Mom and Dad had spent most of the first 6 or so years they knew each other apart. I do not think that Mom was able to see him get commissioned, which now a-days would be a rare thing. My Dad's duty as an anti-black market officer in Germany, and later as the commander of a rescue boat squadron in Marseille, France, kept him in Europe, and Mom stayed in Canada. Why? Why not be together during these early days, months, and years? Well, try to imagine what it was like in just-post war torn Europe. Huge numbers of young men had been sacrificed to the war, and so rebuilding was slowed and that included rebuilding the whole food and other goods making infrastructure. Many civilians had died taking valuable skills with them. So life for a civilian, even married to an American serviceman, would have been hard. Also, once Dad was sent to France, how safe would Mom have been being with him in a country that lost their part of the war as badly as they did to the Germans? When Guderian, Rommel, and the rest of the Panzer generals utterly crushed the French armies within weeks of the start of the Western Campaign it was bad enough, but years under the thumb of the political generals and despicable Nazi rule certainly left some unfortunate but understandable bad blood towards anything German. I can only imagine how much my parents missed being together, but both would have known that it was not safe for Mom to be there at that time.
I only heard anything about Dad's time as an anti-black market officer (and the duty title is almost certainly wrong) from my Cousin Georg Bayer, once in the mid-90's when I spent a wonderful weekend with the family in Southern Germany and we spent a fantastic few hours sitting in his and Angelika's well kept apartment drinking good German beer and talking of things past, present, and future. How I wish to be able to do that now, under these trying times, Cousin and Friend. But that will have to wait until God allows us to meet again. Someday I will tell you how much the Bayers mean to me, to our whole family, but for now those tales must wait. Dad was very good at his job, at stopping profiteering and black marketeering that would have been significant at undercutting the rebuilding of Europe. Georg told me that he was known as the "Black Devil" by those who were trying to profit through the black market. They feared him. I can only imagine, with pride, how they would react when he would come into a room to "discuss" their illegal activities. His very broad shoulders squared, the Apache face betraying no hint that he had ever learned how to smile, menace written in the cold, hard look. Yes, that would bring fear to someone who knew they had done wrong. According to Georg, he was very good at his job. I believe it was during this time that his interest in opera, perhaps in classical music itself, was sparked, and knowing that he had a good voice he went to a voice teacher to see if he had a future in singing great music. The teacher was impressed, said that with work he could sing as well as one of the stars of opera, who we later had a record of. Unfortunately, whether due to lack of time, or money, Dad never developed his talent, but he did have a fine voice. Perhaps he should have followed that dream, but we can never know the "what ifs".
I heard bits and pieces from Dad himself about his time in France. Mom also spoke of his time there, and I gathered that this assignment was much more pleasant than the previous one. I think at this time he had been recently commissioned. He was on a train, a new Lieutenant, and a fairly senior Sergeant came through looking for a seat. Not used to sitting while senior sergeants stood, he rose and offered his seat to the NCO, who declined since it would be unseemly to be sitting while an officer stood. Dad, still not used to his new status, said "Its OK Sarge, I'm only a Lieutenant". He commanded, as he said "one of the largest fleets in the Mediterranean" at Marseille. His fleet was a group of crash boats for use when the aircraft that we had stationed in France after the war, and perhaps while France was still in NATO the first time, would go down at sea. He enjoyed himself in this pleasant French city. Stories from that time: He was once enjoying a coffee on the patio of a restaurant and a man approached, informing him that "Madam Countess would like the pleasure of your company." He went over and the countess, an elderly lady, and him spent a pleasant afternoon talking. He joined a local Chess Club, and became fairly good at the game. Once he was in the city and someone needed help with a phone call. Dad ended up helping to translate between French, which he was learning, and Italian, which one of the other people knew through use of his German and English with one of the operators.
I never heard if there was another tour before Dad was reassigned to the US. I believe that after France he came home. It was either then, or before his tour in Germany that he had an assignment to be a fighter pilot. Unfortunately, due to the malaria and other diseases that he had suffered through in WW II he washed out, possibly because of the hot weather at pilot training. Another what if. If he had made it through and become one of the golden boys in the new USAF, what if? Perhaps he would have gone on to be famous, an Ace in Korea. Or perhaps he would have died when one of the new jets crashed. In any event, at some point he and Mom were reunited and they ended up at Walker AFB with Dad a bombardier flying one of the most awe inspiring aircraft ever made, the B-36. Oh yes, Walker AFB is near Roswell, NM.
While there they had a daughter, whose name was Anne. I never heard what happened except that she died when she was about one and a half years old. Very sad for Mom and Dad, who had already suffered so much and were now hurt by this. But they were tough, strong, and carried on. Soon enough Mom was with child again, only this time it was twins. Of course this could not be allowed to progress normally either. My brother and I were conjoined. I was attached to him at my knees and the outer areas of my middle thighs, and I had the only functioning (or perhaps the only existing) heart between the two of us. While I do not know this, I believe my brother was doomed, that there was no way he could have survived being born. So another heartbreak for my parents, and a bit of wistfulness for me every once in a while when I wonder about him. About a month before my brother and I were supposed to be born we apparently tore lose from each other in the womb, and this likely killed him and triggered a miscarriage which of course pushed me into the world before I was ready. Naturally I cannot remember this happening, which is good since there must have been a lot of pain and confusion. Mom, or Dad, told me that I was the strong one, the one who had to fight to even survive before being born. The scars from where we were attached show this to be true, though I would have gladly had a brother.
To be continued ...
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