Berlin / Tempelhof Central Airport , 1973 - 1976
6912th Security Squadron, USAFSS
An Ex-Airman Remembers
Part 1 - 1973
Arrival
I arrived at Tempelhof Central Airport in West Berlin on April 26, 1973.
My memory of landing at Tempelhof is one of sitting on my duffel bag, waiting to be picked up by our belated welcoming committee. Another airman had just arrived with me, and together we sat in the airport for the longest time, waiting for our Air Force contact personnel to lead us to our new home to be processed in.
We were finally picked up by an airman from the orderly room, who signed us in, issued us some linen, and led us to our new quarters just down the hall from the orderly room in the airport building. The room had several bunk beds, and there we settled down for a day-long sleep.
The next morning we got up early and reported to the orderly room to start our official in-processing. Later we were told we could finish on Monday, and we were let go. The rest of the day we had free.
We changed into civilian clothes, and started to explore our new world. We were stationed at Tempelhof airport, in the center of Berlin, the largest city in the largest country in Western Europe, and at the same time deep in the heart of the DDR, communist East Germany. Tempelhof airport was part of an enormous building project begun by Hitler's private architect Albert Speer prior to the War, and during the bombing it was spared from destruction by both the Western Allies and the Soviets. Both sides wanted to have this splendid prize. As it turned out, the Soviets ended up with the lion's share of the city, including the center with its famous museums, but Tempelhof airport came into the hands of the Americans. The entire eastern wing of the complex was barracks, offices, and hangars of the U. S. military, but the central hub was a busy commercial airport. We were told that Tempelhof airport was the second or third longest building in the world, and it certainly looked it. There was an entire second wing of the airport, a mirror image of the Air Force half, that curved south beyond the central hub. The entire structure was thus somewhat like a giant horseshoe that sprawled over the entire northwest corner of the Tempelhof airfield.
Most of us assigned to the 6912th Security Squadron were housed in the "Hangars", the eastern wing of the complex, that extended out from the airport hub and ran approximately parallel to the Columbiadamm. These were mostly three-man rooms, austerely furnished with military beds and large portable lockers. Nearly all of us who lived in the Hangars worked at the Marienfelde site. There were other quarters, closer to the main area of the base, in an area called G-2. This was up above the chow hall and base library, near the post office, laundromat, and just about everything else that mattered. It was an area that was the envy of nearly everyone in the "hangars", because of its prime location and relative privacy. Many of the airmen who lived there worked at the Teufelsberg site, commonly called "T-Berg" for short.
Sunday I went downtown to explore the city with Ted, a friend who had arrived in Berlin two months before me. We tramped around the Tiergarten and surrounding area with our cameras. The Tiergarten is a large sprawling park that encompasses a wide area in the heart of West Berlin. I was impressed by the size of it all. It was amazing to me to see such a place right in the middle of one of the world's largest cities. We climbed the Siegessäule, walked all the way over to the Brandenburg Gate, saw the Wall, the barbed wire, and the ominous-looking guard towers. We also saw the nearby Soviet monument where rigid Soviet soldiers stood guard. My friend was snapping pictures of everything, and with his zoom lens he had me take a close look at the Russian soldiers.
Tuesday morning the first of May I reported to the orderly room and they put me to work with three other guys washing the windows in the stairway in the eastern part of the Hangars. It was rather easy work. I remember looking out of the smudged windows which looked over Kreuzberg and beyond toward East Berlin, with the famous East Berlin TV tower glimmering in the distance. Over there was a completely different world, and it always seemed rather intriguing. A few years later I found myself in a similar situation, but on the opposite side, looking south from the TV tower and seeing Tempelhof airport off in the distance. I then remembered that day years before, when I was in the Air Force, wearing fatigues, and washing windows in that building.
After going back to the orderly room, we found out that we were to report to Marienfelde immediately for more in-processing.
Marienfelde
In the few days I had been in Berlin I had already heard a few things about Marienfelde. This was our work site, which was situated on top of a hill on the southern outskirts of the city, in a sub-district of Tempelhof called Marienfelde. Just a short distance from the hill, perhaps a half-mile, was the Berlin Wall. Most of the area was empty fields. A city dump was located nearby, to the east. To the north was a field occupied by a few modern apartment buildings and a flower nursery. All of the surrounding area was flat, and so the site stood out rather prominently in the landscape, and even more so because of the odd-looking towers, domes, and antennae that sprouted from its top.
No
one could enter the grounds at Marienfelde without a security badge, and part of the
reason for going there on May 3rd was to get our pictures taken for the badge. We were
taken to a small shack downhill from the main complex, within the first set of two
barbed-wire perimeter fences, where we had our photographs taken. This photo was then
laminated into a rectangular green badge that was attached to our uniform, and was to be
displayed at all times while on the site. Three years later, when I left Marienfelde, the
badge was turned in and destroyed, but I got to keep the photo as a souvenir; I have kept
it to this day, inserted in my 1973 diary next to May 3rd.
For many at Marienfelde, the green security badge served as a miniature billboard for advertising how many days they had left in the Air Force. This number was written prominently on the badge with a grease pencil, and the lower the number, the higher the envy and respect the bearer commanded from his peers. Three-digit numbers were of course commonplace. Those with 2-digit numbers were getting "short", a term used to mean that their Air Force days were soon coming to an end, and freedom was smiling at them on the horizon. Anyone with a 1-digit number was extremely "short", and was dubbed a "one-digit midget".
