Nomad News-Vol.3-No.59

POST WAR GERMANY: May 8, 1945. The war in Europe was over. Time to go home; for some. The government had formulated a point system for determining discharge priority. Points were accrued for time in the service, time in combat zones, and for medals or awards. 85 points were required for discharge. I had 102 points, but the under-85ers had first priority for return to the States as they would be reassigned to the Pacific Theater of Operations. It wasn't until October when I received orders for departure. In the meantime, I was in Braunsweig and soon received orders to proceed to Kassel. A command car picked me up and deposited me in front of a small building in Kassel. Kassel, like most German cities, wasn't much more than a big pile of bricks. This building apparently been a small hotel and exactly what the operation was, I never actually found out. I arrived around non and was greeted by a beautiful 18-year old German fraulein. I forget the young lady's name but I believe it was Gretchen. Gretchen not only spoke English fluently, she spoke it perfectly with no accent. Gretchen showed me to my quarters on the second floor. I then had lunch in the small mess hall and returned to my room for a nap. When I returned to the first floor, Gretchen asked me what I wanted her to do. I had no idea why I was there in the first place, and what my duties were in the second place, and had no interest in finding out. So, I told her to just keep doing what she had been doing. Jokingly, I asked Gretchen if there was a bar within walking distance where a guy could get a beer. To my surprise, she replied "No, but the brewery is operating." My eyes must have lit up like a fifty-foot Christmas tree. An oasis in a wilderness of broken bricks. Gretchen gave me directions to the brewery, and as I went out the door, there tethered between two huge piles of bricks was a camel; waiting to take me to the oasis. I went back inside and asked Gretchen, who belonged to the Jeep? The answer went something like this: "The Lieutenant." Where's the Lieutenant?" "At SHAEF." "When is he returning?" "I don't know." "If he gets back before I do, tell him I am taking good care of his Jeep." SHAEF (Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Forces was in Frankfurt, so I figured he would be there for a spell. I mounted the camel and went hell bent for the brewery where I was greeted like an old friend by two brauereimeisters who offered me a copper mug full of golden nectar of the gods, which I gladly accepted. I lolled away the days. After breakfast I would chat with Gretchen, pick up a book and read a little, have lunch, take a nap, then take my book to the brewery and enjoy the nectar. In conversations with Gretchen, we spoke mostly about America as I remember, but she did have some astute observations herself. I only remember one, the next generation of Americans would be born without feet. When I asked "why", the answer was: "Because they drive every place they go, and won't need them." Unfortunately, my idylic assignment lasted only a week. When I returned from the brewery on day seven, Gretchen informed me I would be leaving for Eschwege the following morning. If I recall correctly, Eschwege is about 70 kilometers southeast of Kassel and right on the border between the Russian and Allies Zones at that time. The next morning, my ride arrived on time as I bid farewell to the beautiful Gretchen and the golden nectar, never knowing what I was supposed to be doing there in the first place.