It was hard to leave Germany

August – September 1972

It was hard to leave Germany

I mean really.  It was hard to leave Germany, because the USA would not give Hedda a visa.  We had filled out all of the forms in plenty of time and sent them in through the base personnel office.  We had ordered our new car to be picked up in New Jersey.  We shipped off all of our belongings.  We moved out of our house and were living in the base hotel.  But we did not have a visa for Hedda.  There was a problem with the background investigation.  They never started one!

The consulate said they had all of the paperwork, but for some reason they didn’t start the investigation.  Even after we identified the problem they just went looking for the one they never started.  Now Hedda had lived all of her life (seventeen years) until we were married in the same town, on the same street, in the same house!  She had never traveled out of the country until I took her to Germany.  The OSI for the Air Force had run a background investigation on her when we got married.  It would seem to me that they could drive someone up there, talk to the local cops, interview her teachers from school, run a check through Interpol and give her a visa.

The consulate said there were no shortcuts or waivers allowed.  They said I could leave with the kids and as soon as they got their stuff together in a few months they would give her a visa and she could join us. I rejected that plan.

The base hotel was not real expensive, but we did have to pay for our rooms.  There were no cooking facilities, so we were eating out, mooching on friends, or eating sandwiches in the room.

The Air Force gives you ten days of temporary living allowance (TLA).  My commander extended the TLA to thirty days which was the maximum of his authority.  We ended up staying in the hotel sixty days.  It was some tough times with a three year old and a nine month old baby.

One day when we were coming back to the hotel I let Hedda and her friend out of the borrowed car with the kids.  They went upstairs and the friend took Lisa straight to the bathroom to wash her up.  Hedda hung her purse on the door and brought a sleeping Steve straight to bed.  When she walked back to get her purse and close the door, alas the purse with over three hundred dollars in it, was gone.  We reported it to the police and they found the purse with all of her ID’s etc still in it, but the money was long gone.

It was pretty depressing.

About that time I got a letter from my dad with a copy of a letter he sent to Senator Hubert Humphrey.  He laid out all of the problems that we were encountering and asked for his help.  I still have a copy of that letter someplace.

A few days later we got a call.  “Please come up to the consulate as soon as you can.”

I needed to borrow a car to get to Frankfurt to the consulate.  Because of friend’s work etc. we were having some problems finding one.  My commander called the motor pool and authorized me to get an Air Force vehicle to drive.  Thankfully, I rushed over to the motor pool.  The only thing they had for me was a ¾ ton crew cab 4WD pick-up truck.  But of course there were some more problems.  My Air Force driver’s license said I was qualified to drive a bunch of military vehicles and even tow jet aircraft; it did not specify a ¾ ton 4WD crew cab pick-up truck.  I made a quick return trip to my commander’s office.  He taught me a lesson that would come in handy later in my career.  He put the old paper drivers license in the typewriter, typed in ¾ ton 4WD crew cab pick-up truck, signed it, and sent me back to the motor pool.  A little while later we were on our way to Frankfurt.  I’m sure glad my commander added that vehicle to my license; because I needed all those driving skills as I had to maneuver the ¾ ton 4WD crew cab through the crowded streets of downtown Frankfurt with all of its traffic and small European roads.  When we walked in the door of the consulate and identified ourselves to the desk, we were immediately met by an official escort and we went to the head of the line at each of the stations where our paperwork was waiting.  A process that usually takes a few hours was completed in less than half an hour.  We were then escorted into the office of the vice consulate.  He apologized for all of the problems and hoped that we and Senator Humphrey were satisfied with the “special exemption” that they made for us.

In less than ten days we were on our way.  We took the base bus to Rhein-Mein AFB to catch our flight out to the good old USA.  Flying with two little ones is not easy.  We had a plan on how to carry everything that would be needed for the eight hour flight to McGuire AFB, New Jersey.  We had baby food for Steve, and snacks and toys for Lisa.  We were ready to go!

The announcement came that there would be a short delay.  A few hours later there was another announcement.  Then another.  They finally said that we might want to get a room at the transient quarters and tell the desk what flight we were on.  They would notify us with enough time to get ready.  It was already late at night when we got settled in our room.  Less than two hours later came the call that they were ready to go.

