And the Wall Came A-tumblin’ Down

The first time that I viewed the Berlin Wall in person was May 1974 when I was in the city as a visitor to a Boy Scout Explorer Conference.  My memories of the activities of that week have blurred over time, but I remember my emotional reaction to seeing The Wall as though it were yesterday.  One of our stops on our city bus tour was at Checkpoint Charlie where we looked at the crossing barricades, toured the museum, and climbed onto a viewing platform on the west side to peer over the wall into East Berlin. 

Checkpoint Charlie

This platform, which was nothing more than scaffolding erected a legal distance from the wall, allowed us to see across the wall to the mined and raked no-man’s land, the East German guards in their towers, and the unremitting gray of the boarded-up buildings.  Shivers ran up my spine as I thought, “Gray, gray, gray.”  The entire landscape struck me as gray.  The buildings were gray.  The guard uniforms were gray-green.  The sky was gray.  Little did I know that a little over 10 years later I would be living in West Berlin under the continual, overwhelming presence of that Wall.

The Wall and Beyond

In 1985 my husband was delighted with our orders to be stationed with the U.S. military in West Berlin.  He believed that it was a “plum” assignment and was eager to go.  Remembering my negative reactions from before, I was much more reluctant about our upcoming move.  He moved ahead of us by several months and by the time I arrived with children and pets, he had moved our previously shipped belongings into our assigned quarters and had even made the beds and stocked the kitchen.  Going into that house was more like coming home from a vacation than making a move.

Our quarters in West Berlin

Our house was a lovely 5-bedroom Prairie style ranch backed up to a park.  It had a full basement, a garage, and a fireplace. Ceiling to floor windows opened from the dining/living room onto a rose-lined terrace.  For the first time in our marriage a cleaning person and a gardener came weekly.  These were the nicest living arrangements we had ever had.  It was amazing.

The Rose Garden

More difficult adjustments were the omnipresent reminders of living in an occupied city with the “enemy”.  We arrived just after a U.S. military officer had been shot and left to die in East Germany.  Tensions were high with the entire Soviet Bloc.  Without warning and on no schedule, Soviet airplanes would break the sound barrier right over our neighborhood.  I would jump out of my skin with the unexpected, deafening sonic boom.  Unmarked cars routinely followed us around the city.  Unexplained but ominous clicks happened on our telephone lines during nearly every call.  Tanks rumbled down cobblestone streets daily.  My already hyper, overactive imagination ran away with me.

Not a month after our arrival, my husband announced that I should arrange a babysitter for the following Friday since we would be going into East Berlin.  I looked at him in stark horror, and choked out a harsh, “I’m NOT going to East Berlin.”  My husband who had always treated our marriage as a partnership replied, “Oh, yes, you are.  My going into the East in uniform is part of my duty here, and you are going with me.”  I was so stunned at his uncharacteristic, unilateral decree that I didn’t argue further, and after sulking for a week, did indeed arrange for a babysitter and prepared myself for “imminent death.”

Brandenburg Gate behind the Wall

Although I never really achieved total comfort in East Berlin, I did go nearly once a month following that first uneventful trip.  Eventually, we even took our children with us particularly to visit the museums which were incredible.  The world renowned Pergamon Museum, for instance, has the Pergamon Altar to Zeus dating 180-160 B.C. and the majestic Istar Gate of King Nebuchadnezzar’s Babylon. 

East Berlin with its 2-cylinder cars

Also during our time in Berlin the LaBelle Disco was bombed by terrorists, and we were all under a curfew for several weeks.  No leaving the house between 10pm and 6am.  When I stood at the school bus stop seeing my son off on his way to kindergarten, a uniformed GI armed with a machine gun stood next to the bus door. I wondered what on earth I was doing living in this dangerous place.

First day of Kindergarten

I lived in West Berlin for three years without ever feeling any sense of the claustrophobia that I thought would be inevitable living inside a walled city.  Travel outside the city always required advanced planning, but it was not impossible to go anywhere given sufficient time.  There was an international airport, so we could fly easily, but driving required acquiring a special pass at least three days in advance of travel.  Then we could only drive on one autobahn between Checkpoint Bravo on the west side of Berlin to Checkpoint Alpha in Helmstadt, West Germany.  And our travel was timed; if we didn’t check in within a certain time at the other checkpoint, MP’s came looking for us.  We were not allowed to ride on the German trains, but the three allied nations all offered free train service from West Berlin to West Germany.  Although we often used and very much enjoyed this service, obtaining a pass also required three days and obtaining train reservations took from several days to a few weeks. 

