stopped in Rotterdam and the The Hague to visit the NATO headquarters

We drove to Hockenheim to see Jimmy Clark, a Scotsman, who had twice been the Formula One World Champion. The Formula 2 race had a sold-out crowd. Sitting next to me was a very large, German man wearing a cashmere coat who kept creeping into my space. When the track announced there had been a wreck on the back lap of the track, I waited pensively until an ambulance came slowly around the track. With no sirens or urgency on their part, I knew the news would not be good. On a cold, sunny April 7th in 1968, Jim Clark’s life tragically ended in a crash on a secondary track.

The post newsletter ran a request for Girl Scout leaders for several weeks. I decided to respond, and I ended up with a scout troop. We had our meetings at the Teen Center which was in the family housing area. Before long, I had the girls planning a trip to London. We asked two other girl scout troops to join our effort. After months of bake sales, used book sales, babysitting jobs and my begging the Army for help, we left for England. Several of their mothers went with us as chaperons.

Our tour bus boarded an extremely, large ferry in Calais, France. I went aft to watch the crew bring cars and buses onto the ship. When a train was put onboard, the ship actually sunk and settled a foot in the water. I was fine crossing the English Channel, but on our way home I was seasick and desperate to get home.  Arriving in England, we saw the famed, white cliffs of Dover.

In London, we stayed at a small hotel which was the former home of J. M. Barrie, the author of Peter Pan. As we were checking-in to the hotel, I mentioned to the desk clerk that I would need a wake-up call for the following morning. Finally everyone’s rooms were assigned, keys issued and instructions on when to meet next were given.

I was gathering my belongings, when the desk clerk asked me, “Madam, at what time would you like to be knocked up?”

“Excuse me?” was all I could stammer. Realizing his slang didn’t register on my American ears, he rephrased, “What time shall we rap on your door to wake you?”

It was April with unusually beautiful weather for London. Twiggy was the latest craze, and Carnaby Street was the in spot for fashion. The Soho area was a mixture of “mod” and “hippie” life styles. The mini skirts were extremely mini, and a bus load of 13-and-14-year-old girls scream at the smallest thing.

We went to Buckingham Palace to see the changing of the guard. The huge crowd made it difficult for the younger girls to take pictures. Someone hoisted me up to the base of a statue, where I would snap photos for one girl and then for the next one.

As I handed down the last camera, a Bobby strolled over to the statue and looking up at me, he said, “It is not permitted to stand on statues.” Looking down, I suddenly realized how high I had climbed.

Seeing the concern on my face, the Bobby said to me, “Jump Luv, I’ll catch you.” I jumped – he caught me, and a bus load of teenage girls fell in love with him.

Back on the bus, I did a second head count as I realized I had two missing girls. Their mothers were on board as chaperons, and they had not noticed their own children were missing. We were on our way to Madame Tussuad’s Wax Museum. Once we unloaded the group, the bus driver and I returned and rounded up our wayward, frightened girls. I realized I would have to chaperon the chaperons.

We went to Hampton Court Palace which is on the River Thames, outside of London. Hampton Court was a primary residence of Henry VIII. He invented or took credit for tennis. He commissioned the Royal Tennis Court in 1528. An avid player, he played often on the indoor court. In 1907, Lord Baden-Powell invented scouting, and his widow was living in a small apartment in the palace. The tour guide stated that it was common practice to allow retired or widowed, civil servants to live on royal property.

The formal palace gardens were delightful, but my main memory is of a field next to the palace. Over the centuries, daffodils growing wild had multiplied until the meadow was peopled with yellow, fluttering, nodding heads as far as I could see. It is a once-a-year event, and I was fortunate to be there at the right time.

When we left Hampton Court, we toured the countryside on the way to the Canterbury Cathedral. The cathedral is the Mother Church of the Church of England and made famous by Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. It is the story of Archbishop Thomas Becket, who was murdered in the cathedral in 1170. The town of Canterbury surrounds the cathedral, and we allowed everyone to go shopping. In the main chapel, a youth symphony was rehearsing for a concert they were to give that evening. The young musicians played beautifully and the acoustics in the chapel were absolutely phenomenal. I decided to remain. For over an hour, I sat in a 1400-year-old building listening to classical music.