After months, days, and hours, we were airborne and on our way to the good old USA.  Hedda, Lisa, and Steve Jr. were on their first ever airplane ride and would be on American soil for the first time of their lives!

By the time we landed, we were exhausted.  The kids were really good travelers, but even adults get tired and crabby after eight hours in an airplane.  It was early morning when we landed.  Hedda had her passport with her hard fought for visa and of course she had some extra processing to do.  After we cleared customs and immigration we made our phone call to the car dealership.  “We desperately need our car.  Is it ready?”  They had been waiting for us for a couple of months and the car was out back.  They gave us directions for the taxi, and when we got there we still had to wait a few more hours to get on the road.

We only drove long enough to get out of the big city, found a hotel and crashed for our first night in America!

We called Minnesota and told Mom that we would arrive in three days.  The plan was to get there in two days, but if you told Mom the exact time you were expected she would start worrying about twelve hours before you were due.  This way we could head off most of the worrying!

To be continued….

Stuck in Genetics Part 2

Stuck in Genetics part 2

When I last left you I was climbing out of Little Fiddler Flat in the dark.  I finally made it where I could actually see where I was going.  By the time I made it home, I was a few hours late.  I always told Hedda approximately where I was going so she would know where to send the rescue team.  I also told her that when I was elk hunting that if I got one late in the day I would spend the night and not to send help until the next day.  I was surprised when she greeted me with “Where were you?  We were looking for you?”  “Who’s we and why were you looking for me?”

It seems that my dad took bad sick while visiting my brother in Arkansas.  My friend Bill and Hedda went where I told them I would be, but I wasn’t there.  I was way farther in than I said I would be.  In fact I was way farther in than I should have been.  They gave up looking for me.  I called Paul and found out that things didn’t look good for Dad.  The next morning we got the devastating news that he had died. 

Somehow I have the feeling that he was watching me and all my problems.  I bet he was laughing and saying, “You needed just a little more momentum!”

A few years later Steve Jr. and I went back down the same road, but this time we were on mountain bikes.  When we got to the really bad spot, Steve kept going at his naturally crazy speed.  I stopped and waited.  Pretty soon I heard him yell “Don’t try to ride this!!”  I was smiling as I walked my bike down.  Apparently he had a little too much momentum and his bike stopped in the washout, but he kept going.  After a fun day of riding trails and finding an alternate way out, I decided I would never try that trail again on anything with wheels.

 The winch on Jimmy really came in handy.  One day we took a ride through the almost snowless mountains near Prairie, Idaho.  There was so little snow that we thought we could make the complete loop and come out at Black’s Creek.  It was late afternoon when we crossed the river and headed up the slope out of the canyon.  That side of the mountain didn’t get as much sun and there was a lot more snow.  We followed some tracks and were actually driving on top of the snow crust until we came to the spot where whatever made those tracks broke through the crust.  The rest of the trip consisted of run the winch out to a tree or fence post, winch her forward, then do it again.  The winch was burning hot.  The sun had set quite awhile ago.  The boys and I were tired from wading through the deep snow to find an anchor point and Hedda was getting nervous.  We took a break and made some hot chocolate and chili on the camp stove before it was back to work.  By the time we got out and went to the rest stop where we could put on some dry clothes and call Chris’s mom, it was after midnight.  The boys and I thought it was quite an adventure.  Hedda and Lisa weren’t as impressed.

“Old Blue” was a 1964 ¾ ton 2wd pick-up that took me places 2wd trucks should not go.  We knew of a swimming hole in the San Bernardino mountains that was down a trail that the Forest Service had marked as “hazardous – 4wd vehicles only”.  Of course I had to see how bad it was.  We found that if we went to the bottom of the canyon and loaded a bunch of rocks in “Old Blue” it would give us enough traction to get back up the hill.  We used the rocks to build a barbecue in my friends back yard.

