DARMSTADT DAYS (Final Episode)

So many glorious and interesting days passed us by in Germany. We did our share of traveling, took lots of pictures and got lots of trinkets. The cookoo clocks, the shadow boxes, the beer steins, and figurine nutcrackers, came in all sorts of varieties. These were attractive and made to attract tourist money, but the thing I remember most was the German food.

I'm not fond of sauerkraut and wieners, and you can keep the German beers, but I really loved the Jaeger schnitzels. A Jaeger is a hunter and schnitzel is breaded pork, veal or chicken, usually pan fried and often with gravy. It is served with various side orders and often brought to your table in the frying pan, which may be transferred to your plate. That was just one of the many items on the menu. There are many German restaurants dotting the towns and we even had our own German dining facility on base. All of them were guaranteed to expand your waist line.

On one particular evening, when I had just arrived home from work and my wife was at her two nights a week evening job, I decided to take our five kids out to get some dinner. We had tried all sorts of German food and never eaten anything from the small restaurant near our German duplex that we didn't enjoy. How about a take home pizza? Big mistake. Germans are not Italians. An obvious fact but one I had to learn the hard way. We walked the short distance to our neighborhood German restaurant, ordered our pizza supreme and waited. It was 6PM. This is going to be fun, I thought. The kids and I were hungry and we would walk home with our pizza, partake, visit and hit the sack. Just a nice evening with the kids...wrong!

Two hours later, the pizza was rudely brought to us. Germans don't do take out. If you won't eat their food in their restaurant then you are considered rude and should therefore be treated rudely. It was just one of those etiquette things we had to learn. When we got home very hungry, we opened the pizza box and were shocked at what we found. The pizza dough was not cooked enough, it was covered with green olives and anchovies, despite what I had ordered. On top of the pizza were four, almost raw fried eggs, sunny side up. We tasted it but could not eat it. Had we been in the States, we would have never waited that long and have gotten our money back, but this was not the States or even Italy. The pizza went in the garbage; we ate peanut butter sandwiches and went to bed. If the pizza had been superb, we probably would have forgotten the whole incident, but since it was just the opposite, I shall always remember it.

After three years, the time finally came for us to rotate back to the States, not only to leave Germany but also for me to retire from the Air Force. It was December of 1985 and one of the worst blizzards I had ever seen. It was absolutely miserable outside and we had been packing boxes and moving furniture all week. We were all exhausted, suffered from lack of sleep and too physically rundown to even eat. Our oldest son and I were moving a large German shrunk closet by taking it apart piece by piece. It was about midnight. Heavy snow was falling outside. I had my GI steel toed boots on so that when we disconnected furniture parts, our son could kick the piece over toward me, I would catch it on my reinforced steel toe boot and then drop it to the floor. Their were several to take apart and we had been doing it most of the evening. We only had one more to disassemble. Kick, catch, drop. Kick, catch, drop. Over and over we did it.

My wife, Jean, had been packing boxes and had finally finished. I realized we were missing a tool and went to the tool box to retrieve it. Meanwhile, Jean came over to help with the last disassembly. Our, son, Scott, was on the other side of the closet. Jean was barefoot. "Are you ready?" Scott asked. "Go," Jean said. Scott kicked and 30 pounds of heavy wood came down on Jean's big toe. She screamed terribly. It hurt really bad. Scott and I felt horrible about it but the damage was done. At two AM, we were laying on the floor on a make shift bed because our furniture was all disassembled for the movers, arriving early the next day. The pain was so bad that Jean could not bear it any longer. "Take me to the hospital emergency room." she ordered. It was 15 miles away, at two AM in a blizzard. We almost wrecked several times just trying to get there.

We waited two hours at the emergency room and when we finally saw the doc, he said that there was nothing he could do for a smashed toe. He recommended aspirin and sent us back into the blizzard. We arrived home about 5AM. The movers arrived at about 5:30 AM. Moving days are wonderful. A few days later, we moved into the base hotel temporary quarters and then left Germany. Our European adventure had come to an end but our memory of Darmstadt Days lived on.

DARMSTADT DAYS (Part Three)

Our LDS Ward in Darmstadt was a joy. Our bishop was a cargo aircraft pilot. He was a very kind, personable man, the sort of man that you immediately like within a few minutes of meeting him. He called us to positions in the ward when we were still living in the base hotel, awaiting housing assignments to Darmstadt. It doesn't really matter where you've been stationed or what state of the union you're from, when you become part of a ward, you instantly feel at home. There are members there who share your values, goals and lifestyle. You understand them and they understand you and the only real substantial differences, generally, are the details.