All of us in our respective Scout uniforms

Our time in Berlin was one of huge contrasts.  On the negative side so much happened that was strange, alien, and frightening.  But at the same time there were so many positives.  We lived very well, we made life-long friendships, and we experienced a slice of history that we would not have otherwise known.

Secrets

After living in Berlin and seeing the vast differences in lifestyles and even in the growing differences in language, I could never imagine the two halves of Germany being reunited.  So it was with complete amazement that 20 years ago on November 10, 1989, I read of the breach in the infamous Wall.  That evening we talked with our good friends in Berlin who had welcomed with champagne Easterners streaming through the wall.  They were euphoric with joy, but none of us could imagine how such a thing had come to pass.

West Berlin

Since then, the unification has proven difficult for both sides of the country.  I am told that many  former “Ossies” resented not having the security net they previously enjoyed and were hugely frustrated at high unemployment.  I know that the “Wessies’” standard of living dropped dramatically as they paid more taxes in order to give support to the former East.  Crime soared everywhere.

In 1998, the last time I was in Berlin, I was amazed that I could hardly see any evidence of the Wall’s previous existence.  Huge construction cranes filled the horizon in every direction.  Our friends told us during their recent visit that the changes are even greater now. 

Today much of the Wall is on display all around the world.  You can buy on eBay pieces of it made into earrings, into paperweights, and in assorted size chunks.  A small piece can be had for as little as $20, but a larger panel is rarer and if available might cost between $10,000 and $30,000.  I sure didn’t foresee any of that in 1974.

 Alva L. Kitselman Historic Home

Viewing historic homes has long been an interest of mine, so recently when I had an opportunity to tour the Alva L. Kitselman Home in Muncie, IN, I was delighted.  Industrialist Alva LaSalle Kitselman was one of four brothers who opened a factory in Muncie about the turn of the 20^th century manufacturing fencing and other steel products.  About 1912 he designed this house himself based on one he had visited in the Caribbean.  Although in its heyday the house was very elegant, it became well known for its beautiful surrounding gardens.

Currently, the house is owned by a church which uses it primarily for office and classroom space.  Consequently, it is not furnished in a style contemporary with the home, but it is well maintained and shows the excellent “bones” of the structure.  And attractive gardens still surround the home.

Exterior views of the house:

Note the extreme width of the front door:

Entrance hall looking into the stairwell:

Parlor fireplace:

Doors leading to porch:

Dining Room fireplace:

Butler’s pantry:

Central stairwell:

Newel post at bottom of stairs:

Linen closet in stairwell:

Only original wall-covering remaining in house:

Windows in stairwell:

Me leaving the house with the tour guide:

In Memory

We have spent many days this autumn participating in activities related to our respective lineage societies:  conferences, meetings, and grave dedications for both the Sons and the Daughters of the American Revolution.  One of those events was held to dedicate a DAR marker at the grave of patriot William Berry who is buried in Leo, Indiana.  My husband and I, dressed in colonial attire, stand near the recently marked grave. 

Numerous descendants of William Berry joined members of the DAR and the SAR in the very beautiful ceremony.  A United States Congressman, the Indiana State Regent of the DAR, and a former national Vice-President General of the SAR were guest speakers.  Altogether, about 100 people attended.  

My husband was commander of the SAR color guard.

My role was to escort one of the patriot's descendants to place flowers on the grave.

Several organizations placed wreaths at the grave, a children’s choir sang the national anthem, a bagpiper played “Amazing Grace”, a team from the American Legion gave a rifle salute, and two buglers played “Taps.”  It was quite moving. 

I don’t know whether or not this sort of activity would have interested me when I was younger.  But certainly as I’ve gotten older, I’ve waxed more philosophical about death and personal sacrifice.  None of my known patriot ancestors died in battle, but whenever I attend one of these events, I think about the sacrifice of material possessions and good health that nearly all my ancestors made.  I also think about the hardships that entire families endured just in the act of everyday living while settling a new land.  Because of their sacrifices, I live in an era and in a land of relative plenty.  I have so much for which to be thankful.  In remembrance of all this, it seems a very small thing for me to take time to give honor to patriots even when they are not my own ancestors.