Giessen, Germany, circa 1964-1967
Before we left for Giessen to meet Dad, I remember Mom taking our car to be shipped to Germany. It was a 1962 white Chevrolet station wagon. At the time, it felt perfectly ordinary. Once we arrived, we realized just how large it was compared to the smaller German cars around us. That station wagon carried us across countries, through towns, and into memories we would not have had if we had grown up in one place.
We left from the airport in Lafayette with Mom’s cousin Daniel and his family seeing us off. Even now, when I go to that airport, I think about that day. I can still recall the feeling when I stepped off the plane in Frankfurt. The sky was dark and heavy. Everything felt unfamiliar. Maybe it was the long journey, or maybe it was simply being a little girl in a place so different from anything I had known. I remember the processing when we arrived, though not in detail, only that it felt new and uncertain.
We first lived in a basement apartment in Giessen. Coal heated the space, and I remember going to the coal yard with Mom. After about two months, we moved into temporary housing in the Marshall Housing area on the Army post. The apartment was on the fourth floor and had eight bedrooms. Glenn recently reminded me that we moved there on Halloween. That space had once been the maids’ quarters. Later, we moved again, this time to a permanent apartment on the second floor with three bedrooms.
The stairwells became part of our world. Glenn and I, like so many of the other children, spent time sliding down the bannisters from the fourth floor all the way to the first. It was one of those simple joys that never needed explaining.
All of the apartments looked the same. The furniture issued by the military was identical from one home to another, leaving little room for individuality. Still, Mom kept everything neat and simple. Looking back, I see how much I carried that with me.
We read comic books constantly. It did not take long to learn that children went from door to door trading them. Once we finished one, we traded it for another. There were always children around. We played marbles, sledded in the winter, and spent hours on the playground. Saturdays often meant the matinee at the theater. One of the first movies we saw there was A Hard Day’s Night by The Beatles.
Life extended beyond the housing area. We visited towns, restaurants, and castles across Germany, sometimes on day trips, sometimes on longer vacations. There was an American park with a swimming pool where we spent many summer days swimming and having barbecues. The post exchange, commissary, and theater were all within walking distance, making everything feel connected and close.
Christmas came through the Sears catalog. Many of our clothes and gifts were ordered that way. We made decorations ourselves, folding catalog pages into Christmas trees and spray painting them. We used candles that dripped different colors down the sides of wine bottles. In the kitchen, Mom baked cookies, including spritz cookies, and made cream puffs filled with chocolate pudding instead of vanilla. She would pour warm chocolate pudding over vanilla wafers, a dessert I once thought everyone knew.
Without American television, we listened to the radio and spent most of our time outside. When families returned from grocery shopping, Glenn and I joined the other children offering to help carry in bags. Most families shopped once a month on payday, so there was always plenty to carry. A dime was the usual reward.
Friends became family in a place far from home. Mom and Dad’s friends Bob and Elaine, whom we had known from Fort Chaffee, were also in Giessen. Elaine taught me how to crochet, something I still enjoy. Bob entertained us with what we thought was magic, pulling an invisible ball from a paper bag and making it land with a thump. Years later, we realized the sound came from his fingers snapping against the bag.
We also became close to Dehart and Ingrid, who were German. They took us swimming in their small three-wheel car. There was barely enough room, so Glenn and I took turns sitting on the floorboard. I remember how kind they were, and how I admired Ingrid. I still have a postcard she sent from Italy, signed only with her first name.
School brought its own memories. Dad walked me to my first day of first grade, though I spent the first week in the wrong classroom before being moved. My teacher, Miss Curran, believed in discipline and made that clear. My second-grade teacher, Miss Droweski, was just as firm. By third grade, I had Mrs. Lawson, whom I loved. She once explained that it was better to finish your work first so you could enjoy what came after. It was a simple lesson, but one that stayed with me.
Winter meant sledding on Chapel Hill near the school and chapel. The hill filled with children, laughter, and the sound of sleds cutting through snow. It remains one of my happiest memories.
Our travels took us through Bavaria and into the Black Forest. We visited Lake Chiemsee and saw Herrenchiemsee, the castle built by King Ludwig II of Bavaria on an island in the lake. We camped often, sometimes staying in guesthouses with feather beds. Dad bought each of us a German fedora, adding a pin from each place we visited. We wore Lederhosen, and I had a Bavarian dress. Today, those pieces have been passed down to my grandchildren.
Over time, Mom and Dad began collecting antique clocks. Some stayed in the family, including the large grandfather clock that now sits in my home.
As much as we experienced, there came a time when I began to miss home. I missed my grandparents deeply. Letters and occasional overseas calls were the only connections we had. It was not like today, where communication happens instantly.
Near the end of our time in Giessen, a family moved in below us. The mother, Josie, was from Opelousas. It felt unexpected and familiar at the same time. She and Mom shared stories of people they both knew.
We left Giessen two months before I finished third grade. We flew into McGuire Air Force Base and made the long drive back to Opelousas. Dad would soon leave again for another tour in Korea.
Looking back, those years were filled with movement, discovery, and small moments that stayed.
Comics were traded from door to door. Bannisters worn smooth from sliding hands. Castles that felt like something out of a story.
Some places you visit. Others become part of you.
