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.