That first trip to and from Marienfelde on May 3rd was in the "chow truck", a military van that arrived on site in the forenoon each day, rain or shine, work day or holiday. In it sat two short, stocky, unsmiling Turkish women, the TCA cooks who brought up the lunch each day. I can still see myself, bouncing around on the back seat of the chow truck on that gray, cold, cloudy day, sitting next to the two Turkish cooks whose temperament seemed to match the gloomy weather.
Chauffeured to Work in a Mercedes
Monday the 7th my roommate and I were sent to Marienfelde again. This time we got up early in the morning and caught the 7:00 Air Force bus to the site. We had an orientation briefing and took two tests. After eating lunch there we came back to Tempelhof with the chow truck.
That day was our first ride on the big blue Mercedes bus that made daily trips to and from Marienfelde, three times a day, seven days a week, every day of the year. It was the first in a series of bus rides that were to become part of the routine for the next three years of my life. The bus ride from Tempelhof airport to the site in Marienfelde took about 30 minutes. The drivers were all German nationals, most of whom knew very little English. The route they drove was, understandably, nearly always the same, but occasional detours or variant routes were taken when the traffic situation warranted it.
Considering that I was on that bus for an hour every work day, which on the average accounted for five to six hours a week, for three years straight, one can understand why those bus rides remain so vividly in my memory.
First we would be standing
outside at the bus stop inside the base, waiting for the bus to arrive. The weather was
usually cold and wet, and most of us were dressed in our fatigues. The bus usually arrived
on time. The driver opened the door, and we would file in, and take whatever seats were
available. Except on day shifts, during which the regular daytime personnel rode the bus
with us variable-shift people, there were plenty of seats to go around. The driver would
then leave immediately. Latecomers were left to make it to work on their own, which
usually meant taking the city bus and subway. Out the side gate by the main airport
building we would go, and into the traffic semicircle by the Platz der Luftbrücke. After
the traffic light at Tempelhofer Damm we would make a left turn, and head straight south
on this main thoroughfare for several kilometers. I would notice the U-Bahn stations as
they went by: Paradestrasse, Tempelhof, Alt-Tempelhof, Kaiserin-Augusta Strasse, all in
the main hustle-bustle of the business districts of Tempelhof; then Ullsteinstrasse,
Westphalweg, and Alt-Mariendorf. From that point there were no more U-Bahn stations, and
the city became more and more residential and suburban. On the west side of the street was
the Mariendorf racetrack. Eventually we came to the corner of Säntisstrasse where we made
a right turn. At that corner I remember there was a large discount liquor store. Then down
Säntisstrasse, over the railroad tracks, past a Baumschule (tree nursery) on the right,
and to the corner of Nahmitzer Damm. From that corner I could see an IBM plant further on
down the street. We made a right onto Nahmitzer Damm, and over to Marienfelder Allee. From
Nahmitzer Damm we could see the Marienfelde site with its spooky-looking antennae perched
grotesquely upon the hill to the south. After turning left onto Marienfelder Allee it was
only a short distance to a lonely rural street on the left, called Diedersdorfer Weg,
which ran past a few lonely-looking brick buildings until it turned right, heading due
south through the empty fields that surrounded the site. Then it was up the hill, and up
to the gate. Out we would march, past two checkpoints, two perimeter fences, and into the
blue windowless one-story building which was to be our prison for the next eight hours.
This is the route that I remember the best. There were, however, frequent variations, the most common of which was a right turn from the Alt-Mariendorf U-Bahn station, which took us down Grossbeerenstrasse, which eventually became Marienfelder Allee. This route took us through the Berlin district of Lankwitz, and past a Daimler-Benz plant on our left. Then, past the railroad tracks, it was mostly suburbia. I would watch the street signs as they went by: Belssstrasse, Hranitzkystrasse, Stegerwaldstrasse, Kaiserallee, Hanielweg, Domagkstrasse. Then from the corner of Nahmitzer Damm, it was the same route to the site.
A few of the regular bus drivers stand out in my memory. One was an older gray-haired Berliner who always wore a sour face and had an apparent dislike of American servicemen. One morning, after working a midnight shift, I was the last person off the bus. Someone earlier had left a half-empty Coke can on the floor, which by this time had emptied much of its contents into the bus, clanging noisily back and forth on the floor as the bus made stops and turns. As I got out, the driver angrily barked to me that I should remove the can from his bus. I sheepishly complied, although I was not the guilty party and had every right to leave the bus without doing anything. I still remember the hostility that radiated from the man. I'm sure it didn't matter to him in the least whether I had put the can on the floor in the first place. For him, I was just another one of those disgusting American soldiers.
Another driver that stands out prominently in my memory was a long-haired middle-aged eccentric fellow who frequently talked to himself. He always seemed jolly and carefree. Had he been able to speak English, he probably would have carried on more conversations with some of us than with himself. He nearly always had the radio blaring away. One memory in particular stands out. There was a popular song on the radio around that time that started out with an aboriginal kind of chanting of "ugga ugga" in the background. One afternoon as he was driving us down Tempelhofer Damm, this song began playing on the radio. Suddenly and without warning he broke out into a loud solo chant of "UGGA UGGA!", and then became silent again, bouncing in his seat as we careened down the busy street. It was hysterical.
No Shiftless Airmen at Marienfelde
Friday, May 11th, was my first day of work at Marienfelde. I had been assigned to Able flight, one of four flights of about four or five dozen airmen.
