Berlin, Part V

 To return home to Memmingen, which was in West Germany, I needed a travel visa.   Although I’d flown into Berlin, I was going to be a passenger in Reinhard’s car to go back home and for that I needed a visa since we would be crossing into East Germany. (The only way from West Berlin to West Germany was through Soviet occupied East Germany.)  I had to go to the Soviet embassy to get my visa—-I just recall I stood in line in a dark room to talk to someone through a window.  The people ahead of me were verbally harassed horribly. The guards were also demanding information about their family’s residence and then belittled and taunted them after hearing the answers. I didn’t understand it all but the gist was why had they chosen to live in the West when East Germany under Communism was clearly better. I dreaded my turn and feared they could decline my request for a visa if they wanted.  I was relieved that the process went without much discussion.  

One of the things my mother feared was that I wouldn’t know how to handle the verbal harassment of the guards.  She was afraid I would snap back with an answer since she knew how much I hated being bullied. But standing in that line, made me too frightened to rebel or talk back but they didn’t bully me at all, at that time.

The border crossing from West Berlin to East Germany might have been as most border crossings are—-guards just looking at passports.  I don’t recall if the border guards said anything about the corridor we were getting on but Reinhard did inform me.  There were three ways to enter and leave Berlin:  airplane,  one train line and two highways.——just 4 corridors.  The highway we were getting on was the only highway going south west that we could use to leave or enter.  The basic rule was “just keep driving”—-don’t stop for the bathroom, don’t stop to stretch your legs, don’t stop to have a picnic, just keep on driving until you get to the border. Oh, and don’t pick up hitchhikers. All along the highway was a very high fence which divided the corridor from East German.

I recall it being a pleasant drive.  On at least one occasion we saw cars parked on the shoulder with people out of the car at a high fence.  They were talking to individuals on the other side of the fence.  Reinhard explained that Western Germans  were probably visiting with family on the other side of the fence which was East Germany.  Since it was the holiday season, they must have thought it was worth the risk of being arrested, fined and jailed since that was illegal. (from Wikipedia article, it might have been legal but still risky: In 1963, negotiations between East and West resulted in a limited possibility for visits during the Christmas season that year (Passierscheinregelung). Similar, very limited arrangements were made in 1964, 1965 and 1966.^[94])

As we approached the border back into West Germany, we were met by heavily armed guards who demanded we get out of the car: not the usual friendly crossing.  Reinhard was escorted to one guard hut and I to another.  I don’t recall being afraid yet—-we were travelling legally with passports and visas but I did have some anxiety when we were searched and  questioned separately.  I wasn’t afraid until we went outside again and Reinhard’s car had been throroughly searched with suitcases and seats taken out..  The guards were searching for contraband and fugitives!  I thought initiially they thought we were spies but smuggling was really what they were after: human smuggling.  They were thoroughly searching to be sure we didn’t have an East German in our car with us as we were entering West Germany. They didn’t want any East Germans leaving the country.

This was the other thing my mother feared—-that I would try to smuggle someone across the border.  She knew how I’d followed the plight of the Berliners over the years with a fixation that could cause me to do something irrational like smuggle a person across the border, or stand on a street corner and urge revolt.  What she didn’t know was the Soviet and East German soldiers scared me so badly, I couldn’t have stood up for myself or anyone else. Although I was fearless in the United States with our free speech, this was a Communist country with dictators—-I didn’t have those rights there.

At the time, I thought we were separated and searched because of our differing nationalities, but Reinhard tells me everyone was searched at the border. I just read someone’s memories on Reddit in which a man in 1961 was with a handball team on a bus going to Berlin for a Tournament.  There were lines of buses because each one had to be unpacked, searched and each of the players had to be interrogated. It became more frightening when a teammate who had been drinking tried to hit one of the guards.  He was surrounded by guards with machine guns and marched away. He was fined 250 marks payable in cash right then or 2 years in prison. Everyone emptied their wallets to get the teammate back. 

In 1989, the East German government collapsed and the tearing down of the Berlin Wall was certainly a moment of celebration. I was teaching at Parkway North, stood in the high school library with tears running down my face:  I’d never thought I would see the Wall come down in my lifetime. No more walls, no more razor wire, no more refugees swimming to freedom, and no more interrogation and harassment by border guards. .. . .

Why does this play on my mind so much—-walls, razor wire, refugees swimming to freedom, interrogation and harassment by border guards?  The news today feels like deja vu to me.

For a lot more information on The Berlin Wall, click here

Jaclyn/Jackie

 Whooo are youuuu?”

said the caterpillar to Alice.

Jaclyn was my name at birth

Jaclyn will be my name at death.

