photosmaximus

What was it like for a simple small-town boy to live in a strange and beautiful city? How would he be treated by the natives, so soon after a nasty war that left a good part of the downtown in ruins? What would the Russians think, just being a few miles from the house he slept in? How could he ever manage to cope with the freedom, the strangeness, the language barrier, the lusty young maidens seeking his pleasure, and on top of it all, the army b.s.? Funny, I never thought of those questions so many years ago.
On the surface, my book may seem like just another memoir, but aside from the 120 photos, it is actually about dealing with life, love and the pursuit of happiness in a strange and foreign land – post war West Germany. The nasty edginess of the cold war was still in full bloom, and so were a multitude of eager young fräulinen seeking their way to the promised land, the United States.
This book started out being a history of my truly unique and proud Army Security Agency detachment, the Lübeckers, but I found I wasn’t an historian; all I know for sure is what happened to me. Well at least reasonably sure. That’s what this book is all about – plus anecdotes and tales from other Lübeckers who were more frisky and fearless than I was.

Sample; The Girl in Leather Gloves
Chapter 6, Page 34

Despite my new confidence discovered at the Riverboat, I found out that not everyone thought I was perfect. At the Karstadt, Lübeck’s premier department store, when I went to buy my sport coat, I flipped over this really cute girl, with a perfect heart-shaped face, a brilliant smile, gorgeous legs - what I could see of them behind the counter - and a trim, shapely figure. I immediately began to pant and followed her around like a little puppy. Her name tag read “Helga,” and she worked in the leather glove department and during the next couple weeks I must have tried on at least five hundred pairs of gloves. Unfortunately, she couldn’t speak one single word of English and I only spoke enough German to make a complete fool of myself. I was persistent, and I tried to invite her out a dozen times, but nothing came out right. Just by accident, one day on my way to the Karstadt, I saw her walking all cozy-like with a big handsome German stud. I was shot down, smashed, crashed and burned, and for a long time afterward, whenever I smelled leather, I thought of her.

Some comments:

Dennis Whelan, Lübeck, 1961-62;
A thousand thanks! I can’t tell you how much I’m enjoying your book – I can almost say “have enjoyed it,” because I raced through and almost finished it. Now I’m looking forward to a slow, thorough and thoroughly enjoyable read…The opening is absolutely brilliant, the epigraph stunning, and the book worthy of both.

Myron Havis, Lübeck, 1962-64;
I received “the book” today and read it with gusto. While your Lübeck is slightly different than mine, there are still never-changing similarities…I think that most of us who were stationed there will never forget that time… Instead of a Band of Brothers, I think you could say we were a Band of Characters….I just wanted to tell you that I think you captured it magnificently.

Jim Miller, Lübeck, 1960-62;
I just finished your book and really enjoyed it. I’m going to have to call you Don Juan from now on. I especially enjoyed the relationship between you and Carole; I’m glad you two linked up after all these years. It may cause me to find out about the girl I left behind in Lübeck. Well, maybe not!

The Martinique Diversion is, frankly, a pretty good read. It's a relatively short novel about the Nazi's search for the massive French gold reserves before the official start of WWII. It continues on into nearly the present as the gold still hasn't been found and the search continues. Sometimes with deadly results.

Background:
Before WWII, the French had accumulated the largest stockpile of gold bullion in the world. While completely bungling their feeble attempt at repelling the Nazi's invasion, how did they manage to keep this enormous treasure from the clutches of Adolf Hitler?
Or did they?
Some say their gold reserves were sent to Newfoundland or Africa. Others say it ended up on the island of Martinique or at the bottom of the sea.
The few who really know - and are still alive - will tell you about The Martinique Diversion.

Prologue:
Freeman Matthews looked down at his body sprawled on the bricks in front of the American Embassy in the heart of Paris. He was aware of a tingling numbness of fear as he surveyed the chaos below him. So this what it's like to die. Acrid black smoke from a burning car billowed skyward. My friends are in there. They should be waiting for me. Far down the street lay the crumpled body of another man. Freeman felt a moment of triumph. And awe. God, what a shot. I saw the bullet enter his mouth.
I saw...
People - Marine guards, French and American civilians - were now converging on the scene as Freeman looked on in fascination. The numbness was becoming pleasant. A young Marine medic skidded to a stop beside Freeman's body, now seeming so distant below. "My God, his brains are hanging out!" the corpsman shouted and without stopping to think, shoved the grayish-white bulge of oozing matter into the jagged opening behind Freeman's right ear and, panting in fear, pressed a gauze bandage over the hole. "Get a damn doctor out here," he screamed, "this guy's dying."
Freeman felt his body convulse as a thousand tiny, intense bolts of lightning shot through his head. The pain faded into blackness and he felt other men arrive and touch him, examine him, peer into his eyes.
"He's alive," he heard one of them say, "Hey, grab that bone chip. Let's get him into the ambulance. What the hell happened?"

Piczo