There was a German member of the ward, Bro. Eggers, that could speak English, had several daughters and was married to a Philippino sister. We had adopted a Philippino girl, Melony, on our previous tour of duty and so we immediately bonded. He would frequently pass out gummi candies to the children of the ward and our Melony became one of his favorite recipients. He would ooo and ahh over her to her obvious delight. Since he had been born and raised in Germany, he understood the German ways and would keep us current on what was considered proper and not proper with regard to German values. He came in very handy when we needed something interpreted or translated.

We also had a very talented man in the ward, Ray Leteer, that had served with us in Japan, in our ward there and was now serving with us in Germany, in the same ward. He spoke English, Japanese and German, all fluently. He was an Air Force interpreter had served a German mission and if that wasn't enough, he was a black belt in Karate. He and his wife Cherie and their children, were a vital part of our ward. She was very talented musically and played the piano & organ. Both he and she had beautiful voices and would frequently sing duets at sacrament meetings. He often gave basic, self defense lessons to the young women on how to defend themselves should they ever be put upon by a would be attacker or thief.

We, further, had our very own, Air Force major, LDS Chaplin. He and his wife and children lived not more than four blocks from us. I was a Seventy at the time and was the ward mission leader, serving with a Captain Mike Dalby, a gracious and unassuming man. We had the LDS full-time missionaries as a partial responsibility and the missionaries even lived with us for a while when their basement apartment flooded. Richard Wright and his family were good friends and Rick served in the bishopric. Major Don Milam, the ward clerk, and Air Force navigator and his wife were instrumental in organized tours to the Holy Land in Israel, an opportunity I missed and always regretted. Sister Maggie Drummond was a retired opera singer and also had an outstanding voice with an amazing range, singing for us at firesides and church meetings. I was privileged to be one of her home teachers while she lived in our ward. She was the secretary to Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin, who then was in the Area Presidency at Frankfurt. She often spoke of him, saying what a kind and spiritual man he was and how one day he would be called to the Twelve. We would smile politely, not knowing him ourselves and then, years later, were surprised when her prophesy came true.

Major Richard Kearsley was our stake high councilman. He was later called as our bishop. He and his wife were a lovely couple, who danced beautifully and gave impromptu lessons prior to our ward or stake dances. He had a big, windowed American van with extra seats that we would sometimes ride in, for trips to the Bern, Switzerland Temple, the closest Temple to us at the time. Most of us drove German cars because we could not afford to have our American vehicles shipped overseas. On other occasions we would rent a large bus for our temple trips and stay overnight.

This is just a sample of the good, quality people we associated with because we were members of the Church. I was a lowly Sergeant and would have had no opportunity to even meet with such people had it not been for the Gospel. These good people did not flaunt their education, or rank or financial gains. They did good for good's sake, expecting nothing in return. I met Bishop Kearsley after he and I retired in Utah and he was more than friendly and even offered me a job. I was already employed by then so I declined his offer, but it demonstrates the kind of person he was.

The Berlin Wall was still up when we were there and our family and friends would frequently go on excursions to East Berlin. We would take, what they called then, "the Freedom Train" thru East Germany and finally into West Berlin and then take the "Checkpoint Charlie" drive into East Berlin. The Freedom Train traveled straight thru East Germany, only stopping for train servicing. No one was allowed to get off or get on the train during these in between stops. At night, we would peek out the train window curtains and see several armed East German guards with guard dogs. Supposedly, they were there to keep passengers from getting off but the real reason was to keep East German soldiers from getting on. The oppression of those people during those days was suffocating.

Once thru Checkpoint Charlie, we were followed. I had to be in uniform, with no name tag, and my wife had to stay with me. The difference in outward appearance between East & West Berlin was vast. Posters, billboards, advertisements, glitter and glitz were everywhere in West Berlin. People were happy to be there. The economy was thriving. Color and cosmopolitan were watch words. East Berlin was gray; gray everywhere. No advertisements, no color, no laughter; just long lines. Long lines to buy one orange. You didn't pick out your orange. You were handed one orange and had to be satisfied with the orange you got. You left that line to go stand in the apple line or vegetable line or whatever. There was no surplus, no plenty, only thick repression.

