Honey GailAugust 23, 1966
She smiled in the delivery room ...
Many months before her birth at Fort Benning, Georgia, the story of Honey Gail began in Heidelberg, Germany.
It was the best of times ... It was the worst of times ...
Excitement and hope traveled with us when Tony, Patti, Carmen, Karen and I crossed the ocean. Television and McDonald's were left behind with scarcely a backward glance as we prepared to live, for a time, among the German people. We looked forward to learning the Deutsche language and local customs.
In, "A Tramp Abroad," Mark Twain wrote that he fell in love with Heidelberg. I understand. How could anyone not love such a magnificent city.
As darkness fell on a September day of 1965, we joined hundreds of others who were spreading blankets on grassy areas across the river from Heidelberg Castle. Schlossbeleuchtung fireworks were about to begin, but first, something called "The Lighting of the Castle" took place. The great castle looked as if it were being consumed by raging fire. Afterwards, fireworks exploded while the castle loomed in the background. To say such a display was breath-taking is like saying the Titanic had a small leak.
The following winter, Tony's entire fifth grade - complete with teachers - traveled by bus to Berchtesgaden Konigsee where they lived in dormitories for two weeks, having regular school during morning hours and skiing through the afternoons. While in the area, they toured Hitler's Eagle's Nest by entering a tunnel of sorts where an elevator was waiting to carry them straight up through the mountain to view this famous landmark.
It was the best of times ... Architecture, art galleries, museums, scenery, culture ...
It was the worst of times ... My marriage had been unstable back in the states. Now, with an ocean separating me from friends and family, the situation grew much worse.
Thanksgiving weekend was filled, non-stop, with intimidation and abuse. Some facts I remember vividly. Some, are mercifully blurred. Insanity claimed a few hours .
Christmas came and went. I hope I made it happy for my children. I can't remember.
January brought morning sickness and disbelief.
It couldn't be true.
By February the waistband of my jeans failed to close.
Please don't let it be true.
In March I felt the first tentative flutter.
It was true.
However, that tiny movement turned out to be just the compelling force needed to wipe fog from my brain and allow the world to snap back into focus. Gladness replaced fear as I felt new life beginning inside my body. Suddenly, I knew I was strong enough to find my way back across that vast ocean. Leaving quietly, with my children by my side, I began the long journey home.
I had remembered to pack passports before walking out the door for the last time, but I forgot our shot records. There was no way to go back to the apartment without risking grave danger, and there was no way to travel without shot records. The problem was solved when a nurse at the Army hospital forged duplicates for me. Wherever she is today, I owe her a debt of gratitude.
A train carried us to the country of Luxembourg. Staring with unseeing eyes at postcard scenery rushing past my window, I thought how only the very foolish or the very brave could do what I was doing. I wasn't foolish. Not then. I had only been foolish in the past - and, sadly, I would be again in the future - when I believed promises my husband made with great sincerity, and broke with even greater cruelty.
We waited five days for a military air transport flight out of Luxembourg. When we were airborne at last and headed in the right direction, I dared to believe the worst was behind us. I was wrong. An ice storm, somewhere over the country of Greenland, forced our plane to make an unscheduled landing.
A cable was strung from the plane to the terminal door. With strong men on either side of me clinging to that guiding wire, we stumbled, unable to breathe, through blinding sleet. Tony and Patti came behind me, walking on their own, but held tightly by more men ... Carmen and Karen were carried to safety in the arms of giant angels wearing camouflage. Wherever those good men are today, I owe them a debt of gratitude.
Food and warm blankets were generously provided by women who operated the concession stand in that small airport in the middle of a desolate frozen country. They spoke mostly Eskimo-Aleut, some Danish and very little English, but they knew the language of compassion. Wherever they are today ... I owe them everything.
Five months after leaving Heidelberg, Germany my baby was born. I entered Fort Benning army hospital at sundown on the 22nd. I took one book with me ... "The Rabbi," by Noah Gordon ... Clock hands crawled away the lonely hours. Pages turned. Sometimes, I read aloud to my unborn child, asking its opinion about a good man striving to do good works in a world too distracted for goodness. Chapter thirty-nine was trying valiantly to follow chapter thirty-eight when someone took my book away.
Just before dawn on August 23rd, a tired doctor placed a wiggling new-born girl in my arms. I raised my head off the pillow to look down at her. With perfectly focused eyes, she stared back at me. In that moment of recognition, we knew - my daughter and I - that nothing else mattered.