These four flights, Able, Baker, Charlie, and Dog, worked a continually rotating schedule of eight-hour around-the-clock shifts that went on endlessly, relentlessly, through countless weekends and holidays, Christmases and New Years, Easters and Thanksgivings. The lights in Marienfelde were never turned out. The electronic equipment was never shut off. They ran continually, backed up by auxiliary power sources, day and night, week after week, month after month, year after year. The schedule was truly a rigorous one. First came four swing shifts, from 4:00 to midnight. There followed exactly 24 hours of respite, after which began four consecutive "mid" shifts, from midnight until 7:30 the next morning. Again, there was a 24 hour rest period, after which we worked four day shifts from 7:30 A.M. until 4:00 in the afternoon. This was followed by four 24-hour periods of free time, which in reality seemed like only three days off, since the other 24-hour period was split between the evening off from the last day shift and the morning sleeping before the first swing. Most of the "lifers" worked only day shifts, but there were a few of them that worked the shifts, and had been doing it for years. It was a very unhealthy way to live. I had a hard time staying awake during the mids. Several times I stole away to some corner and took a nap. Sometimes I would snooze in the toilet. Later I found a more imaginative way to catch a few winks. In one part of the main room where we worked there were several tall upright metal boxes which housed various kinds of electronic equipment. I discovered that a couple of them were empty. There was a door in the back of each one. When no one was looking, I slipped into one of them, shut the door, and slept standing up. Writing about this now, many years later, it seems quite bizarre - and it was.
On January 13, 1974 a new shift schedule was devised. They inserted three days of break between the four swings and four mids, as well as three 24-hour break periods between the four mids and four days. The result, of course, was a more gradual shifting of one's waking hours. The flights themselves were rearranged in order to accommodate this new schedule. Dog flight was eliminated, and in its place were two "X" flights. This five-flight schedule lasted only six months, and then on July 14 they scrambled things around again. The extra break days were reduced down to just 24 hours as originally, but the four mids came less frequently, only about once a month per flight. This was accomplished by manning the mid shifts with a rotating combination of personnel from the swing and day shifts. Apparently, this experiment didn't please someone upstairs, since seven months later things were changed around again. On February 26, 1975, they resurrected Dog flight, now composed of an entirely new crew (of which I was one), and went back onto the old schedule that I had started with in May of 1973. This schedule stuck, and I worked it until my discharge in April, 1976.
Able Flight Welcomes a "Jeep"
On my first day at Marienfelde, May 11, 1973, I reported to Sgt. Larney C., one of the main people in charge of Able flight. He gave me a three-page printout filled with names, numbers, and codes. "Memorize this," he said. I thought he was joking, but he wasn't. I was actually required to learn it all. "When you think you've got it memorized, we'll give you a test." What kind of test? Blank sheets of paper, on which I was to write it all from memory. Needless to say, my first four days at work, May 11 through May 14, were rather uneventful. I spent most of my time memorizing the list. There were a few breaks from the monotony when some of the guys showed me around the facility and let me watch them work. Saturday night we had Commander's Call for a short while with Colonel Webb. Sunday night I met some other new arrivals at Marienfelde, two of whom were from Iowa. Monday night we had Commander's Call with Webb again. By the end of Monday swing, I felt that I had finished memorizing the list, and was ready for the test.
On my first mid, Wednesday, May 16, I took the test and scored 100%. I was now a junior operator, Able flight's greenest "jeep", ready to be "jeeped in."
Burning Issues
Like any other military or government installation, we generated a large amount of waste paper. Since our work was classified as top-secret, our waste paper could not simply be tossed into the nearest street dumpster. It had to be destroyed. Not only that, but it had to be destroyed by people with top-secret security clearances. Understandably, this job was not given to the flight captain, or the higher-ranking enlisted personnel, but to the lowest ones on the totem pole: the operators.
About once every two or three months it would be my turn for "burn detail". This always occurred on a mid, when the activity was lowest. In one of the far corners of the building there was a "burn room", which housed a large incinerator. "Burn bags" were gathered from various pickup points within the building, and brought to the burn room where they were reduced to hot ashes in the incinerator. The job would take about two or three hours. We wore special gear for protecting ourselves from the heat and fire. The incinerator was first turned on, and allowed to heat to a certain temperature, which we monitored on a gauge on the control box, mounted on the wall a good distance from the actual oven itself. The incinerator was a large metal oven with a small door in front through which we inserted the burn bags. Inside the incinerator were two or three flame blowers, which blew out a stream of hot flames into the center of the oven. After the required temperature was reached, we inserted two or three bags, allowed them to burn completely, and then inserted two or three more. When the ashes began piling up too high, we were to clear the oven floor by means of certain tools which allowed the ashes to be deposited into a receptacle underneath the oven. The oven temperature was to be continually monitored, and the flame blowers switched off when the temperature reached a critical limit.
After everything was burned, our job was finished. In the morning, after the incinerator had cooled off, others were to take the receptacle with the ashes, fill it with water, and turn it into mush. This mush was then disposed of. The whole purpose of this exercise was, of course, to destroy secret documents beyond any possibility of reconstruction.
A Girl Behind Every Tree on Shemya
Wednesday evening, May 23rd. My roommate showed me pictures of Shemya. Shemya was a base on a remote Aleutian island, where he had been stationed for a year prior to coming to Berlin. It was apparently a very dreary place to be stationed. It was just a rock out in the ocean. The worn-out joke about Shemya was that there was a girl behind every tree. The problem was, of course: no trees. Another "choice" spot to be stationed was Sinop, Turkey, on the Black Sea. I met several airmen who had been there also. A couple years later I met a guy who had actually enjoyed the place, and who taught himself the language. "Bu masadir," he said, pointing at the table in the restaurant. I realized that, in spite of my loneliness and depression, I was quite lucky to be stationed in Berlin. Things could have been much worse.
Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure
Friday the 25th I went downtown with Ted. We went to the Europacenter, and then dropped by KaDeWe, where I bought orange juice and lemonade. KaDeWe was a giant department store on the Tauentzienstrasse, well known as the largest department store in continental Europe. It was six stories of endless shopping: clothing, jewelry, books, stationery, household items, music, appliances, and on the sixth floor the largest supermarket-delicatessen I have ever seen in my life. There were endless parades of sausages, breads, cakes, fruits, vegetables, meats, beverages, and several live fish tanks where customers could select a variety of live seafood and have it prepared on the spot. Needless to say, this exceeded anything I had seen in Decorah, Iowa, or anywhere else for that matter!
Saturday Ted and I went downtown again. We spent nearly the entire
afternoon in the Tiergarten, and took some pictures near the Reichstag area. Ted took a
photo of me standing alone on the steps of the Reichstag, absolutely dwarfed by the
massive structure. While returning through the Tiergarten, we got off onto different
paths, and lost each other. I remember looking at him as he struck off in a different
direction and asking myself, "Where does he think he's going?" He just smiled at
me confidently as if he knew his way around well enough to go the rest of the way
blindfolded. So I just returned to base alone, and went to eat at the base
cafeteria.
Sweating on the Fourth of July
In June I was randomly chosen to participate in the annual 4th of July parade at McNair Barracks. The Air Force sent their contingent every year, and I was one of about forty airmen who were selected to march in the parade. We were sent to McNair Barracks for practice on the 22nd and 27th of June. I didn't know anyone else in the group, and it was a boring experience for me.
Wednesday, July 4 was the parade at McNair Barracks. It turned out to be a very hot day, and we had to wear our dress blue uniforms. For some reason I couldn't find my summer blues, and I had to wear the winter blues. So I was sweltering in the heat as the bus bounced along down the streets to McNair, while the sergeant in charge of our group - a goofy guy who reminded me of Joe Flynn of McHale's Navy - rambled on to us about something patriotic that no one was listening to. I don't remember much about the parade any more, but I do remember being dressed up, sitting in the bus on our way there, feeling quite uncomfortable. During the parade a picture was taken of our group marching, and some time later we each got a copy. The photo did not show me, since I was marching somewhere towards the back.
All that work and sweat, and I didn't even get my mug in the picture.
Nollendorfplatz
Tuesday, July 3, I ate with a guy named Steve in the cafeteria, and we struck up a conversation about foreign languages. He was reviewing a Polish textbook at the lunch table, as I recall, and that was something that caught my attention. Our conversation continued in his room at G-2, and in the process I found out that he was a Christian. I told him of my search for a local church. He was attending a small Apostolic church in Neukölln, he said, that was mostly made up of older people. He felt that that was his church home, and he belonged there, although there was another larger, more well-known church in town where there was a lot of young people. That was the meeting place for "Jesus people" and converted hippies and such. He had visited there before, and he thought that it would be a nice place for me. He promised to take me there sometime in the near future.
Steve
told me that the place was located at Nollendorfplatz, in the same building
as a large porno-theater! I recalled having seen the theater building during
the rides on the 19 bus going downtown, and I knew where it was. But I had never
noticed the little side door at street address Nollendorfplatz 5, that read
"Evangelisationssaal".
On Wednesday evening,
July 18, I visited the "Jesus People" church for the first time. For me
personally it was a fantastic experience. The congregation was a curious mixture of
ancient gray-haired ladies in black coats, and long-haired hippies in flower shirts. The
pastor was a very charismatic personality by the name of Volkhard Spitzer, a
29-year-old Swabian who spoke perfect American English. I made friends the first night I
was there, and made many more during the following days, weeks, and months. Those
friendships at "Nolli" opened up a whole new world for me there in Berlin, and
it was to have a lasting influence on my life for the next few years.
Race Relations
Monday, July 16, through Friday, July 20, I was sent to a mandatory race-relations class. Two other guys from Able flight were in the class with me. The others were various other airmen from other flights and from T-berg. The class was led by two black sergeants, one of which was particularly passionate about his subject. One of the students in the class was a white sergeant, about 40 years old, who challenged a lot of the instructor's philosophy, and whose main point was that economics was a more significant factor in human relations than race. This got the instructor visibly upset at times, but the economics fellow held his ground firmly and quietly.
And that was my lasting impression of the week-long class on race relations.
Roommate Intrigues
On Monday, July 2, Ted moved into my "single" room, and became my roommate for about a month. Two weeks later, on Tuesday, July 17, a loud, obnoxious airman moved into our already crowded room in the Hangars. Neither Ted nor I liked him. It wasn't that he was unfriendly, but he smoked, and there was something about his personality that rubbed us both the wrong way. The tolerable living situation with Ted suddenly became an intolerable threesome.
On Thursday, August 2nd, there were some exciting developments in the hangars. Jim dropped by my room and told me that Ted had secretly made plans to dump our roommate and me, and move into his room. Jim was for the moment living alone in a three-man room, since his roommates had recently left. Ted had found out, and immediately decided to move in with Jim. Friday morning, Jim said, Ted was going to pick up the key to his room. There had been some scheming on Ted's part, since he and I had been planning to move into a room in G-2 together. Jim didn't want to live with him, and he invited me to move in with him instead.
I had to make a fast decision. It seemed awfully sneaky, but I went ahead with it. The current living situation was not very good, and the idea of living with Jim, a mild-mannered non-smoker, was very appealing. Moreover, the discovery that Ted had been scheming behind my back was very upsetting. So Jim and I went down to the orderly room and met with the airman in charge of rooming. He gave me the key to Jim's room, and it was settled. I was moved. When Ted found out, he was understandably miffed. For weeks after that day he barely spoke to me, and our relationship was never quite the same afterwards.