We went into an East German restaurant. It was sparsely attended but those few people stared at us, when we ordered, when we visited, when we ate; as if they could somehow glean some bit of liberty or freedom by watching us. They did not smile, they did not frown, they only hungered to escape or at least, that's what their facial expressions seemed to say. Later, while shopping with my wife in a very plain clothing store, I was standing adjacent to a Russian soldier, also in uniform. He may have been a wonderful person, I do not know, but he wore the uniform of the nation in which we were engaged in a cold war. It was unnerving.

As we neared Checkpoint Charlie to exit, there were guard towers everywhere. Standing on them were men with binoculars, looking at us. What were they looking at? Did they hope to see a weapon? an orange? a chance at freedom? What? I felt trapped, claustrophobic, like I would never be allowed to leave. But, finally, we were permitted to go our way. I had never valued my freedom more. When the wall came down in 1989, I was more than glad, I was grateful.

DARMSTADT DAYS (Part Two)

Despite all these customs and many more not mentioned, the German people were very kind to us during our stay in their country. We were on a fixed budget and funds were scarce. Our German neighbors across the street were throwing out their couch and matching couch chair and put it out in the street for the garbage truck to pick up. We had no couch or couch chair and I knocked on their door to ask if we might have the set instead of the garbage man. It took a little body language charades to make our selves understood but when they finally figured out what we were saying, they not only said we could have the furniture but also helped us move it into our house.

Later, we purchased a VW bus from a departing American military family, who had purchased it from another military family. The first time I brought it to the German dealership to get the annual inspection done, the auto clerk showed me a history of all the things that had been fixed on that vehicle, in the years that it had been owned by different GI's. "Ja," he said, "Das ist gut genuch, a very expezive boose." (Yes, that is good enough, a very expensive bus.) After which all of his fellow German companions laughed. German law would only permit us to have our vehicles repaired at authorized dealerships and they definitely had Americans over a barrel. We paid what they asked in repairs, registration, licensing and taxes or we walked. That old VW bus took us all over Germany. One trip that really impressed me was our Rhein River Cruise. The scenery on both sides of the River as we chug -a -chugged through the water was amazing. We saw vineyards on the side of hills, that were at almost a 45 degree angle, in the slopes above, old castles used by leading countrymen of centuries past, shops & restaurants that sold curios and cuisine of rare and unusual quality.

We rented our duplex unfurnished but that word, "unfurnished," does not mean the same thing in Germany as it does in the States. For instance, an unfurnished German kitchen contains, no sink, no cabinets, no light fixtures, just a hole in the wall for the water pipes to come thru and a few 220 volt outlets for electrical use. If you have stateside appliances, you must purchase transformers to step down the current for your 110 volt machines. Transformers were very costly. If you buy German appliances that take 220 volts, what are you going to do with them when you head back Stateside?

We had to purchase a kitchen sink, a refrigerator, a stove, storage cabinets and light fixtures. As might be imagined, this was very expensive and we had to install them ourselves. It was time consuming and a little complicated, because most of the fixtures were German or Deutsch, in manufacture and were not as common to assemble as the American fixtures of which we were accustomed. Each bedroom required a "shrunk" or German put together, box closet, for hanging clothes. The two bathrooms required sinks and light fixtures. Fortunately commodes were provided.

Still, we were told that all this was just a temporary expense, for when we returned back to the States in three years, we could just sell them to whomever rented the place after we left. How could we know that the person we turned over the rental to would have a German wife, with her own fixtures and so forth and that she would want us to uninstall everything so that she could put her things where she wanted. Three years later, we gave away almost all the expenses we incurred in moving in because, by the time we found out about the new renters, it was too late to sell any thing. Sigh!

Once we got settled in, we began to establish a routine for living in our new area. The kids went on base to Department of Defense (DOD) schools, (where fights on the bus and poor instruction were not uncommon). I assumed my role as an aircraft maintenance instructor and Jean stayed mostly at home, except for two nights a week. On those two nights, she worked from 6PM till midnight, stocking shelves at the base commissary. She used the money she earned from that job to fund shopping and sightseeing trips to places all over Europe. Sometimes I went along but mostly she took our kids or friends or relatives that visited.