The girl scouts were excited, yet spooked, about touring the Tower of London. The Towers were once a prison and it is where the Royal Crown Jewels are kept under guard. Dressed in their signature, red uniforms which were designed in 1509, the guards are commonly called “Beefeaters.” Over the last 1000 years, the Tower of London has served as a Royal Palace, a fortress, a prison, a place of execution, an arsenal, the Royal Mint and the jewel house for the Queen’s jewels.

Earlier that year, Larry, Rob and I went by train on a tour to Vienna, Austria. We slept on the train on the overnight trip. In Vienna on our afternoon breaks, we went to the coffee shops where I discovered Viennese pastries. The mouth-watering pastries were unbelievable, and éclairs and Napoleons are still my favorites.

We toured most of Vienna, and I found the Schonbrunn Palace’s beauty, staggering. With 1400-plus rooms, the summer home of Empress Maria Theresa has magnificent Rococo decor and lavish formal gardens. In the palace there was an exquisite room with walls made of Dresden china. The history of how it was saved during the WWII fascinated me. We spent a morning in a 1800s white riding hall, the Spanish Riding School, watching the riders and their Lipizzan horses train.

The hotel manager found a babysitter for Rob, and we went out on the town to experience “new wine.” Our Austrian tour guide warned us several times that the light, delicate wine had an extraordinary kick. She recommended everyone have only two glasses at the most. After midnight, our drunken, tour group ended up in a strip club. On the stage sat a bed and a night table with a picture of a soldier on it. The dancer came on stage in a sheer, blue negligee. She held the soldier’s photograph to her bosom. Although I couldn’t understand her Austrian lament to her lost love, I began to get tickled. Very somber music was playing low. As the sound began to crest, I realized she was performing her strip tease to the Battle Hymn of the Republic. Marching around the table, I was saluting when we were thrown out of the club.

On our last morning in Vienna, we went to the bakery and bought pastries to take back to my neighbors. As we got closer to Germany, it began to snow. The snow began to come down hard, and the train began to move at a snail’s pace. The train stopped, and we had to wait for snow plows to clear the track. As we waited, we began to eat the pastries. After an extra ten hours, we got home – sans our neighbors’ pastries.

I got the news that Daddy had colon cancer and needed surgery. Taking Robin with me, we flew out of Frankfort and had a six-hour lay-over in Amsterdam. The airport had moving sidewalks which were the first I had ever seen. Rob and I rode on the sidewalks all afternoon. We caught a direct flight through Montreal and on to Houston.

Since I was accustomed to a different time schedule, it was decided that I would stay in the hospital at night with Dad. Rob would be able to stay at home with Mother at night. On the second night after Daddy’s surgery, Van’s father died. He and Margaret left for Nashville to help his mother.

Dad’s surgeon came into his room and asked when Mother would be there. I informed him that she didn’t handle adversity well. With Margaret in Nashville, I was it. When the doctor left the room, I stepped outside the door and stopped him. I asked if the pathology reports had returned, and he sadly advised me that the cancer was advanced and the prognosis was not good. Knowing I needed to go back in the room with Dad, I made an effort to calm myself. I waited for 30 long minutes, and I made an excuse to Daddy in order to leave the room. I found a pay phone and called Margaret. I don’t know if we ever gave Mother the full details. To help Mother with getting Dad settled and cared for, I stayed in Houston for a month.

Ron was a Marine and stationed in Vietnam. He was granted a hardship discharge and came home to be with Dad. He met Dana, through Mother at the store, and they married as Dad was anxious to see him married with a family before he died. Ron and Dana married after we returned from Germany. At their wedding in St. Marks Episcopal Church, we were waiting for the bride’s entrance. A large, gold cross hanging behind the altar caught Robin’s attention. Popping up, he shouted, “Look Mom at the huge plus sign.”