The whole turbulent affair was a blessing in disguise, though, since the third man in the room, who also moved in on the same day, was Dan T.
Dan T.
On August 2nd I moved my things into Jim's room, which was only two or three rooms down from where I had been living in the hangars. Dan T. was also in the process of moving in from his single room in G-2. He had been "bumped" by someone of higher rank, and given a room in the hangars. Several Able flighters were helping him move his things. I left for a Nolli-meeting that late afternoon, as they were bringing in Dan's boxes.
During the first two days Dan and I didn't see much of each other, our schedules being as they were. But on Friday, as we were both moving into Jim's room, we got to know each other a little better. Dan saw all of my Bibles on my bookshelf. He smiled knowingly and remarked that we would "have a lot to talk about in the days to come." I wasn't sure what he was leading up to with that statement, but it wasn't long until it became clear that he himself was a Christian.
Dan was very fascinating person. He is the only person I know who became a Christian by reading books alone. He had never met another Christian in his life. While at Goodfellow the previous year, he started reading a series of booklets written by a certain Colonel Thieme. Col. Thieme was an Army officer turned fundamentalist pastor. He was a prolific writer, and had published a series of forty or fifty Bible study booklets. Dan had started reading them, and in the process was converted. This is quite unusual, but Dan was an unusual person. He was extremely easy-going and slow-moving, and possessed an amazing equilibrium. Nothing seemed to make him angry, and he was nearly always in a good mood. He seemed very impressionable, and was eternally impressed and amazed at the most trivial things. His one glaring weakness was his incredible absent-mindedness; he was one of the most disorganized people I have ever met in my life. He had all the external traits of a simpleton, but in actuality he was very bright and well-educated. He spoke German, and although his pronunciation was very American, he was completely fluent and had no problem conversing with locals.
Dan and I hit it off very well. We seemed made for each other. Dan greatly admired in me what he perceived to be self-discipline and an amazing ability to organize my personal life. I was attracted by his personal warmth and friendliness. The fact that we were both Christians living together in the same room only served to bond us together even more closely.
Dan was my companion at "Nolli" for over a year until he left Berlin in September, 1974. At the end of December 1973 we met a girl from "Nolli" by the name of Lucy, and in the following August I was the best man at Dan and Lucy's wedding at the base chapel.
Max Cleanup on a Marienfelde Mid with Bill M.
Monday morning August 20th was the first mid for Able flight. Brian S., Bill M., and I were assigned "max cleanup" that night, which meant that we did janitorial work on the premises, waxing and buffing the floors. We were not too organized, and the operation turned out to be quite a mess.
The ERF Team
Monday, August 27, was our last day watch, and Ted, George P., and I were sent to a military rifle range out in some remote area of the Grunewald to do some target practice with the M16. We and several others had been selected to serve on the ERF team. The "ERF" team, or "early reaction force", was a group of airmen from the Marienfelde site that was appointed to work guard duty around the perimeter of the site. In the event of an assault on the site, we were to grab our M16's and protect the facility. It wasn't a very fun thing to be involved in. Occasionally there were ERF drills at Marienfelde, which were signalled by a very loud and cacophonous alarm that blared through the building without warning. It was the most disgusting sound one could possibly imagine, something like an amplified garbage disposal. That was the signal for us to get our rifles and man our posts. The idea of an ERF team defending the site seemed a little silly at first, but became a little more frightening and serious during a period where there were rumors of terrorist attacks on overseas American military bases.
Ted the Sniper
Ted was involved in a humorous incident while on the ERF team at Marienfelde. One of the higher-ranking sergeants in charge of our training once related to us a story about Ted. This sergeant was outside one night, and while walking near the side of the building away from the main entrance he heard a sound that made his heart stop. Someone hiding in the shadows clicked a rifle and barked out "Freeze!". He stopped dead in his tracks, and put up his hands. It was Ted! He had been hiding in the dark, timidly patrolling the perimeter, and had heard someone approaching. In typical Ted style, he assumed it to be an intruder, cocked his rifle, and commanded the stranger to halt. It was hard to say who was more terrified: Ted or the sergeant. In any case, knowing Ted, I think that the sergeant was lucky that he lived to tell the story.
Chaplain Martin
September 5th Dan and I ate midnight breakfast in the chow hall, and we were joined by Chaplain Martin. Chaplain Martin was a nice gray-haired man of about 50 who ran the chapel located next door to the chow hall. We told him about the services at "Nolli", and he seemed very thoughtful and impressed. He gave me the impression that something was troubling him at the time. He was very much interested in the goings-on at "Nolli". He and Dan hit it off quite well, and became good friends.
"Tag der offenen Tür"
Thursday through Saturday, September 13-15, was Able flight's break period. Everyone at the base was gearing up for the annual open house at the airport, known to the Berliners as "Tag der offenen Tür".
Saturday morning I remember waking up to an unfamiliar sound outside my window. I peeked out through the curtains, and saw a huge steady stream of humanity filing by. The Tempelhof open house had begun, and the local populace was pouring in from the outside. The open house was an annual event, and very popular with the Berliners. There were air shows, exhibits, and food. Various kinds of aircraft were parked out on the runway in front of the hangars for visitors to see up close. The open house, though, meant work for us, since we had to clean up afterwards.
Sunday morning the 16th Jim and I got up early for the open house cleanup that Able flight had been assigned, showing up on the flight line at around 7:00. Jim, I, and others were given brooms, and instructed to sweep away all the litter that lay strewn upon the pavement. It was all organized fairly well, and once we got into full swing, I almost found myself enjoying it. (Don't tell anyone I said that).