Our family became deeply involved in the Darmstadt Serviceman's LDS Ward and made a lot of new friends. We were starkly understaffed at work, fifteen people, trying to do the job of twenty-five, so my time off was limited. Not only that, but I was also tasked to provide training to bases at other European stations in England, Portugal and German sites. This temporary duty or TDY took me away from my family, something that I never enjoyed.

After we had been in Darmstadt about three months, I was informed by my boss that we were being reassigned to Ramstein AB, about 70 miles southwest of us. Why? We had just got settled in to our duplex and at great expense. I had just finished a six month school away from my family to qualify for my orders to Rhein Main. Why was the Air Force moving us? My boss didn't know, just something about me being needed there. I began to make inquires, via long distance phone calls, with my bosses permission, to our headquarters in Texas, as to the reason. I was told that they were transferring squadrons of OV-10 aircraft to Ramstein and they needed me to set up training there. I indicated that I had no OV-10 training, so how could I possibly train others? Besides the OV-10 was a small, two engine turboprop aircraft. All my aircraft had jet engines, my specialty, I had no turboprop experience.

No problem they said. I would be sent to Ramstein to get hands on experience with some OV-10s already there. An instructor on that base would then train me on the aircraft operation prior to his returning stateside. It would mean I would be gone TDY for at least 30 days. My family was devastated. I tried to get my orders changed, citing the expense and inconvenience to my loved ones, I wrote letters of justification to headquarters, but to no avail. Finally, there attitude was, you have your orders, now go or go to the guardhouse. My family and I were crushed emotionally, but we resigned ourselves to the new demand. What else could we do? I went to the school, was away from my family for about two weeks when I was talking to a jet engine tech friend of mine and told him my situation.

He said he didn't understand. All the OV-10s were being phased out and sent Stateside to George AFB in Victorville, California. Why was I needed at Ramstein? I wanted to know if he was sure of his information. He was not only sure but was involved in the transfer and gave me the details. I took down the information and called headquarters. By now they knew my name well, and looked at me as an agitator, not a good position to be in. I gave them the new information and they said they would check on it but doubted that I had my facts straight.

The next day they called me back and said that the OV-10s were indeed going to California. They blamed the information mix up on their higher command. I was told to leave the school, in the middle of the training and return to Rhein Main and resume my normal duties. No apologies were offered since it wasn't "their" fault. No, "excuse me," for putting myself and my family through emotional strain, and unnecessary heartache, just go back to your home base and leave us alone. If I had not met my friend at school, who knows how long I would have had to be separated from my family for nothing. This is not an unusual story and instead is very typical of the kind of mental gymnastics military life can put you through. (End of Part Two)

DARMSTADT DAYS (Part One)

We had just finished a four year assignment to Okinawa, Japan. After only three weeks stateside, on leave from the Air Force, we headed for Frankfurt, Germany. Our five kids and 17 checked pieces of luggage were quite a chore to keep track of. It was certainly a cultural shock, once we arrived. Okinawa was hot and humid, sort of like living in Corpus Christi, Texas, weather wise. Germany's weather was more like western Washington State. A lot of tall trees and plenty of soft rain, certainly a formula for breathtaking springs and summers.

Okinawa was crowded with narrow streets, box like structures, to withstand the typhoons. Germany, in contrast, had all the old world European charm. Neat, orderly, yet very cosmopolitan. We fell in love with our new environment. Our first concern was to find a home for our brood for the next three years. We could choose between military housing on Rhein Main A.B., 17 story high rise apartments in Dietzenbach or a new duplex in the middle of a local community called Darmstadt. It wasn't really a very difficult choice to make and after 45 days in the base hotel, our household goods arrived and we were at last living on Sangerbuchenweg Sechs (song book road 6) in a duplex in a suburb of Darmstadt, called Wixhausen, surrounded by German families.

Our new neighbors were thrilled with our family and they struggled with English as we struggled with German. An army military family, the Mohica's, lived in the other half of the duplex and they also had a large family of kids, were also LDS and were a joy to be around. Several other families, that we knew from other assignments, were not far away and we renewed our friendships.

Our duplex was situated near a farmer's field that led into a tree filled park and we would often ride bicycles, as a family, down the scenic path, bordered by a railroad track, more farmer's fields, country homes and, in the distance, beautiful mountains. Of all the assignments we had while in the military, this was, by far, the most beautiful place we had ever lived.