One time a buddy and I were on top of a ridge and saw what must be a short cut down to the desert below.  We figured that “Old Blue” was up to the task and we followed the trail down the mountain.  Later we guessed that it wasn’t really a trail.  Someone had probably pushed an old car or truck off just to see it fall.  We made it safely to the bottom.  There were a couple of times when we kind of lost confidence in “Old Blue”.  We held the doors open and were ready to jump if I lost control.  Now “Old Blue” was old.  The starter had given out so we had to push start it.  The gas gauge didn’t work.  A friend said that “Old Blue” had good vibes.  I told her that was probably the worn out king pins.  We were so excited about living through our latest adventure that we were a little over confident as we headed out through the washes and dry creek beds.  Oops! We got hung up on a particularly steep exit from a wash. Probably not enough momentum.  No real problem.  We just had to jack up the back end and put some stuff under the wheels.  As we were working we couldn’t turn off the truck as it didn’t have a starter.  I noticed a change in the idle of the engine.  It started running a lot smoother.  I told my buddy that I think my carburetor was set to rich.  He asked “What makes you say that?” “I think we are out of gas.”  About that time the engine died and we had a ten mile walk to get help.

The Mohave River spends most of the year under ground.  Sometimes in heavy rains it will run above ground.  The road between Apple Valley and Hesperia, California crosses the river.  There is no bridge the road just drops down and crosses to the other bank.  There is a culvert under the road that allows a small water flow.  If the weather combines melting snow and rain the river turns into a torrent and runs over the road.  We crossed the road in the morning and there was about a foot of water across the road.  That afternoon on our way back, I figured it was better to take the long way around and not risk the crossing.  It was a good idea!  This picture shows the worst stuck ever.  The two guys who were in this pick-up tried to cross a few hours after we did.  The river had washed out all the sand out from under the pavement and it collapsed.  Both guys got out ok, they were just wet and without a truck.  I don’t think momentum would have helped.

River crossings can be fun.  We were on a sight seeing trip in Iceland to look at glaciers.  We had family from Holland with and we wanted to show them a good time.  We were following a gravel road that skirted a glacier.  There was river crossing.  We watched an Icelandic Bronco in front of us who went through the cold deep water with no problem, so we tried it.  My Blazer was doing fine but then the engine died. I laid on the horn and the Icelandic Bronco came to our rescue.  The water was deep enough that with the strong current it was coming in the passenger side door.  I crawled out of my window and out on the hood.  The rescuer threw me a rope.  I had to lean over into the water (did I mention that this was glacier run off?  The water was COLD!) to reach the tow hooks under the bumper.  The Bronco pulled us out and asked if we needed any more help.  We thanked them and sent them on their way.  I found that the air intake hose ran to the front of the grille and had sucked in enough water to stall the engine.  We pulled the spark plugs and cranked the engine until it quit spitting water.  We dried and WD-40’d the distributer cap and wires, cleaned the plugs, reinstalled them and we were on our way.  I took the air intake hose and routed it so it was to the back of the engine and high enough to keep it out of the water.  We continued our trip and had a great time.  On our way back out everybody was a little concerned about the river crossing.  My modifications worked and we made a successful escape.  Our plan to give Hedda’s relatives a memorable trip worked.  They always talk about getting stuck in the river when we get together.

It will be fun to watch our grand kids and see if any of them carry on the tradition.  My bet is on Derek.

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Stuck in Genetics

Stuck in Genetics

As I looked at my son, I was amazed about how much he reminded me of my Dad.  The way he stands, the facial expressions, the pick-up stuck in the snow bank.  I believe that certain things are passed on from generation to generation and getting vehicles stuck is one of them.  Probably in ancient Sweden some long lost relative was explaining to his wife as they stood there looking at an ox cart up to it’s axles in mud, “I could have made it through if I had a little bit more momentum.”

My dad was a great one for momentum.  To get through that soft spot in the half mile driveway to our cabin you just had to have the right momentum.  Too much and you slid off the road.  Not quite enough and you just got farther into the mud hole.  We spent a lot of hours working with shovels, boards, and pushing our 1959 Ford station wagon on those days when we just didn’t get that exact amount of momentum.  He would finally give up and he would send me down the road to get Lundeen and his tractor to pull us out.

Dad introduced me to getting stuck in snow, mud, sand, and high centered.  He taught me how to get unstuck too.  Jacking up the stuck vehicle and putting whatever is available under the wheels with no traction is the best way.  Branches, rocks, floor mats, boards (without nails, we learned that the hard way) all work pretty well until you give up and go get Lundeen and his tractor.

