Perhaps the happiest time in my childhood occurred in Wernau am Neckar (Wernau on the Neckar River) about 25 miles from the great city of Stuttgart. We moved there after my Dad retired from the Air Force to be around much of my Mom's family who had settled there after World War II when the Soviets and their Tito's thug minions had forced the descendants of the Donau Schwaben off their land in the Banat region of what was then known as Yugoslavia.
Good memories. Some of the best people I have ever known, the Bayers, lived in Wernau, and many other good people and friends lived nearby. When we arrived, in 1964 I believe, all three of Onkle Hans' and Tante Leni's kids (Georg, 3 years older than me; Herbert, a few years older still, and Reinhart, who must have been a mid teen in those halcyon days) still lived in their parents house. Onkle Hans' father Onkle Sepp lived in the attic, a very comfortable fully furnished main room, bathroom, and kitchen. Onkle Sepp used to smoke hams, and every time we visited I looked forward to the treat of some smoked ham that he had cooked. Good times indeed. Also in Wernau lived Onkle Klaus and his family, and a short drive away lived Tante Suze and hers. We had more family in the nearby town of Reutlingen, and others who I do not remember except vaguely were sprinkled around the area. Mom had an older sister who lived in Vienna, Austria, who we visited a few times as well. There were a few family members and friends in Northern Germany including another Onkle Sepp and his family. Why did we move there? I am not sure but I think Dad and Mom wanted us to grow up in Germany because they felt more at ease in that country at that time. Given that Dad seldom kept in touch with any but the closest of his family in California (his brother Reyes Beltran and kids) and that his Dad had either left or died before or shortly after Dad was born and that his Mom had died while he was a POW, perhaps the sheer size of Mom's family made for a level of comfort they knew would be lacking in the US. Plus Dad had decided that he did not want to follow Indian (OK, for those who are politically correct "Native American") ways, instead choosing for us to live as "Americans" if we were in the US. Perhaps given the difference in their races this might not have seemed a good deal.
A quick aside: Thank God for Dad's great wisdom to part with the old and join with the new, because I would not have wanted to live the limited life of the reservation or the victim in the poor sections of some California city where some of his family ended up.
While Dad did not keep close contact with his family in the US, one of our cousins, Rudy, was stationed for a few years at one of the Army posts in Germany and we visited him a few times, and had him over to visit a few other times. He was always nice.
Now Mom's step parents had or would eventually move to Seattle, but I think that by that time Mom was not close to them so much so that was not a big draw. Remember that her biological Mother had died when she was a teenager, her biological Dad remarried, and than her Dad was forced to a concentration camp and left to die (with one of Mom's brothers if memory serves) by the communists after the war, and than her step mom had remarried so she had probably never been really close to these people who were now her parents in name only, though when we eventually moved to Seattle everyone was friendly. There was also a branch of the family that moved to Argentina after the war, who I possibly only know about because the people in Reutlingen hosted a great family gathering once. But more of this later.
We lived at 52 Lerchenstrasse in Wernau, an apartment building with nice people like the Zinn's ( I may be totally misspelling their name but phonetically in German this is what it sounded like). They had a kid or kids who were some of my earliest friends but sadly my memory is not great on this. My main memory is spending time there watching TV, back in the days before color TV at least in Germany, especially the show "Orion 7" which was a space exploration show that predated Star Trek by a few years and obviously had an even smaller budget than ST had. We had a little convenience store very close by that Mom and Sis and I would visit to get the daily necessities, and the old baker had a probably 1940s or 1950s era Mercedes that even back in that day I admired. One of my good memories was visiting the Mercedes Museum in Stuttgart while we lived in Wernau, and being so impressed with the cars. Even back in that day Mercedes stood for German craftsmanship and high quality, and I was certainly not alone in dreaming that one day I would own such a car. Another memory: The family was out on a day trip and a high end Mercedes, possibly the 500 or the top of the line 600, drives by in the opposite direction. I had been going to the local school long enough to call out in the Schwaebische accent "Quick Dad, go after the Mercedes" and Mom and Dad both got a laugh. We were, according to a book about our small city that was published when the town grew enough to be recognized as a city, not the only Americans, but I never met the others and they may have been South American. Need to find the book and clarify if I can.