German customs took a little getting used to. Certainly, things have changed since we lived their in the 80s but I would imagine basic attitudes on these subjects have not changed much. For instance, you could walk down nature trails and admire the lovely scenery, but you had better not get off the path and go exploring on your own. To do so was considered damaging the environment and a big no no. Fines could be levied and the poletzi (police) called.

It was considered perfectly OK for prostitutes and brothels to advertise on main roads and in town or near shopping centers. The red light districts are everywhere and quite legal. Stores and gas stations sell poronography by the truck load. The German feeling was, if you don't like it, don't shop there.

Running your car engine unnecessarily was considered pollution. There was no "warming up" your engine, on a cold morning, so that your defroster could melt the ice and you would not have to scrape the windshield. You were expected to scrape the windshield off with the car shut down and then get in and drive away. If you came to a red light, you shut off your engine and then started it up when the light turned green. If you did not comply with these and other customs, not only would those Germans around you begin screaming at you, but you would could be physically restrained, vigilante fashion, until the police arrived.

In the United States, if you are doing something unusual, in public, people will stare at you, then turn away, when you look at them. In Germany, people will stare at you and if you look at them, they will keep staring at you. For instance, we went into a German restaurant with our five children and we were stared at hard. It is OK to bring your pets, dogs, cats, etc., to the restaurant but if you bring children it is considered rude, because children are noisy. Animals are better behaved. If you go to a restaurant in the States, you generally eat and get out to make room for additional customers. In Germany, you eat and stay awhile, otherwise you're being impolite. Never order corn, since that's only to feed farm animals and never order water to drink with your food. Especially do NOT order ice with your drink because that is not proper. At the very least carbonated water is OK. If you're not a pop, wine or beer drinker, carbonated fruit juices are OK. If you must have water, excuse yourself, halfway thru the meal, go into the restroom, cup your hand to the faucet and drink from that.

In the States, the pedestrian has the right of way. Watch out for school buses and children and be prepared to stop. In Germany, the driver has the right of way. Kids should be taught to watch out for traffic and if they don't, they could get run over. We had not been in Germany for even a month, when a child got out of a bus and attempted to run across the street. I was right behind the child and saw the accident before me. The child was knocked back a few feet into the road, bruised but otherwise unhurt. The driver made an obscene remark as he sped off on his way, not even bothering to check on the child's welfare.

If a German had a traffic accident with an American, it was automatically the American's fault. After all, Americans could afford it. Everyone knows all Americans have lots of money and smoke big cigars. Traffic speed limit signs were everywhere, but mostly ignored and almost never enforced. If you are driving a block and come to a stop sign, you stop at the very last minute by riding the brakes hard, if you are a typical German. Once you stop, you accelerate again, as fast and as hard as you can. After all, you've got to get wherever you're headed, in the quickest possible time.

You can set your watches at the haupt bahnhof (train station). Trains and tracks are maintained in perfect working order and schedules are tight. If the train is to arrive at 7PM, that is when it arrives, not 6:59 or 7:01 but 7:00PM exactly. Efficiency is vastly important to a good German. Train schedules and fares are posted plainly at every station. The stations are elegant, clean and orderly.

The autobahn (freeway) allows for whatever speed you like to go. 200 mph is not uncommon. kph (kilometers per hour) is the more common designator for speed. Slower traffic moves to the right lane. Fast traffic on the left. If you see a car flashing it's headlights, a mile behind you, he's signaling you to move over, cause he's coming through soon. Valves are adjusted on many fast cars, every 10,000 miles, because of the excessive speed. If weather conditions are poor and there is black ice, or rain or snow or wind or fog, no matter. Just travel as fast as you like. More than once, on the autobahn, I would come across a 40 or 50 car wreck or pileup, because Mercedes or Porches or BMW's had collided in bad weather conditions.

If you were sweeping your sidewalk and curb and your home, remember that your responsibility to sweep and clean extends from your front door to the middle of the street in front of your house. There should be no messy streets in your neighborhood if everyone does his part. All front doors lock on the outside, once the door is shut. If you're going outside to check your mail, either bring a key with you or don't shut the door, otherwise you could be locked out.

If you hire a German handy man to help you move, remember, appliance dollies are for sissies. He'll just tie a strap around himself and the appliance, put it on his back and move it where it needs to go. It's perfectly fine for him to drink lots of strong German beer when he moves the appliances and furniture because half stoned workers do better work and don't feel the hernias they create until the hang over on the next day. (End of Part One)