She smiled at me.
She smiled in the delivery room ...
Many months before her birth at Fort Benning, Georgia, the story of Honey Gail began in Heidelberg, Germany.
It was the best of times ... It was the worst of times ...
Excitement and hope traveled with us when Tony, Patti, Carmen, Karen and I crossed the ocean. Television and McDonald's were left behind with scarcely a backward glance as we prepared to live, for a time, among the German people. We looked forward to learning the Deutsche language and local customs.
In, "A Tramp Abroad," Mark Twain wrote that he fell in love with Heidelberg. I understand. How could anyone not love such a magnificent city.
As darkness fell on a September day of 1965, we joined hundreds of others who were spreading blankets on grassy areas across the river from Heidelberg Castle. Schlossbeleuchtung fireworks were about to begin, but first, something called "The Lighting of the Castle" took place. The great castle looked as if it were being consumed by raging fire. Afterwards, fireworks exploded while the castle loomed in the background. To say such a display was breath-taking is like saying the Titanic had a small leak.
The following winter, Tony's entire fifth grade - complete with teachers - traveled by bus to Berchtesgaden Konigsee where they lived in dormitories for two weeks, having regular school during morning hours and skiing through the afternoons. While in the area, they toured Hitler's Eagle's Nest by entering a tunnel of sorts where an elevator was waiting to carry them straight up through the mountain to view this famous landmark.
It was the best of times ... Architecture, art galleries, museums, scenery, culture ...
It was the worst of times ... My marriage had been unstable back in the states. Now, with an ocean separating me from friends and family, the situation grew much worse.
Thanksgiving weekend was filled, non-stop, with intimidation and abuse. Some facts I remember vividly. Some, are mercifully blurred. Insanity claimed a few hours .
Christmas came and went. I hope I made it happy for my children. I can't remember.
January brought morning sickness and disbelief.
It couldn't be true.
By February the waistband of my jeans failed to close.
Please don't let it be true.
In March I felt the first tentative flutter.
It was true.
However, that tiny movement turned out to be just the compelling force needed to wipe fog from my brain and allow the world to snap back into focus. Gladness replaced fear as I felt new life beginning inside my body. Suddenly, I knew I was strong enough to find my way back across that vast ocean. Leaving quietly, with my children by my side, I began the long journey home.
I had remembered to pack passports before walking out the door for the last time, but I forgot our shot records. There was no way to go back to the apartment without risking grave danger, and there was no way to travel without shot records. The problem was solved when a nurse at the Army hospital forged duplicates for me. Wherever she is today, I owe her a debt of gratitude.
A train carried us to the country of Luxembourg. Staring with unseeing eyes at postcard scenery rushing past my window, I thought how only the very foolish or the very brave could do what I was doing. I wasn't foolish. Not then. I had only been foolish in the past - and, sadly, I would be again in the future - when I believed promises my husband made with great sincerity, and broke with even greater cruelty.
We waited five days for a military air transport flight out of Luxembourg. When we were airborne at last and headed in the right direction, I dared to believe the worst was behind us. I was wrong. An ice storm, somewhere over the country of Greenland, forced our plane to make an unscheduled landing.
A cable was strung from the plane to the terminal door. With strong men on either side of me clinging to that guiding wire, we stumbled, unable to breathe, through blinding sleet. Tony and Patti came behind me, walking on their own, but held tightly by more men ... Carmen and Karen were carried to safety in the arms of giant angels wearing camouflage. Wherever those good men are today, I owe them a debt of gratitude.
Food and warm blankets were generously provided by women who operated the concession stand in that small airport in the middle of a desolate frozen country. They spoke mostly Eskimo-Aleut, some Danish and very little English, but they knew the language of compassion. Wherever they are today ... I owe them everything.
Five months after leaving Heidelberg, Germany my baby was born. I entered Fort Benning army hospital at sundown on the 22nd. I took one book with me ... "The Rabbi," by Noah Gordon ... Clock hands crawled away the lonely hours. Pages turned. Sometimes, I read aloud to my unborn child, asking its opinion about a good man striving to do good works in a world too distracted for goodness. Chapter thirty-nine was trying valiantly to follow chapter thirty-eight when someone took my book away.
Just before dawn on August 23rd, a tired doctor placed a wiggling new-born girl in my arms. I raised my head off the pillow to look down at her. With perfectly focused eyes, she stared back at me. In that moment of recognition, we knew - my daughter and I - that nothing else mattered.
She smiled at me.
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