Volume CXXXIII, Number 6 October 19, 2001 f

Beyond The Pines
LUDWIG VAN RANG
STAFF WRITER

Granted one of my first weekend passes not long after arrival at Rose Barracks, the first thing I did was to take the train to Bonn to see my parents. Not having acquired any 'civies' yet I went in uniform, summer khakis.

Like a lot of other guys, I had the shirt specially tailored. It was a fad that I later regretted having gone along with since it made the shirt so tight one didn't dare breathe. Besides, it only really suited anyone with a torso like Michelangelo's David.

My father met me at the station. Seeing me get off the train in uniform must have come as a shock: the long-lost son returning as an American soldier.
My mother thought I looked just fine in it.

Anticipating going home for weekends on a regular basis, I began thinking about getting a car. Going by road, along the most scenic stretch of the Rhine, would cut the journey down to about two hours and be much more convenient. I also wanted a car in which to go round Europe when on proper leave.

Having driven across America twice, this was an ideal opportunity for me to explore my own and neighboring countries. So I decided to buy a Volkswagen, which cost about five thousand marks at the time. My father said he would help me with the finances.

For a color, I chose black, and a sun-roof as an extra. This really came in handy when going through the Alps, or along the Rhine past the legendary Loreley.

I was to take many a trip in my black Beetle and, after being discharged, I had it shipped back to the States.

One of the first trips was with my fatherly friend the English Colonel to Italy, through the Swiss Alps. Crossing the St. Gotthard Pass in mid-May, one day after it had been opened for the season, there were huge walls of snow still piled up either side of the road.

But coming down into Lugano, on the other side, the air was wonderfully balmy.

About every other weekend I would go home in my new car, sometimes taking one of my buddies along. Vito Orlando was so tall and gangly he had trouble squeezing his awkward frame into the Beetle. Vito came from Los Angeles and wanted to be a teacher.

One weekend I took four of my PIO pals to the European Grand Prix at the Nürburgring, in the Eifel Mountains west of the Rhine. Vito squeezed his awkward frame into the front, and the other three sat squashed in the back.
It was a good thing Geoff Nightingale, a young man of great intelligence, yet equal girth, was not interested in Grand Prix Racing.

Stirling Moss, the famous British racing driver, won. These days, I'm a Michael Schumacher fan. However, since Grand Prix became an expensive spectator sport, I prefer watching Formula One on TV.

On another occasion, I actually drove my little car over the entire course of the Nürburgring which is allowed on certain weekdays. Though it may not seem in character, I would have loved to have been a race car driver.

Another time, I took Pete Minta along for a three-day trip through Luxemburg and Alsace-Lorraine. Our first stop was Nancy, with a famous 18th-century square named after a Polish Prince, and our second was Strasbourg, with a famous medieval cathedral and city, which was much fought over between France and Germany, but is today the seat of the European Parliament.

For some reason, we wore our uniforms, Pete's idea, I think. In the evenings, he would drag me off to some dubious-looking café or bar trying to pick up girls, if that is what one could call them; they were, in fact, prostitutes. Prostitutes and soldiers for some reason seem to have a special affinity for each other.

"Here, you take this one," Pete would say inclining his head to indicate some grotesquely painted creature perched on a bar stool. He'd take the one next to her, naturally younger and prettier.

Though he offered to go and chat them up for me, I just couldn't bring myself to go through with it. Though he couldn't understand why, Pete kept on trying. The idea, hatched with a buddy of his from the Honor Guard named Dean Hovey, apparently was 'to get Rang laid'.

To Minta's credit, I must say he respected my reluctance to pick up prostitutes. During a picnic on our last day, after a bottle of French wine, Pete told me he'd quite enjoyed the trip even without "getting laid."

Unfortunately, I haven't seen him or any of my former Army buddies since.
As mentioned last week, I also took Helga home in the black Beetle to meet my family. My mother, as I said, liked her very much and was all in favor of us marrying. But I got cold feet.

However, one of my older brothers took a great liking to Helga, eventually helping her get a job with the U.S. Embassy in Bonn, and going out with her the summer after I'd left the Army, taking an overseas discharge.

In return, I started going out with his former girlfriend, an attractive blonde more interested in sex than marriage, it seemed, doing her best to seduce me. But again, I "chickened out", as Pete would have said. The truth is, I wasn't ready for sex with girls yet. Some guys are slow starters.