But in the in between years, 

I’ve had two names Jaclyn and Jackie.

“Would you prefer to be called Jackie or Jaclyn?”

asked one of my new friends.

“it doesn’t matter—- the names are the same,

I answer to both”

But they aren’t quite the same.

Different persona, different name

Jaclyn is pensive, a poet, a scholar,

sitting on the edge of a party, 

watching, observing

Jackie is the life of the party, 

a dancer, impulsive, 

hyperactive, friendly

it was the rare man who saw and 

accepted both sides of me.

He would ask Jackie on a date,

but was surprised when Jaclyn appeared at the door.

 I’m the flitting  butterfly

but I’m also the contemplative caterpillar 

sitting quietly on my pilllow, observing.

like Alice's caterpillar,

lost in deep thoughts:

“Whhoooo are youuuuuu?”

Berlin Part IV

Brandenburger Tor

I was in Berlin for twelve days—-But it wasn’t all parties, family, and fun.  I also had wanted to visit East Berlin to see the Gate of Ishtar in the Pergamon Museum. Reinhart drove me to Checkpoint Charlie. It was the only gate in Berlin where Americans could enter East Berlin. Driving through the Checkpoint would have been a zig-zag maze, but I walked through.  Reinhard wasn’t allowed to go through since he was a West Berliner and did not go to East Berlin at all.  I’m not sure if he didn’t go becauses the guards thought he was a security risk or if he chose not to go for fear of reperucussions like physical and verbal harassment by the border guards. 

After World War II, the Alllies (Americans, British, French and Russians) decided to divide Germany into 4 parts with each country ruling over a section or zone. As the recovery from the war happened, the Americans, British and French turned over their sectors to be ruled by the West German govenment, but the Soviets didn’t turn their section over to the West German governement.   Instead, to further their Communist “cause”, they created a communist Germany called the DDR (East Germany)  The borders were controlled by the Soviets and the Communist East Germans.

The American guards didn’t check my passport that I recall, but I was ushered into  a small building where the East German/ Soviet guards were.  They checked my purse and pockets for contraband. I had to exchange all of my money.  The biggest contraband of all was American or West German currency because they were both stable and more desirable than Russian or East German currency.  Bringing western money would have been a crime.  After checking my passport, the guards asked a few questions about why I was crossing into East Berlin and how long I planned on staying.

Checkpoint Charlie

Once in East Berlin, I walked around and felt like I’d walked into a war movie.  East Berlin was drab gray with ruins all around, as opposed to the modern flash of West Berlin. The store windows were almost empty and there were propaganda signs everywhere. “The DDR is the hope of all good Germans”  “Our Shared Responsibility: How was a war allowed to break out on German soil again” 

Propaganda in East Berlin

 I went to a hotel for a tour bus which took me to the museum——the Gate of Ishtar was in a huge room with skylights. I have no photos—-maybe they weren’t permitted or maybe I was just too stunned to get my camera out.  But, I have an awesome picture in my head.   The gates were in a very large room with skylights several stories above us, spot lights were focused on the Gate of Ishtar which shined like jewels.

By User:Hahaha - Own work, CC SA 1.0,
 https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=699655

Afterward, the tour bus took us to a war memorial and then back to the hotel ‘Unter den Linden” where we had coffee or tea. The Soviets and East Germans were putting on a “show” only showing us areas of East Berlin they wanted us to see. They didn’t show us all of the bombed out ruins that I had seen earlier.

 I walked back to Checkpoint Charlie where Reinhard met me. I changed my money back to western currency before I left the guard shack. It was not my only time in East Germany. We still needed to return to Memmingen, West Germany where we lived. To get home in West Germany, we needed to return to East Germany known as Deutsche Demokratische Republic—-it was not German but a Soviet satellite and it was not a democracy nor a republic but a dictatorship which didn’t tolerate Western ideas like our Bill of Rights.

fortgesetzt werden.. . . .

The Final Reunion

L-R: David, Nick,Jaclyn, LynDee

A class of 320, down to 48

including spouses.

Some classmates wanted to come 

but couldn’t at the last minute

Some couldn’t due to their health

Some couldn’t due to their spouses

Some were travelling 

and some had died.  . . .

A war-worn group gathered for

A last reunion.

We were the survivors

We had all had battles but 

were climbing out of the 

foxholes of life:

the death of a spouse

the ravages of cancer

caring for someone with dementia.

.

We laughed, we cried, we shared

Sometimes picking up conversations

that were started years ago.

Some wanted music but it 

drowned out

those important discussions about life

and survival.

the music was shouted off.

Too many memories in the music 

of being young with our futures ahead.

With no more partners, 

there were no more last dances.

We gathered in our diminishing circle

of friends we’d created years ago.

