On the train I am being told that my pictures have not played in Germany, hence I am practically unknown there. This rather pleases me because I feel that I can relax and be away from crowds.
Everyone on the train is nice and there is no trouble. Conductors struggle with English for my benefit, and the Customs officers make but little trouble. In fact, we cross the border at three in the morning and I am asleep.
Next morning I find a note from the Customs man saying; "Good luck, Charlie. You were sleeping so soundly that I did not have the heart to wake you for inspection."
Germany is beautiful. Germany belies the war. There are people crowding the fields, tilling the soil, working feverishly all the time as our train rushes through. Men, women, and children are all at work. They are facing their problem and rebuilding. A great people, perverted for and by a few.
The different style of architecture here is interesting. Factories are being built everywhere. Surely this isn't conquered territory. I do not see much live stock in the fields. This seems strange.
A dining-car has been put on the train and the waiter comes to our compartment to let us know that we may eat. Here is a novelty. A seven-course dinner, with wine, soup, meat, vegetables, salad, dessert, coffee, and bread for twenty-eight cents. This is made possible by the low rate of exchange.
We go to the Adlon Hotel in Berlin and find that hostelry jammed, owing to the auto races which are being run off at this time. A different atmosphere here. It seems hard for me to relax and get the normal reaction to meeting people. They don't know me here. I have never been heard of. It interests me and I believe I resent it just a bit.
I notice how abrupt the Germans are to foreigners, and I detect a tinge of bitterness, too. I am wondering about my pictures making their début here. I question the power of my personality without its background of reputation.
I am feeling more restful under this disinterested treatment, but somehow I wish that my pictures had been shown here. The people at the hotel are very courteous. They have been told that I am the "white-headed boy and quite the guy in my home town." Their reactions are amusing. I am not very impressive-looking and they are finding it hard to believe.
There is quite a crowd in the lobby and a number of Americans and English. They are not long in finding me, and a number of English, French, and American reporters start making a fuss over me. The Germans just stand and look on, bewildered.