The most memorable stuck was when one evening he backed into a sand ditch trying to turn around on an isolated country road.  The sand was like sugar and there was no bottom to it.  We worked with some branches and floor mats, but we just kept sinking deeper.  We finally gave up and started walking to the nearest house.  The closest place was an isolated old farm house that was owned by a bachelor who lived alone and nobody knew much about.  As we walked up the quiet driveway, we couldn’t see any lights in the house and there wasn’t a yard light.  That had to be one of the scariest walks I have ever done.  We kept waiting for some dogs to attack us, or a shotgun toting hillbilly to appear, but everything was dead silent.  There weren’t any cars around.  We banged on the front and back doors with no response.  We dug around in his sheds until we found a shovel and some boards that we used to eventually free the old Ford from the sand.  While we were working a car came by (the first one we had seen in four hours).  It didn’t stop to see if we needed any help and we saw it turn into the driveway that led to the old farm about a quarter mile down the road.  We didn’t bother to return the borrowed tools until the next day.  Funny thing was no one was home then either and we put everything back where we found it and left.

Steve Jr. has carried on the tradition of finding just how far a vehicle can go.  Here in the Idaho desert, there are many opportunities to find ways to lose traction.  We bought Steve a 1966 International Scout and a 1969 Scout for extra parts, hoping he would learn some driving and mechanical skills.  Many times he and his friends would come walking back home.  The Scout was stuck, broke, or out of gas.  One time we were going back out to rescue it and we couldn’t find it!  They weren’t sure where they had left it.  We went to the highest hill around and after searching the horizon with binoculars we finally spotted the yellow of the hood in the sun.

One time his friends came back from a camping trip to the mountains to report that the Scout was mired in mud so bad that even with a jeep and lots of tow rope they couldn’t move it.  My GMC Jimmy with a winch was off to the rescue.  It took a couple of hours and there were a bunch of muddy teenagers before we were able to free it.  If you combine four wheel drive with momentum, you can get really stuck.

The Jimmy had a lift kit and 36” tires.  With a little bit of skill matched with the genetic tendencies towards getting stuck, and some momentum you could put it in places that defied nature.  Of course Mother Nature doesn’t like to be defied.  A certain teenage boy, while showing off to his friends, managed to stick the Jimmy in the Mountain Home Reservoir in mud and water that engulfed those 36” tires.  It took two full sized trucks, a winch, and some ingenuity to “unstick” it. 

I, of course, also have those genetic tendencies.  One day I was trying to get to the “greener pastures” of elk hunting.  There was a trail that maybe at one time had been a road.  It was pretty well washed out, narrow, and clinging to the edge of a cliff.  Going downhill it is fairly hard to get stuck.  I was stopping and getting out of the truck every hundred yards or so to scout out the next downhill.  I was more worried about falling off of the cliff than getting stuck.  After going through some bad spots while successfully fighting off the law of gravity, I started getting a little bit more confident.  The next bad spot didn’t look too bad so I didn’t get out and scout it.  It was only about a quarter of a mile down to the next flat area and even though the washout was right in the middle of the road, I easily straddled the two foot deep ruts down to the safety of the next corner.  Right in the middle of the steep hill the washout turned and ran off the cliff.  This made the rest of the hill nice and easy.  I was a little concerned about negotiating that washout on the way back up.  I thought I might have to do some winching to make it past the bad spot so I planned to quit hunting early enough to leave me some daylight to get back up the hill. 

I made it back to the truck around 4:00 which gave me about an hour and a half of daylight to get back up the hill.  Momentum is the key to everything.  Coming downhill I had the momentum of gravity to help me through the spot where the washout went over the cliff.  Going up hill was much more challenging.  I had to get through the bad spot and still straddle the washout in the middle of the road.  I hit it as fast as was reasonable.  I got through the bad spot thanks to momentum but I slipped into the washout.  I was going to back up and get a run at it again.  As I put the truck in reverse and let the clutch out, the back end gave a jump to the right.  It wanted to follow the washout over the cliff!  I bailed out of the truck.  Luckily it didn’t go over the cliff.  It was balancing on the right front wheel and the left rear wheel.  The other two wheels were off the ground.  The right rear wheel was actually hanging out over the cliff.  I gingerly reached into the cab and grabbed the winch control.  After letting out the winch cable and attaching it to a nearby tree I was able to secure the truck enough so it wouldn’t fall.  The next few hours were spent using a high lift jack, a variety of ropes and cables to jack, winch, find another anchor point, jack, winch, etc.  Remember I only had an hour and a half of daylight left so I ended up working in the dark.  After I got to the top of that hill I still had to negotiate the rest of the “road” in the dark.  When I was going around the sharp corners, my headlights were shining out into space and I could only judge where the road was by the glare on the side of the mountain out of the passenger’s window.