We moved in, set up the house, and visited the Bayers a lot starting the summer after Dad retired. One day, Mom had us dress in some nicer clothes than we normally wore, took us for a walk and into the Schlossgarten Schule, or "Castle Garden School" which was the elementary school for that part of town. When we arrived at the school I was surprised to hear her speaking German and seeing the obvious respect that the staff had for her, and eventually she turned to Sis and I and told us to go with the people and behave. So off we went, and I ended up in a class full of kids I did not know with a nice teacher who I remember little else about. Over the next few weeks I started to pick up German pretty quickly, and the teacher and kids helped a lot by being nice when I made the inevitable mistakes. I started in 2nd grade, which was the same grade I had just finished at Ramstein, a fact that kind of bothered me but in retrospect a very logical choice, since I went to that school knowing next to nothing about Germany, how they taught, or German. The kids, mostly, were nice, and I developed some friendships with several of them. Of the few names I remember were the two Brigittes, and I probably remember them because my parents said "the two Brigittes" more than once, but there were others who became friends with. There was one kid that I, and a lot of others, disliked, though I cannot remember why, and Peter and I ended up having a fight during recess one day. Herr Moergenthaler, the Principal who I respect and admire to this day, arrived to break it up and I was impressed that he so quickly realized that I was in the right when he slapped Peter across the face. My interpretation of events quickly changed to one of shock and dismay when he turned, told me that there was to be no fighting at school, and slapped me as well. For anyone thinking "How horrible" or other such nonsense please stop. Not only did that settle the fight and effectively stop any future fighting but it also ended my dislike and picking on of Peter. A quick, painful but not long-term damaging slap is, in my opinion, a very effective and suitable tool to solve nonsense in school, and we as a culture have opened up a lot more problems than we have solved by not continuing to use this and other similar disciplinary measures. Other beneficial effects are the extreme embarrassment as all your fellow students observe a lesson in why they do not want to fight either. All good. I also occasionally tried to get both Brunette and Blond Briggitte's attention by pulling on their braids, though not so much that it would hurt, but the teacher never caught me and they never complained so there was no punishment for those transgressions. Finally, in this "mea culpa" of early transgressions, were the great missile and chemical debacles. First, the missiles. A friend and I decided to make missiles by bending popsicle sticks in two, pushing a pin through the center, and using rubber bands to launch the projectile. We actually launched a few of these, aiming to stick other students in the rear, and had a sort of success when my shot stuck to the heavy coat of the target, who kept walking oblivious to the fact. Heavy coats worn to counter the cold winter were a good thing to counter our missiles. Fortunately we stopped right away and no one was ever hurt by our stupidity. The chemical experiments were meant to use sneezing powder (or was it itching powder?) to annoy other students, and since neither of our parents would get us that gag product (I think I may have asked to get it only once, knowing the response to trying to push past the certainly inevitable "No" would include an inquisition about why I wanted such a powder) we tried to make our own by getting some substance that sort of had the same color and scraping some powder off of it. Of course the hoped for result never occurred, and us two mischievous kids (lausbuben in German) went back to being students, which was better for all.
Students were required to bring writing notebooks, fountain pens, glue, pencils, crayons and other school supplies, and to keep up with homework. The school week was 5 1/2 days a week, and included religion (your family chose Protestant or Catholic) instruction. Every day you took books, notebooks, and whatever supplies you needed on the walk to school. The backpack, called a "rantzen" became a close friend for those years.
I was a very good student but certainly not great. I thank my parents, teachers and a great school system for the good, and blame my own lack of pushing myself for the bad. My parents pushed education all their lives, but I sometimes pushed back, which was not to my future betterment. The school system was very advanced compared to the US system even of that time. We had math, English (British English of course, and Herr Baum (Mr. Tree) had to correct the only native English speaker in class many times when I used an American word instead of the British one. Did you know that a car's trunk was a bonnet and a windshield was a windscreen? Gas was "petrol", and I was soon rocking back on my heels. And "color" was spelled "colour"?) We took history, which over the four years I was there included, if memory serves, the time period from dinosaurs to at least ancient history, which meant trips to the local Roman tower. We had biology, and I knew the parts and functions of plants and creatures. Of course we had German, and I remember the frustration with the three tenses designating what a thing is (he, she, it) and of course the incredibly complex case and tense construction that is German. Most of all I remember a sense of how dedicated those teachers, and Herr Moergenthaller, were. Never since have I felt that way about an entire group of teachers.
