After returning to the Military in 1982, my first overseas assignment in the United States Army was to West Germany in 1987, two years prior to the wall that separated West Germany from East Germany coming down to lay the groundwork for reunification of the country in 1990. I was serving at my second duty station, Fort Knox in Kentucky, while waiting to come down on orders. I never got anywhere near to the gold. But my wife, Rilda, and I did manage to take an army sponsored beginning course in conversational German during my lunch hours.
After receiving my orders, I learned that Rilda, had been given permission to travel concurrently with me. We drove from Louisville, Kentucky, to Charleston, South Carolina, and shipped our car by ship at army expense to Bremerhaven in the northwestern portion of West Germany, a seaport on the North Sea. From there it would be delivered to Landstuhl, my ultimate duty station. The following day we sat nervously and impatiently beside each other in the waiting lounge at the Charleston International Airport in South Carolina. We were about to depart company with the United States for the next three years. I flinched when I heard, “Colonel Seletz,” over the loudspeaker. Rilda and I jumped up and marched smartly to the Jetway. A pleasant blue-uniformed airlines agent handed us our boarding passes. “Here you go, sir. You and Missus Seletz are first in line and have been assigned the front two bulkhead seats. Enjoy the overnight flight to Frankfort, West Germany.”
Bleary-eyed the following morning, Rilda and I were in dire need to rest and overcome six hours of jet lag. My sponsor had dropped us off at the Zum Zuckerbäker Gasthaus in Landstuhl, seventy-five miles southwest of Frankfort. Dragging suitcases, we entered the Gasthaus, “German hotel,” and I tried out my Bahnhof Deutsch, “Train Station German.”
“Guten Tag,” I said as I approached a pleasant appearing middle-aged man standing behind the reception desk. “Mein Name ist Seletz, Jules Seletz.” I hoped they had a reservation and more important, that the proprietor understood my pitiful German.
“Guten Tag, Herr Seletz,” the gentleman replied. “Ja, wir erwarten Sie.”
I sighed. At least we're expected. Then I asked for the key, explaining that we were extremely tired.
“Natürlich, Herr Seletz,” the man smiled. Then the proprietor explained that he required payment in advance.
I frowned thinking, Pay in advance? I had a few hundred Deutsch marks in my wallet that we had purchased from a commercial bank in Kentucky, but at a hundred Deutsch marks a day at Zum Zuckerbaker Gasthaus would rapidly deplete my cash. Do I asked hopefully,“Benutze ich, krempelt ein Kredit?” I held my breath, hoping he'd take a credit card.
“Natürlich,” the German responded. Then he asked in perfect English, “Visa, MasterCard or American Express?” He added in perfect German, “Willkommen nach Deutschland!”
I sighed inwardly. Yes. Welcome to Germany!
An hour later, I glanced at Rilda. “You awake?”
She whimpered, “Who can sleep with all that racket out there?”
I smiled knowingly and reassured her, “It's children. It's Sunday. No school. Shouldn't be this noisy tomorrow.”
“But Jules,” she whined. “I'm tired ... today.” Then she laughed and said facetiously, “Willkommen nach Deutschland!”
I glanced at my watch, reset to German time. “It's five o'clock.” I raised an eyebrow and asked Rilda expectantly, “Shall we explore Landstuhl?”
Rilda's face brightened. She put her fatigue aside and said excitedly, “You bet. And find us a good old German Bratwurst.”
I smiled and asked hopefully, “How about the famous German beer we've heard so much about?”
Rilda nodded, her eyes dancing, and said enthusiastically, “I'll settle for a glass of well-known Rhein Wine. And thanks to Herr Zuckerbäker taking Visa, we've still got our Deutschmarks from the States.”
We slipped off the bed, dressed and scurried down the staircase to the first floor. From Zum Zuckerbäker, we turned left on Kaiserslautern Strasse and one block down, crossed Einbahn Strasse. After two more blocks, we crossed Einbahn Strasse again. I took it for granted that Einbahn Strasse was a U-shaped street. As we strolled along, we looked up to our left and recognized the remains of Nanstein Castle overlooking the small village. There was evidently no shortage of German castles in West Germany. Since they had no military importance, they were spared the ravages of Allied bombing runs during WWII.
An elevated open plaza suddenly materialized on our left where we immediately heard oompah music. A large, green-and-white striped tent loomed on our left, the aroma of Bratwurst beckoning us. We glanced sideways at each other, grinned, and sauntered up a set of concrete steps and strode across the square to witness a typical German Fest, “Party.”
