Finding Karl in Frankfurt

Only a fool or a madwoman would fly off to Germany, where she did not speak the language, get into a rental car with a stick shift, which she had not driven for 20 years, and drive on the autobahn, where Mercedes passed going 130 mph., and drive straight into a strange city, where she had only a vague idea where to find her son, whom she wrote the date and time of her arrival, and who failed to meet her and David at the airport.

I was crazy. Perhaps I was a fool. I am also a woman. I stop and ask for directions.

Karl was at the Army’s Fifth Corps Headquarters. Someone who spoke English (I don’t remember whom) told me how to get there. I drove up to the gate. I told the guard I wanted to find my son, and he waved me through. Later I saw many cars with German license plates going in and out of this major American Army base without even a pause at the gate for a security check. This was 1978. Al Qaeda would not attack for another 22 years. .

On a street bordered with rows of parked cars, I drove into a large facility resembling a college campus with many buildings scattered between parking lots and grassy lawns. The main building, built in the 1920's decorative style of New York “skyscrapers”, reminded me of the old GM headquarters in Detroit. I learned later that before World War II it was headquarters of a major German munitions manufacturer; I think it was I.G. Farben.

After passing all those cars without finding an empty space, I spotted spaces right in front of the headquarters building. David and I were getting out of the car when an M.P. marched briskly out of the front door and told me those spaces were reserved for generals. David and I immediately got back in the car. When finally I found a place to park the rented Opal, we had a long walk back to headquarters.

This time the M.P. politely told me Army Intelligence was on the 9th floor. We crossed the lobby to the strangest elevator I ever saw. I faced two elevators without doors. In one platforms went continuously up; in the other platforms were going continuously down. After watching uniformed service men nonchalantly stepping into the “up” elevator, I held my breath, grabbed David’s hand, and, following a sergeant, jumped onto the moving platform.

With David trailing behind, I boldly walked into the offices of Army intelligence without being challenged. Karl came out, the only one who looked surprised at this civilian woman and young kid showing up in this top secret facility. The major told him to take the afternoon off.

We drove out to Bad Homberg to see the restoration of an ancient Roman fort, then returned to the Army base for supper at the NCO Club. By this time I had been without sleep for more than 24 hours. I felt groggy. I said, “Karl, please take David and me to where we are going to sleep tonight.”

The Army has a hotel on the base to house dependents who were being transferred. Karl went inside and came back a few minutes later, saying, “Sorry. They don’t have any vacant rooms tonight. I have a class, and I’m going to be late if you don’t take me over there right away.”

I was annoyed but not surprised. He acted just as his father. How many times had I asked Wally to do something? He always failed to do it, then became angry if I reminded him. In front of the Army’s education building, as Karl picked up his books and got out of the car, I calmly said, “Where are David and I going to sleep tonight?”

Karl stuck his head in the car window and said, “Go to the railroad station. The tourist bureau there will find you a place.”
“Wait a minute,” I called as he walked away. “How do I find the railroad station?”
“There are signs all over town,” Karl called over his shoulder. “Just follow signs that say, ‘to the bahnhof’.”

I drove away confidently. Married to Wally for more than a quarter of a century, I was used to dealing with difficult situations. And I knew how to follow directions.