(To be continued)

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Germany 1971

Germany 1971

The ancient German farmer came out from a blind corner right in front of us.  I slammed on the brakes and pulled left, but I couldn’t avoid him.  He was driving a walk behind hay mower that was pulling a small trailer.  He was straddling the trailer tow bar.  Impact was my VW’s right front wheel to his mower blade.  The impact sent him flying.

Pregnant Hedda was ok, as were my Mom and Dad and two year old Lisa.  The old man miraculously got up.  His hay mower didn’t look the worse for wear, but the right front wheel of my VW was torn off.  The poor old farmer said he was not hurt.  He was telling the neighbors that he panicked and froze at the controls.

This incident happened just as we were leaving the Black Forest city of Baden-Baden.  Because there was an American involved the local police called the State Police and they arrived in a motor home.  They interviewed us separately and agreed that the skid marks of my little VW matched up with my story.  They said it was the farmer’s fault and I collected the insurance information.  We had the car towed to a shop and made arrangements to rent a car and continue on our vacation.  My Mom and Dad had another adventure to add to there European trip log.

We made our way back to Kaiserslautern where we lived.  After sending the tourists home, I still had a few days of vacation left so we got the older VW out of the storage lot, transferred insurance and registration and headed for Holland.

We had just bought the other car expressly for the European tour with my folks.  This VW was in the storage lot because it was not meant to be driven far.   I filled it with oil and packed a few spare quarts to get us through the 200 mile drive to Hedda’s house.  At the first hill we almost came to a stop.  It was like the little engine, “I think I can.  I think I can.”

We made it to the top and pulled over to the side.  The old VW’s were air cooled and don’t have a temperature gauge, but I knew it was overheating.  I topped off the oil and used the oil can and some bungee cord to prop the hood open hoping this would allow some more air to cool the air cooled engine.

We decided to keep to the small roads and stay away from the autobahn.  The six hour trip took us about ten hours and I was all out of oil by the time we got to Hedda’s parents house.  We also “lost” first and reverse gears in the transmission.  The little VW did its job and got us to Holland.  I figured I could just run it over to the junk yard and they might even give me some beer money for it.  No such luck.  Because it had not been properly imported to Holland they couldn’t even take it off my hands for free without paying import taxes.  Pa Hardeman said just leave it with him.  He would take off anything usable and bury what was left in the back yard.  Years later when a construction crew built new houses there, I bet they were surprised to find a VW graveyard.

Hedda and Lisa stayed in Holland and I took the train home.  I was scheduled to go TDY (temporary duty) to Spain for four weeks.  I found a lawyer, gave him power of attorney for the car that was wrecked and all the information about the farmer and his insurance and left for Madrid.

As things sometime happen in the military, four weeks turned into six weeks.  When I got back to Germany I caught a taxi to the lawyer’s office and got there just before they closed.  He had a check for me that covered the loss of the car, the cost of the rental car, and his fees.  I signed the check and he cashed it for me.  I walked over to the German version of Hertz, rented a car and headed for Holland.

That is how three weeks later we were carless.  I was able to catch a ride to and from work, and we had made arrangements with the landlady who lived downstairs to bring us to the hospital and watch Lisa when it was time for the baby. 

Hedda said “Steve, I think it is time.”

I went downstairs while she packed a bag.  The landlady’s mother answered the door and said she was babysitting and no one else was home.  This family was always home!  I went back upstairs, gathered what little cash we had, walked to the Gast Haus to call a taxi, got the landlady’s mother to watch Lisa, and off we went to the hospital.

When Lisa was born, I was right there helping.  Giving advice, holding a hand, amazed at the miracle of birth.  In the American Army hospital I wasn’t allowed in the delivery room I was regulated to the father’s waiting room like a bad TV sit com.  Sometime in the middle of the night, Steve Jr. was born.  Mother and baby were fine.  Now when we left home, I had only found enough money for the taxi ride to the hospital.  I had to walk/hitchhike the six miles back home at three o’clock in the morning.

