My Story

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FARMWIFE NEAR DUTCH BORDER - 1957



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MY LAST SKETCH IN WEST GERMANY - 1957

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BRATWURST SELLER - 1957



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RAIN TALK - 1957

My Story
#7

On the outskirts of town that afternoon, I pulled my Vespa into an inviting grassy knoll on the edge of the river. A couple of big trees were on either side. A campfire was still smoldering inbetween. The campers had thrown some water on it. I set up my pup tent and sleeping bag. I would spend the night here.
Across the Rhine River’s width, giant redstone castles of the 15th century lay aging in the hillside greenery. Boy! What a sight! Just like the post cards. I decided to make a sketch of the scene.

The warm May sun beat down on me as I worked on the sketch. There was activity on the river. A touring ship filled with sightseers was sailing by. People waved to me. The tourists probably couldn’t see I was sketching the scenery. Some waved to me. Young boys were rowing boats near the shoreline. They waved to me.

I was finding out that my sketchbook and my guitar were passports of friendship for me as I traveled. The guitar seemed to say, “We have something in common –music.” And the sketchbook said, “You like my village, or churches, or bridges enough that you choose to sketch it.” That was pretty good. It was like having these two companions along with me too. I didn’t look like a vagrant or a highway robber or something to someone.

Now that’s a nice thing. So if you’re planning on taking a vagabond trip, there’s two secrets for you. Take a guitar and a sketchbook along, even if you don’t know how to use them!

The highway down the hill from my knoll was buzzing with tiny European cars breezing along with open windows loaded with picnickers. As they zipped by some of the passengers could see me atop the knoll. Some waved to me.
I put down my sketchbook and relaxed in the pleasant surroundings. I found myself in a zone I had come to recognize. The whole world seemed happy, and most of all, me! So far, my trip was going well. I was sorta numb. Was this freedom? I felt suspended in an atmosphere I had not known. Flashes of memories came back to me of the last day of school in 5th grade where all of us went through that thick heavy oak front door of Lincoln Grammar into the bright June outdoors realizing we had the whole summer ahead of us. It belonged to us. Freedom always seems like something you once had, not something you were presently experiencing. Well, I was experiencing it.
I sat on the green plot at the edge of the Rhine, basking in my thoughts. Not only the summer stretched out before me as all mine, but my whole life. I had no wristwatch. No calendar, no To-Do list, no agenda. There were no more schedules, bells, loud noises, key chains, clocks, telephones. Time didn’t matter. I was free to do anything in whatever direction I chose.

There would be no disturbing knocks at the door of my life. That mirror on the edge of my shoulder examining my every moment, was missing, something had shattered it. This was great. Those warnings from my friends in Wuerzburg were just fading words. I had cancelled my career and headed off with the wind.
Was this my reward? I thought to myself. For some fleeting moments I was experiencing that elusive feeling of freedom. Would I capture this again on my trip?

How often would I have known this feeling if I had followed the career path I was slotted into. Probably never. But if I continued on my y trip, would I experience it again? I wondered. What was I really seeking? What was I to learn? An exciting new world belonged to me!

I gazed out over the river again in kind of a daydream and before I knew it, long shadows began stretching across the landscape. I snapped out of my dreamworld and began my routine task of preparing my bedroll. Then I climbed up on the large boulder next to my tent and let the sun disappear in the northwest. Somewhere up that direction, I would be tomorrow.
I could hear the distant sounds of picnickers heading homeward. The sounds of riverboat laughter on the darkening water were beginning to subside. Those little tiny cars down on the highway began using their headlights.
Night fell heavy and with it came a terrible feeling of loneliness.
My afternoon feeling of happiness and freedom seemed to vanish with the coming of night. I found myself completely alone. It was the kind of loneliness you can experience not in a desert, but the strange nightmare loneliness of a small town railroad station, where every new thing, every new voice, reminds you that you are an outsider.

I recollected back on the fun-loving people of Rudesheim, taking walks and sipping wine. I longed to have them accept me and be part of their friendship and gaiety and joy. But no matter how hard I attempted to get to know them, I felt they would never accept me. The journey I had chosen to take, made me feel like a peeping-Tom. I was not a reporter, or a census taker or something like that. I was a peeping Tom. I knew they would never accept me.

This was bewildering. If I was taking this trip to get know people, get to know the world, get to know myself, how could I break through this barrier? I was completely lacking in the ability to approach them. Yes, my guitar and my sketchbook helped, but it was only a foot-in-the-door.
I realized I found myself in a paradox of breaking through this barrier of understanding. I had to figure out a way to break through and solve this. Or maybe I would never solve it.

Or maybe it wasn’t loneliness I was experiencing, but fear. Fear that someone one would come along and beat me up and steal my belongings. After all, West Germany was still recovering from the war. Young people envied Americans and that would be justification for stealing from me. Or maybe I would be tossed in jail as a vagrant.

No that wasn’t it. Not fear. Maybe because I was in West Germany and there were U.S. military police everywhere. I was protected, but what would it be elsewhere in other countries on the road ahead?
It was this. It was that I was horribly frightened at the thought of being reminded I was an outsider. This was society’s great weapon against those who break away from the flock.

And this was the great pressure I felt daily as I traveled on, seeing the world as a masquerade.

Lieutenant Kohler back in Wuerzburg was right. My decision to travel was a big one but even more difficult was facing the world of strangeness that faced me each new day. He intimated that I would be an intruder. I would be inviting myself to look into people’s lives without a license to do so.

No one had harmed me physically so far. I wasn’t chased out of any towns or villages. I wasn’t jeered at or stoned. So far everyone one was civil.
In the village markets, in the cafes, in the taverns, even in my dreams, I heard the haunting voice of society that jeered and laughed at me.
I felt terribly alone. Yes, I had been invited into homes. But no one sincerely accepted me as I hoped they would. I guess, like a family member or relative. I felt like an intruder. I was outside and the very people I was out to meet were inside. Behind a barrier that I found insurmountable
“You are an outsider. Don’t intrude upon us!” Every new village or town I entered, I heard the same echoes.
. Maybe it was me. Maybe I was being too severe on myself. I had no answer. My only response was to keep moving.

NEXT WEEK:
Two Guitars