At some point, probably in school, I met and became close friends with Adam Zabuchovich. The spelling of this fine friend's name may be a bit off, but the memories of the fun times we had still bring smiles. We usually called each other Schneckenudel (me) which is a pastry that was in a spiral shape like the snail that is part of its name, and Stachelschwein (Adam) which is a porcupine. I have no clue why we started with these names, but I know we hardly ever used our real names once these monikers were given. In those times playing, of course, did not involve the use of electronics except perhaps a TV or probably a radio. So we played with legos, kicked soccer balls around, bought packs of soccer star stamps (like baseball cards but stamps that were stuck in soft cover books), ran around playing made up games and old stalwarts like tag. Adam and I were inseparable, with other kids coming in to play off and on. It was a simple but good way to live.
Incidents. When we first bought our school supplies, the shopkeeper was a Greek who was unabashedly pro-American because of what the US had done in the war, according to Mom. He was a "gastarbeiter", a "guest worker" one of the group who were invited to work in Germany after the war since some parts of Europe had to many people for their situation and Germany did not have enough to do the jobs that needed to be done. That night I tried to get the fountain pen to work, and ended up spraying ink all over the wall, Sis, and myself when I shook it trying to get the ink flow started. Mom was a bit mad, but helped me to understand how to get the desired result from there on. Another time either Sis slammed the door on my fingers or I slammed it on hers. That got both parents pretty upset of course. Strange how I cannot remember whose fingers were hit, but if I had to guess I would say mine.
Dad sold cars for Chrysler for some time, being based out of the American military area near Stuttgart, and in addition to our VW Bug we could drive around in some big American cars. The cars tended to be big relative to German cars. The streets were a bit small for the huge Detroit beasts, and I have no idea what our neighbors thought when they saw Dad cruising by in some of the nice models, but it was fun to go out in the cars. One time when he had a big car (New Yorker perhaps?) we went to visit the Bayers and my cousin Georg, never at a loss for words, exclaimed that we had a "Street Cruiser", as in the large Navy ship.
Smoking. Mom smoked cigarettes, Dad smoked pipes. Years later society would finally realize that smoking is bad for your health, but even back in these days Mom and Dad both knew those facts. Mom had started smoking during the war, after she walked to Austria, and told Sis and me occasionally that we were never to smoke and that she wished she could quit. Apparently she had started while a war nurse, since a lot of the other nurses smoked and she wanted to fit in. Dad never told us how he started, but since it seems that he seldom smoked it was probably not a big health issue. Anyhow, on one of our camping trips we arrived at the camp site and Dad started to put up the tent. There was a typically German cold drizzle, and Sis, Mom and I were standing by to help as directed. When Dad asked her to help, Mom handed me her cigarette and headed behind the tent. Somehow I thought that this would be a good time to try my first cigarette and I took a puff. Never had I felt that instantly sick. It felt like my lungs were about to explode, and I know I felt nauseous as my body rebelled against the stupid thing I had just done. I looked at Sis, and she was staring at me, probably wondering if I was about to puke. Somehow, I came to the incredible decision that the second puff would make this all better, and so I did. More pain as the lungs finally forced me to cough, and the stomach forced me to gag at the same time. About this time, Mom came back. She saw the state I was in, and her eyes instantly became hard as she knew I had disobeyed one of the most important warnings she would ever give me. Of course I had to be given a chance to redeem myself, and she innocently asked if I had taken a smoke. For just a moment I thought about lying, but thankfully I knew that trying that would result in even more bad times, so I answered "Yes Mommy". She approved of the truth, and asked "Are you ever going to do this again?" to which, with my lungs still trying to come out of their lifelong home for some fresh air, I very truthfully answered "No Mommy", a promise to her and myself that I have never broken. A moment more and the steel hard woman went back to help with the tent, and I never heard a word on the incident again.
