We were to get started without delay. Craig would be attached to the Regional Military Government office in Munich, I to the Military Government Detachment in Frankfurt. Captain La Farge suggested that I investigate the possibility of requisitioning the university buildings for a depot, and advised Craig to consider one of the large Nazi party buildings in Munich which he had been told was available.
On the way home that night Craig and I compared notes on our new assignments. I was frankly envious of Craig, not only because there was something alluring about all that loot, but because I loved Munich and the picturesque country around it. In turn, Craig thought I had drawn a fascinating job—one that involved handling the wonderful riches of Berlin’s “Kaiser Friedrich,” admittedly one of the world’s greatest museums.
The following morning we parted on the steps of the Grand Parc Hotel. Craig took off first, in a jeep with trailer attached, a crusty major for his companion. Half an hour later a jeep appeared for me. On the way over to Frankfurt I thought about the experiences of the past three weeks. It had been fun sharing them with Craig and I wished that we might have continued this odyssey together. I didn’t realize how soon our paths were to cross again.
(2)
ASSIGNED TO FRANKFURT
The Military Government Detachment had its headquarters in a gray stone building behind the Opera House. It was one of the few in the city that had suffered relatively little damage. I reported to the Executive Officer, a white-haired major named James Franklin. After I had explained the nature of the work I was expected to do, he took me around to the office of Lieutenant Julius Buchman, the Education and Religious Affairs Officer, who had also the local MFA&A problems as part of his duties. Buchman couldn’t have been more pleasant, and said he’d do everything he could to help. There was an air of quiet good humor about him that I liked at once. I learned that he was an architect by profession and had studied at the Bauhaus in Dessau before the war. He spoke fluent German. I told him that first of all I’d like to get settled, so he guided me to Captain Wyman Ooley, the Billeting Officer.
Ooley was a happy-go-lucky fellow, the only Billeting Officer I ever met who was always cheerful. He had been a schoolteacher in Arkansas. Together we drove out to the residential section where a group of houses had been set aside for the Military Government officers. This part of the city had not been heavily bombed and each one of the houses had a pretty garden.
“I’ll tell you, I’ve got a real nice room in that house over there,” he said, pointing to a gray stucco house partly screened by a row of trees. “But it’s for lieutenant colonels. It’s empty right now, but I might have to throw you out later.” Thinking that lieutenant colonels would be very likely to have ideas about good plumbing, I quickly said I’d take the chance.
The front door was locked. Ooley called, “Lucienne!” One of the upper windows was instantly flung open and a woman, dust-cloth in hand, leaned out, waved and disappeared. A moment later she reappeared at the front door. Lucienne, all smiles, was as French as the tricolor. Ooley explained in pidgin French, with gestures, that I was to have a room on the second floor, wished me luck and departed. Lucienne bustled up to the second floor chattering away at a great rate, expressing surprise and delight that I was “officier de la Marine” and also taking considerable satisfaction in having recognized my branch of the service.
She threw open a door and then dashed off to the floor above, still chattering and gesticulating. I was left alone to contemplate the splendor before me—an enormous, airy bedroom looking out on a garden filled with scarlet roses. This couldn’t be true. Even lieutenant colonels didn’t deserve this. The room had cream-colored walls, paneled and decorated with chinoiserie designs. A large chest of drawers and a low table were decorated in the same manner. In one corner was an inviting chaise longue, covered in rose brocade. Along the end wall stood the bed—complete with sheets and a pillow. The built-in wardrobe had full-length mirrors which reflected the tall French windows and the garden beyond.