Tables of friends who were so happy

gathering around that circle 

like Scouts at a campfire,

few tried to circulate.

And then, the last hour of the last night of the last reunion

A few moved cautiously to another table 

to re-ignite friendships: 

To blow on the embers

of possiblities that might have been.

But as the clock struck 10, we scattered the ashes,

let the fire go out ,

and left

the Firefighters Hall 

to go home.

But like Phoenix from the ashes

We went home to our new circle of friends

To live with those warm memories of the past, 

Awaiting

The Final Reunion.

L-R: Carol, Pat, Ingrid, David, Nick, Jaclyn, LynDee

L-R:Carol, Joan, Ed, Pat, Ingrid

Terry, Vito, Ed

Clockwise: Pat, Gerri, Judy, Terry, Ed

Ed and Ruth

Berlin Part 3

After driving around Berlin, Reinhard and I went to his mother’s apartment where we “celebrated” Christmas. His mother was a small woman with dark hair and a welcoming smile but the smiles never made it to her eyes which were dark and piercing. I later learned she was not happy with our relationship.  But at the time, I thought she was “nice”. For Christmas I had knitted Reinhard a “scarf”, my first and last.  It was very large—-more like a lap throw than a scarf. He laughed because he had needed a scarf, so his mother had knitted one for him (probably more standard sized) He gave me a lovely evening bag which I still use.  We had a wine concoction made within a glass flask and heat.  It might have been  Glühwein: basically mulled wine with a dash of rum or amoretto.  It is a German Christmas tradition as, egg nog is for us. (I’m not a fan of either beverage)

We visited the museum that had Queen Nefertiti’s bust which was on my Berlin bucket list.   She was as beautiful in person as I had believed she would be:  that long proud neck holding her head high and the knowing smile of a ruler who was totally in control with her confidence alone. 

Berlin was a beautiful modern city with wide streets and a lot of “open” space.  I later realized why everything was so new and open: it had been bombed in WWII. They had modern shopping malls with ice skating and theaters.  I even saw Doctor Zhivago in German having read the book and seen the film in English, first.

Reinhard, his mother and I also  visited various family and friends while I was being shown around West Berlin. They all seemed quite formal and reserved.  Although no one was rude to me, no one was friendly either.  It didn’t really bother me because I thought maybe they were uncomfortable around someone who had been their enemy.  They were the age of people who had fought Americans during World War II.  Some of them might have also  been Nazis.  Perhaps I was just accustomed to the joviality of the Bavarians and not accustomed to Prussians. (Those were the two dominate German cultures) One thought I didn’t have was, his mother had told them ahead of time how much she disapproved of me.

 In West Berlin, I  only saw one ruin from WWII: Kaiser Wilhem Gedänkniskirche

which was a memorial to all that was lost in WWII.  Half the church was in ruins with a beautiful cotillion building and worship center next to it.  It is probably my favorite church in Europe—-one I’ve thought of a lot over the years. The juxtaposition of a beautiful Gothic stone church in ruins beside the new, sleek building——that combination pretty much describes the oxymoron of East and West Berlin in the 1960s.

Most photos of the Berlin Wall during that time were of Brandenburger Tor (Brandenburg gate)—-once a regal gate to the city but was now a  part of the Wall. It had been the celebrated symbol of Berlin but now was a tragic memorial to the “Cold War”.  In other places  around Berlin “The Wall” consisted of bricked up abandoned buildings, waterways and barbed wire fences with guard towers. This is probably the only time in history, a wall was built to keep the citizens imprisoned and not to keep the enemy out. Although their standard rebuttal was that it kept spies from the West from getting in.

On New Year’s Eve, Reinhard and I went to the symphony for Beethoven’s Ninth (Ode to Joy) followed by a party with his friends and family at the Potsdamer Rudder Club on Wannsee. My journal says we got back to the apartment at  6:30 AM which was probably before dawn, at least. I mostly recall partying and dancing the night away with all of Reinhard’s cousins and friends, but he mostly sat it out and just watched amused. These friends and family were very friendly and welcoming unlike those of their parent’s generation. He loved seeing them so welcoming to me.

Me clowning with Reinhard's pipe.

We are in the back against a wall.

 We went outside for the New Year’s countdown and to view fireworks over the lake. I recall standing beside the dark lake with Reinhard’s jacket over my shoulders and then wrapped by his arms..  I looked up at him, our eyes locked and then we kissed to celebrate the New Year 1967. This “Hallmark” scene is what I remember the most—-thinking of my future with Reinhard,  but  not thinking of our future in a few days when we needed to return to our homes in Memmingen, West Germany.

fortgesetzt werden.. . . .