Frankfurt’s
Hauptbahnhof (1970, a
Soldier’s dilemma)
Once we landed at Frankfurt, am Main (West Germany’s main
airport in Frankfurt) us soldiers disembarked, were driven by bus to its Hauptbahnhof, or main train
station, inside the bahnhofinneres the main body of the inner station we were brought to a room to
learn how to read the train schedule, it appeared the train system or bahnhof was used exclusively
for travel in West Germany back in 1970, which was only twenty-five years after
World War Two.
From Frankfurt, about two-hundred of us soldiers were put on a train
headed to Stuttgart, and Augsburg, myself to Augsburg. As we stopped at
Stuttgart, half the soldiers got off there, and the rest of us went on, it
seemed to me at a glance, there was a procession of people, strangely nervous,
eager for something to happen that perhaps never would. The noises cut across
my thoughts.
I was so anxious to be in Europe,
my belly ached, as if I was on a high edge of a ravine, a bluff looking down. Then
the train picked up and left as suddenly as it had stopped. I would learn in Germany, to which I’d live
for four years, in the 1970s, to be exact 10-months, in 1970, and between 1974
to 1977; in any case, the train system was seemingly always on time, also, here
I was—with no thoughts of being an invader, conqueror, not really knowing what
my mission was but to fill space up an empty space someone left behind, there
were to my understanding, 700,000-troops throughout Europe. I was simply one of
many.
As we came into the railroad yards, into the Augsburg’s Hauptbahnhof, again I saw people
walking along the steps between the brick walls and platform of the station, pacing
and awaiting the train so it looked as our train approached them; I figured
they were ticketed customers. As the train stopped, none got onto the train.
Then we troops were all brought to attention, and were to file out in a line
formation, and as we did I asked myself: ‘What people! What are they yelling about?
Who were they? Where did they come from? Where were they going?” My mind was suspended in space, they were
men and women. Some young, mostly middle-aged. As we passed along, freely
along, their legs and arms were like slender top branches of trees swaying at
us, as if wanting to kick us, or hit us, some spitting at us, one spit right on
me, I stepped out of line about the grab the middle-aged man by his coat and
give him a good punch in the jaw, and a Sergeant ran up and grabbed me by the
shoulder, stopping me from the assault I was about to commit, to which was like
putting a pail of water on me, he said quickly, “Private First Class,” then looking at my
name take, “Evens, you can’t do what you’re thinking, you’re an American
Soldier… get used to it!”
I suppose I looked like a child’s bare foot striking the floor wanting
to stomp, but in lieu of that, I simply stepped back into line formation, and
the man gawked at me, knowing good and well, striking him would have caused a
small affair for the news on how we American Soldiers were like wardens to them,
and they our prisoners.
I suppose what that taught me with my boiling anger was: we need not
react to everyone’s disposition, we were not so unlike, wardens, ruling over
them for twenty-five years I suppose: perhaps to them even invaders. After several months in Augsburg, the
Military Police gave the Germany Police Force back their authority that we had
taken away for a quarter century and things appeared to get better.
#1189/10-20-2016