Mess Check - Ruth, George, and Sgt. H.
Saturday and Sunday night, September 22 and 23, I had mess check, and didn’t have to work the last two mids. Mess check consisted of having to stay around in the chow hall, punching lunch tickets when airmen came in to eat, and afterwards helping the cooks with whatever odd jobs they might have when midnight breakfast was over. Most of my time that evening I sat around reading.
There were, as I remember, four main individuals who worked in the mess hall. One was a local German guy, about 35 or 40 years old, who spoke very good American English. He was friendly, intelligent, and showed an interest in me every now and then. Although he preferred speaking English with the airmen on base, I remember he did "condescend" to speak German with me on a couple of occasions.
The other German in the chow hall was a short, pudgy 44-year-old blonde named Ruth. She was a chummy person, and that second evening while on mess check she sat down with me and told me what it was like in Berlin during the War. She said she was born in 1929 and came to Berlin in February, 1942.
Another one of the workers was a tall, sullen, graying Turk named George, about 50 or 55, who seldom spoke and never smiled.
The fourth was a Sgt. H., about 30 years old, who once told me that meat in German supermarkets was not sanitary enough to pass American health standards, and was not safe for us to eat – which, of course, was nonsense.
Much Ado about Nothing
September 27 and 28 a general was said to be in the area, and there was the usual cleaning and dressing up for the occasion. He didn’t show up at all until 3:30 on Friday, and his visit was very brief, and so all of the hoopla was rather anticlimactic. This occurred several times during my tenure at Marienfelde. Rumors of an impending visit by a diginitary, usually some general with too much time on his hands, would send shock waves throughout the network of NCO's and supervisors at the site. All of the scruffy-looking airmen had to get fresh haircuts, put on their blues, and sparkle for the general when - and if - he ever showed up. He usually didn't, or if he did, he didn't go around inspecting any of us common troops.
Burn Detail, Max Cleanup, and a Log Book Cartoon
On the mid of October 8th I had burn detail again. Then John, "Hak", Ted, and I did "max cleanup", mopping, waxing, and buffing all the floors. A few days ago Brian had remarked that I hadn’t been drawing many cartoons recently; so that night I drew a caricature of one of the guys and pasted it into the log book. Vaughn got a big kick out of it.
An Able Flight airman looks confused.
The mid on the 9th we had off. Dan and I "hanged" all night, the term used for staying up late to get in sync with the work schedule. I had been listening to the Well Tempered Clavier the past few days, and was really starting to get into it. They were on some records that Bill M. had, and I had Jim help me record some of them on tape. Bill had a gigantic collection of records, and he let me borrow a few now and then.
George S. Announces Language Tests
Saturday, October 13th, George S. announced we would all be taking language proficiency tests soon. There was a movement going around to get the new troops up to speed, since the general sentiment at the top was that many of the operators were incompetent. I was hoping that I would do a decent job in the test.
George was a Staff Sergeant, and a kind of senior operator at the site. He had been working at Marienfelde for years, along with the grueling shift schedule, and was one very sharp individual for the job. He was middle-aged, short, wore his hair in a very well groomed traditional 1950’s-style, and was very business-like, quiet, and serious. Whenever there was some very important activity at work, they would get George to do it. He was fast, accurate, and very experienced.
Terrorist Threats
Thursday the 18th was our first swing. That night at Marienfelde we had an ERF exercise, and then a briefing. Marienfelde, they said, was one of several targets for terrorist attacks, and we were being put on a higher level of alert. I was a little frightened by it all. Often I thought of the bus ride between the base and the site, and how easy it would be for a terrorist to target us on the street, let alone the site at Marienfelde.
To this day I still marvel at how lucky were all were. That bus rode down the same streets every day, right on schedule, a bus full of American imperialists dressed in military uniforms. How easy it would have been for some nutty terrorist to blow us all to kingdom come. But it never happened.
Sunday the 21st was our last swing. Dan had the day off. At Marienfelde the ERF team was doing patrols around the inside fence, as a response to the rumors of terrorist threats.
More ERFing
Wednesday, October 24 we finally had the Russian language test. Most of it I found pretty easy. I finished it feeling rather confident about the results. Still it was a tense experience, since there was a rumor going around that this testing was to determine who stayed at Marienfelde and who got sent to Sinop in Turkey.
I did ERF guard duty that night for the first time. They had me stand out by the generator shack with a radio and an M16 rifle from about 3:00 to 4:00 a.m. Later four of us went around the perimeter. Then from 7:00 until we were relieved I had to stand guard again. I was the last one to get on the bus, and felt tired and confused.
Sunday was our second day watch. It was another slow day with no work. I had to stand guard again in the morning, and again in the afternoon. It was a nice clear day. Some German civilians were taking a leisurely stroll along the road below the site, and I could see them eyeing me curiously. I had to chuckle to myself, thinking of the spectacle that I presented, a skinny young American soldier dressed in a heavy fatigue jacket, patrolling the site with an M16.
First Sergeant Archy G.
Ken N. had given me the rest of the day off, and I caught a ride back on the chow truck. Dan was up, and told me that Sgt. G. had seen our room and didn’t like the way we had set up our lockers. The lockers in most of the rooms had been put up against the walls, but Jim had rearranged them such that they partitioned the room into three semi-private areas, one for each of us. Jim's was the most private; in fact, he had a private key to his own door. This door was supposed to be permanently locked, but he had somehow inherited a key. As can be imagined, we were all very pleased with the setup. Sgt. G., however, was not pleased. He wanted the lockers moved around to their original positions.
