This is a true story I wrote years ago for a college class. My memory of the Wall falling 25 years ago. On a frigid German night, in November of 1989, I stood peering through a thick block of soulless concrete and steel mesh. The paint of protest displayed upon it had long since dried, but the messages were still clear. The smell of diesel fuel saturated the air and collected in the predawn dew. On the other side of the opening stood a man, not much older than I, wearing East German battle dress uniform that showed years of wear. The overhead lights of destruction crews washed over everything with a keen brightness. I was dimly aware of the work going on around me, but my eyes were focused on the lone figure not twenty feet away. He was not impressive in any way, but at the same time I collected everything about him in my mind. The uniform hung loosely from his thin frame; a rifle perched on his shoulder. Everything about him except his face seemed old somehow, as if he had stepped from the pages of a history lesson. I pulled my own pressed uniform around me to keep out the cold. A Colt .45 pistol was strapped reassuringly in its highly polished pistol belt, wrapped tightly around my waist. I knew in my heart that the shiver that worked its way up my spine was not from the cold of the damp air. I was facing the enemy. I was stationed in Berlin, Germany as a military policeman for the United States Army from July of 1987 until January of 1990. I was nineteen when I first arrived into what was often described as a democratic outpost in a sea of communism. All of my life I had been told that communism was the enemy to our democratic way of life. I recall riding the allied duty train on my way to my first duty assignment in Berlin into the heart of enemy territory, away from home, family, and a civilian life. I was afraid of what I might find. What I found was a twenty-four hour bustling metropolis full of experiences and activities that kept a young man fully occupied. This was not just a different country; it was a new way of life. I eagerly launched myself into the fracas: German beer, twenty-four hour nightlife, historic sights and women. I was, after all, still a teenager, and I was intent on taking full advantage of what this great city had to offer. A city surrounded by The Wall. Even through all of the good experiences, it stood as an overpowering presence in my world. I have been asked many times what The Wall looked like. I could describe it literally. Most people do not realize there were actually two walls separated by an area of No Mans Land, complete with tank traps and German shepherd guard dogs on cables that stretched for vast distances. In some areas it was not even a wall, just tall fences with guardhouses looming ominously on the East German side. I am very familiar with the physical characteristics of the structure, since a part of my duties as a military policeman was to patrol The Wall, and to scale the observation platforms to get a better view of The Enemy. The real wall was not made up of anything in the physical sense. In order to describe it, you have to try to imagine what fear looks like. What does ideology and hatred look like? These things and other deeply rooted biases separated Berlin. These simple ideas were much stronger than the concrete and steel that separated the city. On that early November morning midnight shift as I stood beside my German police partner, I looked through that wall. The memories of two years spent in the city surrounded by that wall buzzed through my mind. The years and lessons of my own ideology rang in my head. The military enemy of the Cold War, which until this point had no face attached to it, now stood before me. Fear and mistrust welled up in my chest and burned like a hot coal. My German police partner, Claus, knowing that this was a momentous occasion that needed a token to commemorate it, called out to the soldier in German. Hey, neighbor! Why dont you break off a piece of The Wall for our Yankee friend here? We approached each other cautiously at the entrance of No Mans Land, watching each other intently. The soldier bent down slowly and pulled off a piece of the concrete that had been loosened by a bulldozer. He smiled tightly as he handed it to me. We shook hands and were able to have a brief verbal exchange with my partner interpreting for us. I gave the soldier a Marlboro in exchange for a clove cigarette, and we had a good laugh as I choked on the harshness of the cloves. Behind our little exchange, the demolition crews labored at dismantling The Wall piece by piece. The wall between the soldier and I had already come crashing down during our momentary acquaintance. That little block of concrete given to me by a comrade soldier had become stronger than anything that had once divided us. L-R: GP Claus Mehnert, Spc. Todd Hopwood, East German border guard (unknown name)
Posted on: Sat, 08 Nov 2014 02:44:05 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015