When I look back on those times I am amazed at how we ever survived.  Driving a junk car to Holland with a two year old and a pregnant wife.  At home with an overdue pregnant wife and no cash on hand in case of an emergency.

What were we thinking!

Looking back, I guess I wouldn’t change a thing.

Hedda's Tante Gerrie & The good VW

Steve Jr. & Oma Hardeman

Steve Jr.

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August 1969 - Pregnancy

The first thing I learned about an eight month pregnant wife is not to take her to the movie “Rosemary’s Baby”.  To those who don’t know that was a Mia Farrow movie about a woman who gets pregnant by the devil.  We had taken the bus to base to see the movie, settled down with our popcorn and after the first hour of terror, she calmly told me that her water broke.

Now as a mature 20 year old I had some experience with water breaking.  When I was living with my sister Janet and going to college, she woke me up one morning after Roger and the girls had gone off to work and school and informed me that her water broke and we had to do something.  Now the reason that I was in bed and not attending classes was because my car was out of gas and I was out of money.

We were living in an old farm house in northern Minnesota.  The driveway was about ¼ mile long and the nearest neighbor was about one mile away.  The second nearest neighbor was another mile farther.  We had electricity, but no phone.  We did have a really nice pump house where we got our water and medium nice outhouse.  If you don’t know what an outhouse is ask your parents.

I quickly got up, saddled the horse and headed to the nearest neighbor.  There was nobody home.  I then went to the next neighbor.  They weren’t home either.  There must be a sale on farm equipment or beer at the co-op.  I took a short cut back through the woods and across the river.  I’m not making any of this up.  Janet was nice and calm, which was good.  I figured if she wasn’t worried everything must be OK.  I gathered up a gas can and a hose and went to various junk cars and tractors that we kept around for just such an emergency, and siphoned out a couple of gallons of gas.  I put the gas into my 1955 Ford.  This was in 1966 so the Ford was only 11 years old.  It wasn’t rusted out too bad and it ran pretty good.  We loaded up an overnight bag and a calm mother-to-be and headed out.

Now the Ford ran pretty good, but there was a slight problem with the transmission.  It wouldn’t climb a hill in low gear.  There was a couple of big hills right after a “T” in the road.  When I was by myself, I would hit the turn about 25 miles an hour so I could keep up the momentum to climb the hill.  Now a 90 degree turn on a dirt road at 25 mph was an adventure that I thought I should spare sister under these circumstances, so I turned around at the bottom of the hill and backed up it.  I think we had to back up a couple of more hills on the way.

We stopped at a friend’s house.  They weren’t home.  Where was everybody??  We knew where they hid the key and went inside and called the doctor.  He said you better get in to the hospital in Virginia right away.  Now after all of these years my memory is not too clear, but I think I dropped her off at the emergency entrance and by the time I parked the car, Scott Peterson was testing out his lungs.

Luckily I didn’t have to saddle up a horse that evening in Holland.  We just walked across the street to the base clinic.  After a couple of hours of sitting around in the clinic and a couple of phone calls to the doctor, they decided that nothing was happening and brought us home.  The next day we went and saw her doctor and he explained a lot of intimate details about the inside of a woman and something about only a partial break of a protective lining and everything was OK.

Things were fine for the next month and a half and then she again announced that her water broke.  This time it was for real.  We sat around watching TV and waiting.  At least Hedda was watching TV, I was watching Hedda.

“Do you feel anything?”

“No”

 “Do you feel anything?”

“No”

This went on for a few hours and then we went to bed.

“Do you feel anything?”

“No”

“Do you feel anything?”

“Well, just a little pain in my belly.”

“What else are you waiting for?”

We called the doctor.  He came to the house and checked her out and said let’s head for the hospital.  Now Hedda and all of her siblings had been delivered by this doctor in this house.  We were going to the hospital because of an insecure twenty year old – wait it’s after midnight – an insecure twenty-one year old American.  I had just realized that it was my birthday.

I made Hedda ride in the doctor’s car and I followed.  We got to the birthing room and the doctor checked her out again and then asked the nurse if she would set some tea.  TEA!! There was a baby coming!  Somebody do something!!!  So we drank some tea and when Elizabeth Jane was ready about an hour later I had the best birthday present ever!

Hedda

Oma Hardeman & Lisa (Elizabeth)

Opa Hardeman & Lisa (Elizabeth)