Dan and I went to run aerobics that afternoon, and after going back to our rooms and showering, we went to see Sgt. G. We promised that we would move the lockers. He said he would drop by the next day to check it out. But that evening when Jim came back, he said that he didn’t want to move the lockers around at all, and that Sgt. G. wouldn’t come back; he was only bluffing. I was pretty nervous about the whole thing. We had made a promise to him, and he had even shaken our hands on it.
Wednesday the 31st, my first day of break, I got up at 9:00, and left for a few hours. I didn’t want to be around if Sgt. G. came. So I went to the base library for a while. At 2:00 I came back to the room. Jim was right; he never showed up.
Archy G. was the First Sergeant. As First Sergeant he had authority and he certainly wasn't afraid of using it. He was a very excitable fellow, always shooting from the hip, chewing out airmen, both those who deserved it and those who didn't deserve it. Whenever I try to picture Sgt. G. today, all I can see is Sherman Hemsley, who played George Jefferson on the TV series "The Jeffersons." He was in fact a kind of hyperactive version of George Jefferson.
During my years at TCA I was on the receiving end of a couple of Sgt. G.'s tirades, but it was never anything serious. Whenever I got in trouble with him, it was usually the result of someone else's negligence or mischief, and I found him to be generally pretty fair when the facts came to light.
Category 5
Saturday November 3rd was our first swing, and I found out my scores on the Russian test. The results were distributed into five categories, 1 through 5, with 5 being the highest. Everyone on the flight got category 1 or 2; "Hak" scored category 3; but I came out with a category 5! I was, of course, very gratified with the results. Other matters, however, clouded my good spirits that night. An SP talked with us about how serious the terrorist threat on our site was. Vaughn and I walked a round with our M16’s. I went back to the room tonight feeling frightened and uneasy about things.
Monday the 5th I was quite busy with work, but a little later on had a chance to slack off. At midnight, when we were relieved by the next flight, I was unexpectedly greeted - in Russian - by Bobby, a senior operator. He had heard of my category 5 score on the language test, and was offering his congratulations. I was greatly flattered. Bobby was one of the hotshot operators on the site, who usually worked days, and did a lot of the more advanced work. He had quite an extensive knowledge of the Russian language, and for him to regard me as an equal was quite an honor. That made my day.
November in Berlin: Snow, Thanksgiving, and Kudos from Sgt. Engbretson
On the bus ride to work the next day, Rob sat with me, and told me that he felt so bad that he didn’t know German. He thought that Berlin was such an interesting place, and he felt bad that he was unable to talk with the Berliners. I worked all evening, except for a couple times when we went out on a sweep of the perimeter. The word had gotten out about my category 5 Russian skills, and guys were starting to come to me now with their questions. It made me feel like one of the top operators. It wasn’t too long ago that I was feeling just the opposite.
Monday morning November 12 I got up early and walked to breakfast. It was still dark, and a full moon was shining prominently in the west. It was a breathtaking sight. November clouds were racing through the cold dark skies above Tempelhof, illuminated by a cold, brilliant full moon.
Tuesday the 13th I didn’t go to work. Bob and I had to take some mandatory job testing. We met in a room with several others, and took our tests all morning. They were administered by two cheerless old NCO's who were smoking contemptuously in front of a "no smoking" sign. One was small, thin, and grim-looking, and the other plump. "You have to get a new ID card," they declared. "You’ve been promoted, and your face has changed."
By noon we had finished the tests, and Bob went back to work. He said he had things to do, but I stayed in the barracks. I felt a little guilty about that, and hoped that no one would call me back to Marienfelde. At 12:30 Able flight Captain T. and senior NCO Stan dropped in unexpectedly, checking the room for something. I was pretty nervous and embarrassed, but they didn’t seem interested in me, and left.
Thursday, November 22nd, was my first Thanksgiving in Berlin. That afternoon there was a big Thanksgiving dinner prepared in the chow hall, all fancy and with all the trimmings. Very few were on the bus to Marienfelde. Ken N. was in a merry mood, and gave the bus driver a drink from his bottle.
We were relieved from work early that evening, but not before Ken M. and I worked on some very unusual activity. It was a little confusing at first, but then it started making sense. I really got into it, and in the process made a very good impression on Ken. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was scoring big points that evening with the big guys at Marienfelde.
Monday morning the 26th there were traces of snow on the ground when we were relieved from our mid. I didn’t see very much snow in Berlin during the five and a half years that I lived there.
Tuesday night the 27th was the last mid. I brought along a couple Hebrew books to study that night, and Ken M. saw me with them, and he sat and talked with me a while. John was all caught up in a tactical fighter air war game that he had brought along. There was another cake raffle that night, with a delicious and beautiful cake decorated with an Able flight emblem. It had been snowing all night, and when the bus came to relieve us in the morning, we went out and had a short snowball fight.
Thursday was a very snowy day. The bus came for us late, and we got to work over an hour late. The other flight had already left by the time we arrived. At 11:00 we drew numbers from a hat, and a large group of us got to leave early.
Friday the 30th it was very snowy and cold. At work I got a letter of
commendation from Sgt. Engbretson. Apparently the activity I worked on at
Thanksgiving was quite a high-profile event in our little USAFSS community, and my name
had been omitted from the list of operators who had worked on the whole project. Ken M.
stepped out for me, and brought it to their attention that I had been one of the key
operators involved. I was not aware of any of this until I received the letter from Sgt.
Engbretson that day, and then later received personal congratulations from Major L. It was
all very flattering, and entirely unexpected.
That evening was our first swing. We had an ERF class and learned how to strip down the M16 rifle. Jim was on the team, since he had recently scored expert on the firing range. I stayed up until 2:00 that night after getting back to the hangars.