Just like when we were in Ramstein we often took trips on weekends, often to go camping, more often to take a day trip to see relatives or the local area. The local area had several castles, and I continued my love of those old structures which endures to this day. Teck, Hohenzollern, Linderhoff and Neuschwanstein; so many good times that were spent climbing to and wandering in castles and palaces. Museums, trips just wandering in the woods, and sometimes just driving around seeing what was to be seen were also normal activities. I also have fond memories of Dad playing with me and Sis, often building castles, and towers, and much else with the Legos that were always something I looked forward to getting for Christmas and birthdays. A high tall tower one day would be followed by a large complex castle the next week. He would get on the floor, and the fun would start. He spent so much time just being a Dad. It is strange, but I do not have a lot of memories of Sis at home. The Lego sets that they sell now are not nearly as cool as the old sets that had standard pieces. I was never completely happy getting the sets for my kids, was always hoping to find a box of basic pieces but never could, and remembering how fun it was to have a big box of pieces and to build something using pure imagination from that group of blocks only made that frustration deeper. The sets are OK; sure, build that gas station 50 times, but the unlimited imagination that was unlocked by the basic pieces cannot be topped. Mom was often busy doing housework, but also spent time with us as well. I remember her strength, her ability to keep Sis and I from being to out of line. I remember her singing lullabies to us at night as she tucked us in, and the sense of absolute love and security that I felt as I drifted off to sleep. I miss my parents. Sometimes intensely so. Those were good times, and they were the best of my early years.
The family gathering stands out among the many times visits were made back and forth with the numerous members of our extended family. It was appropriately hosted by the people who lived in Reutlingen. They had one of the, if not the, biggest home of our area family, and so it was the logical place to have about 30 people gather. The Bayers did not go, because they were on the outs with someone and were somehow not close family. Sis and I dressed a little better than normal, Dad was in a suit, and Mom of course looked sophisticated but not haughty, and we all piled into the VW and headed out on the pleasant trip. So many people. I am sure that I did not know many of them, even though it seems we had made it a point to meet most of those who lived anywhere close to Wernau. Endless introductions, followed by a nice lunch with all of the kids at their own tables, trying to be nice and proper to everyone, and overall having a good time. The most exotic members of the gathering were the relatives from Argentina, a branch of the family that had moved there after the war and were now back for the first and only time during my years in Germany. I think four or five of them made the trip, and have no idea how many were and are still living in that country. It was a fun day, though since I have never even heard of another such gathering of the family perhaps more so for me than for the grownups who arranged and managed it.
Perhaps due to my age when we lived for those few years in Germany, but I cannot remember ever feeling so carefree, or like I advanced so much in so little time. The trips to castles, museums, just to walk in the forest, the friends, the close family; close both in distance and spirit, made for a happy and certainly not boring life. Within a short period I fit in at school, and there was never a time when I did not think that we as a family fit into the town, region or country. There was much to do that did not stretch our budget, and life was good. All these factors contributed to the general feelings of fun, and there were no threats that I can remember bothering me. And at that time Dad and Mom took care of all the hard stuff so it was an easy life for us kids as well. I cannot help but think that overall Mom and Dad felt the same way.
Looking back, when my parents told Sis and I that we were moving back to the US I did not have a big reaction. I think I failed to realize that the move would take us away from the family that loved us and that we loved, from friends who meant a lot, and from a culture that had accepted us and that had so much to offer. Years later, while visiting Young Georg while on a long TDY to Belgium he and I spent a memorable day drinking fine German beer while his kids were at school and waiting for Angelika to come home from work, and he told me that the reason my parents decided to move back to the US was that there were stirrings of a new Nazi party in Germany. I trust that Georg got this either first hand from Dad - though I did not know this when we lived there I gather that they were close - or from Onkle Georg and that it is true, even though neither of my parents ever told me. But as we packed up we had to get rid of most of our toys, including my much loved Legos, I only felt a few pangs of sadness. I sold the Legos to Stachelschwein for 5 marks, and am glad he got them because we had had so many good times together playing with them. The move took us to Albuquerque, NM.
Thinking about the move. In some ways, if we had stayed in Germany, perhaps life would have been better. Some good possibilities, some bad. I like the freedoms we have here in the USA but realize that there was much good about living in Wernau, surrounded by family, and probably most anywhere in Germany as well, although they do have their problems as well, and there were indeed problems back when I was a kid though I did not realize that. Overall, bottom line, I do not wish we had stayed, despite the sadness in leaving so many good people that touches me once in a while even now. The reason is simple: The family. My family. Sharon, Kristi and Chris, Chip, and little Chloe. This wonderful wife, these kids, and my wonderful granddaughter would not be. I would have been unlikely to have ever met Sharon, much less to have fallen in love for all these years. And I love them all so much. So while "what might have been" may be a stray thought once in a while, "what is" is much stronger and constant.
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