I landed at the Frankfurt International Airport on a TWA from Philadelphia non-stop to Frankfurt, Germany. This was the first time I’d ever flown internationally. I was in my dress uniform as was customary, and when I had disembarked the plane I was directed by some Army personnel to grab my duffel bag and wait for the rest of the soldiers to be assigned to new duty stations. Once all of us had collected our gear, we were herded on a bus heading somewhere else. Just across the airport was our next destination, Rhein-Main Airbase, to be precise.

The lot of us were lined up, verified as being “in transit,” and assigned a bed in the dormitory facility. The mess hall was pointed out, and we were told when lunch, dinner, and breakfast would be held. In the morning, we’d begin our processing to our permanent assignment in USAREUR (U.S. Army Europe). After breakfast and roll call, we were brought into a building to get the ball rolling. Before I could sit down, I was identified and asked to follow another soldier. He brought me to SFC Iverson’s office. Not even 12 hours in the country, and I was already in trouble.

No, I wasn’t; I was offered a job right here at this processing center due to my previous experience with computers. I didn’t hesitate and accepted the position. With that, I was introduced to SPC Rosario, who would act as my sponsor.

Thanks, Rosario, for the indelible impression you left on me as the person who guided me to all the things I needed to do and learn about getting situated at my new duty assignment at 21st Replacement Battalion, 1st PERSCOM, Rhein-Main Airbase, on the opposite side of Frankfurt Airport in West Germany. Beyond the military stuff, on the third day in Deutschland, he brought me to the red light district in front of the Frankfurt Bahnhof on Kaiserstrasse. I was astonished as I had NO IDEA that prostitution was legal anywhere on our planet.

With pockets full of money, I was ready for some hot hookers. On that third night in Germany, I visited three different women: one from Germany, one from Sweden, and one from Italy. At DM 50 (50 Deutsche Marks) or about $15 per “session,” I was instantly addicted to legalized prostitution. If Rosario hadn’t insisted we head back to our unit, I could have stayed there a couple more hours having my unit serviced. For the next three years, including after I was married and we had a daughter, I’d find myself down here sometimes four days a week.

Initially, when I was living on base, I had a lot of options to get to Frankfurt from the airport. Other guys, who already had cars, would be heading into town, or I could hop on the shuttle that frequently ran between our side of the airport, the military housing area on the other side, and then to the terminals where they’d be picking up or dropping off soldiers and their families. Once at the airport, I’d head downstairs to the regional trains, and in 15 minutes or so, I’d be pulling up at the main train station, the Hauptbahnhof.

But things weren’t all about hot hookers and carnal gratification; I also had to play soldier. As part of my early orientation, a bunch of us were sent off to the Fulda Gap, as it was known. Here on the East German border were the communists with Mother Russia in the background. You are looking at No-Man’s Land. While the fence was placed behind the proper border, we were warned that areas between lookout posts were mined and that we’d be in deep shit if we dared step beyond the border, never mind if we accidentally triggered a mine. The East German military and Russians were always watching for a potential international incident that might be used to some advantage. I was reminded that I was a soldier before all else.

Nope, as soon as I was done with work for the day, I went people-watching down on Kaiserstrasse and trolling the side streets, darting into the funky-smelling houses of ill-repute. Condoms filled with stale semen, sweat, cigarette smoke, incense, and perfume made for a powerful concoction of scents that would let blind men know they were in the vicinity of carnal depravity. Over the next three years, I was here so often that I had favorites and started to grow bored of sex without reciprocal passion.

After the novelty of finding cheap sex at my convenience had worn off, I started to venture out farther from the red light district, and I discovered Hauptwache in the middle between the Zeil, the main shopping area that stretched down to Konstablerwache, on one side and the financial district on the other. It was near here that I stumbled upon the British Bookshop and Rosie, the Persian bookseller. Rosie was helpful in tracking down books from Williams S. Burroughs and Charles Bukowski. She also recommended things like “Les Fleurs du Mal” by Charles Baudelaire, but it was when she put “Beyond Good and Evil” by Friedrich Nietzsche that my life took a major left turn.

My life as an American was getting blurry. Back in Indianapolis, I was loosely brought into an investigation of some nefarious stuff that was super sketchy. Fortunately, I wasn’t involved with the apprehension of the target, which created serious issues for the soldier involved. Here in Germany, I was witnessing things I didn’t want to know were happening. This created the first cracks of trust that my apple-pie mentality was still wrapped around. I liked to read before, but now my reading had become voracious. On shuttles and trains, between paying for sex, I was reading. At night in the barracks, I was reading. On the trains, venturing to areas outside Frankfurt to explore the history all around me, I was reading. And people watching.

While aspects of Frankfurt were reminiscent of Los Angeles, this place was somehow altogether different. Turks, Russians, Italians, Greeks, British, and others from around Europe were everywhere. One of the major differences was that they all spoke many different languages, including mine. The more I talked with strangers in shopping areas, on trains, and in other surrounding towns, the more I became aware of how knowledgeable the people were who were sharing with me.

My worldview of being in the center of the universe with my fellow Americans was coming unraveled.

Nothing looked the same, tasted the same, or reassured my thinking that I was “all that.” I was starting to doubt everything I thought I knew. That didn’t bother me so much, as did the military commitment that needed me to remain subservient and ensconced in the cocoon-like insular culture of America. Too late, the seams had already torn apart and the cat was out of the bag.

[This post was written in April 2021]