Art at Marienfelde
Friday night, December 7th, was the third swing for Able flight. Vaughn had me draw one of my doodles in their log book, and had lent me some colored magic markers to do the job.
One of the other flights had an extremely talented artist who adorned one of the log books with very elaborate cartoons. I was unofficially recruited to represent Able flight in leaving artistic creations behind in the log books for the other flights to enjoy. I wasn’t as good as the other flight's cartoonist (whom I never did meet), but I did end up making some rather good cartoons and doodles in the logs during the three years at Marienfelde. Since the log books contained classified information, the art work could not be removed from the building, and as a result it all eventually ended up in a burn bag. I always thought that that was a terrible pity. Some of the cartoons I produced were among my best efforts, as were the many colored doodles. The other cartoonist's creations were top-notch, among the best art work I had ever seen anywhere. He also had a great sense of humor. I particularly remember two of his cartoons. One was drawn after a mid spent in working on tapes in the backlog, during which all tapes were finished but one. Instead of writing a drab entry in the log book to that effect, he drew a cartoon of himself holding a smoking gun, with "dead" tapes lying around his feet, each identified by tape number. Behind him was a tape that had sprouted feet, and was dashing away for dear life into the distance, with a little arrow pointing at it with the caption, "Tape 1234, the one that got away." One of his most memorable cartoons was one of his last, in which he depicted himself and his buddy getting out of the service. Apparently their hitch was over, and they were leaving Berlin. For the occasion he drew a full-page cartoon in action-comic-book style, depicting himself and his buddy smashing through the walls at Marienfelde, and making a dramatic escape, while sharpshooters in the foreground were trying in vain to mow them down. An officer was standing behind the sharpshooters, facing the reader with a look of terror on his face and shouting, "They’re getting out – AND NOTHING CAN STOP THEM!!" It was all very cleverly done. Too bad it ended up in a burn bag.
Only one of my elaborate
doodles ever escaped the burn bag. The occasion was Pat P.'s birthday, one of the WAF's
that started trickling into the all-male world of Marienfelde in 1974, and I drew a doodle
in her honor. I made sure that no writing appeared on the flip side of the page, and when
the book was full, I cut the doodle out and took it home.
Christmas Eve at Marienfelde
That night on the bus ride back to base I found out from Rob that the planned 5-flight schedule was being scrapped, and that the old schedule was going to stay. I was very disappointed. I had been hoping there would be some relief from this insane shift work. I didn’t get much sleep that night. Jim stayed up until 3:20, and then Dan got up early and stumbled around for over an hour.
Saturday night’s swing, December 8th, I worked a lot and got tired. The guys on the flight had me draw Able Flight invitation cards with a Christmas wreath. It turned out all right, but I was nervous with everyone watching me draw it. We xeroxed the cards in the office where the day people work. The place gave me the creeps for some reason. I imagined it to be an awful place to work in.
Monday the 24th was the last swing, which I had to work. I took along Olaf's Christmas cookies for a snack. Olaf was a guy I had met at "Nolli". He was a young crazy German with a big heart. He had invited me to his squalid apartment in Kreuzberg on Sunday evening, and sent me home afterwards with a batch of home-baked "Weihnachtsplätzchen".
The first part of the evening was pretty busy, but then things tapered off. There were not very many people there that night. George Z. showed me where there was a short-wave radio, and after playing with it I got the Voice of America in Chinese! Chinese was one of my favorite languages, one that I had learned four years earlier while in college. That was a nice treat. I guess that was my Christmas present for that Christmas Eve at Marienfelde.
Thursday night the 27th was the second mid, which was my last one for that cycle. I was "bleeding" all night, that is to say, feeling dog-tired and yet having to stay awake. To make it worse, I had a dental appointment in the morning. Sgt. K. drove me there, leaving at 7:40 in order to arrive in plenty of time. The dentist office was down at the US Army hospital, as I recall, and the dentist there just x-rayed me, gave me a quick exam, and then said that nothing was wrong with my teeth. I was a little surprised, since I had expected the usual crop of cavities. On the trip back to base, I missed the bus I wanted, and had to wait for an hour and a half for the next one. I didn’t get back to bed until 11:00 that morning.
Monday the 31st, the last day of 1973, was another dead day watch at Marienfelde. I played some of a word game that was popular with the guys around that time. It involved guessing a five-letter word in which no letter was repeated. I found that the hardest words to guess were those that began with vowels.
We got back at 4:15, right during the flag-lowering – something that everyone always tried to avoid, since it required standing at attention while the music played over the loudspeakers.
Just before midnight Dan and I turned on the radio and listened to the countdown for the arrival of the new year. Then at midnight there was a long volley of fireworks heard throughout the whole city, which lasted several minutes. I got out my tape recorder and taped some of it. 1973 had ended, and a brand-new year in Berlin was on its way.
See the pictures behind the story:
MARIENFELDE / TCA PHOTO GALLERY
Disclaimer:
The purpose of "Marienfelde, 1973-1976, An ex-airman remembers" is only to entertain. These are personal memories of one individual, and as such they are subject to error. The names of individuals have in nearly all cases been abbreviated or altered in order to protect their privacy; therefore the reader is STRONGLY cautioned against making any assumptions as to the identity of any individuals referred to in this narrative. The views and opinions communicated on this website, whether explicit or construed, are those of a private individual and not those of the United States Air Force, the USAFSS, or any other government agency.
 |
| Copyright © 1999 by Bill Price |
| URL = http://billpriceweb.com/mari73.html |
| introduction | writings | home |
