Molly Malone

 

I was as lonely as a fat guy at a super model convention.  No female prospects in sight. I had left a fine and pretty lady in New York (actually, she left me) for life-affirming adventure.  I wanted mettle-testing physical exertions, education in something other than being stupid, and I needed to grow up, all via the United States Army.  After training in Missouri, Arizona, and Georgia, I was now in Hessen, West Germany.  Dear Lord, what have I done?

   My flash back will bring me to a time, many moons ago, April 1987.  I was as lonely as ever, having just returned from a cold and rainy 20-day U.S. Army field exercise. This West Germany-based U.S. Army infantryman was very proud to be serving in the American forces abroad, yet, the guarantee of Europe that voluntary enlistment provided did not include finding a girlfriend.  There was nothing in my contract saying that after 1,000 push-ups there would be a beautiful woman for me.  Enlistments would have been much higher had that been in the contract.  Times were tough, yet, I was free, to a certain extent, and fully immersed in U.S. Army life. They controlled me, yet, on the occasional weekend pass from military duties, I was “free” to pursue nice young ladies at my own pace, always aware that the West German Polizei (Police) might take me in if I violate any of their laws.  I was a good man and had no intentions of breaking any laws or rules.  I asked God to send me someone to love, in the form of a smart and curvy West German or, for that matter, a lady from anywhere.

   On the big weekend nights out, most of the single U.S. Army soldiers, many hot-to-trot after three weeks in the German forests and fields, were ready for beers and Frauleins.  Most G.I.s on my large U.S. Army post would flock to Frankfurt, Wiesbaden, or Giessen to go to the big disco clubs that had many German women, and, conversely, their German boyfriends who hated the American soldiers. (G.I is General Issue, Government Issue, a term used to encompass enlisted soldiers, used predominantly in World War II, and beyond).  When World War II ended in Europe in May 1945 after the American, British, and Soviet defeat of the Nazi Germans, the U.S. Army stayed and occupied West Germany and West Berlin from 1945 to 1990.  Upwards of 450,000 American troops were stationed in West Germany until 1990.  West Germany, reunited with Communist East Germany in 1990, is a part of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization, which, since 1949, has protected western Europe from Communism and foreign encroachments.  An attack on one was an attack on all. 

   Passing inspection of our weapons, our cleaned Army gear, and 13-ton M-13 Armored Personnel Carrier, we were once again prepared to protect the frontiers of freedom along the West German borders with East Germany and Czechoslovakia. 

   After a “rewarding,” 20-day U.S. Army field exercise, we were “free!”

   Three Army buddies of mine and myself decided to go to Marburg, a German college town to our north, and see what and who we could find.  This was not a military town, nor did it have a huge disco or huge clubs for American G.I.s to crowd and ruin any shot I may have had at meeting a nice woman.  I was in great shape, yet I was just a regular guy, with no outstanding attributes, no super handsome looks, or super-Army strength.

   Catching our collective eye was not a German bar, but an Irish bar in Marburg. “Molly Malone’s” was the typical watering hole, as seen in any European or American town.  The bartenders spoke German only, and most Germans refused to speak English to Americans in West Germany.  A long bar, lots of booze on display behind the bartenders, wooden tables and chairs, and a stage for a music band that was to play later that night.

   Alan from Mississippi, John from Massachusetts, Mike from Maryland, and I sat at a nice table, very eager to eat, consume alcohol, and search for ladies.  There were five young woman at a table very near us, so, after some reassurances from my large beer, I noticed a cute girl looking my way.  As I looked behind me to confirm that she wasn’t glancing at some fella behind me, she pointed to me. Me!  I ditched my friends in mid-sentence and tried to be cool and saunter over to her table.  “Guten abend, Ich heisse Richard.” “Und Sie?” (“Good evening, my name is Richard.  And you?”)  I was so spectacularly cool.  The enticing young lady, maybe 20 years old to my 26, soon to be 27, answered in perfectly fluent German “Karla.”  Wow.  I got past the first obstacle, regular speech. My German was like a 3 or 4 out of 10.  I could converse with a child, but adults would soon find out that I was not fluent at all.  Initially impressive, my German vocabulary and sentence forming ability ran dry in 4 minutes.  Karla insisted that I speak English and said that she was “impressed” with my German considering that I had had no formal language training.  Actually, I had taken some German classes in college prior to joining the U.S. Army, which did not fully prepare me for full immersion into the German society.  If in a language predicament, I could always scamper back to my U.S. military post, to the security of speaking English to English speakers.

   This cute and smart University of Marburg college girl, Karla Schoenbrunner, was beginning to take hold of my being, of my heart.  Was I falling in love after 5 minutes, or was I already in lust?  I needed a woman real bad, yet was willing to engage Karla with good listening and sharing feelings.  Who was this man?  It was me.

   As our conversation continued, my pals Al and Mike and John were catching some rap (conversing with) the other college girls at the table.  Three of the five girls were German, and Karla and another girl were Americans studying abroad in West Germany.  This bar was great.  We, as American soldiers, were the anomaly, we were the cause for their collective excitement.

   Painted on the bar wall were the words to the bar’s namesake song, “Molly Malone.”  “In Dublin’s fair city, where the girls are so pretty, I first set my eyes on sweet Karla Schoenbrunner (Molly Malone)…”  My feelings towards Karla were most certainly, “Alive, alive, oh!”

   The lovely Karla and I continued conversing, enjoying our words, each other’s faces, and the thrill of meeting someone who was entirely not of the other’s realm.  She was an upper middle class girl from Pennsylvania, attending a prestigious college there, and I, a middle class U.S. Army soldier from New York.  If not for this wise and woman-seeking excursion to Marburg, away from the loud and ever-present U.S. soldiers in West Germany, I would never have met Karla. 

   The detail that secured her liking me more than the next bloke, was my knowledge of and appreciation for the music of an English rock band, Roxy Music.  A Roxy Music song played on the bar’s juke box and we both sang along.  Their hits at the time were “More Than This,” “Love Is The Drug,” “Angel Eyes,” “Avalon,” and other 1970s and 1980s songs.  She was impressed by me, and I was totally enraptured by her.

   The pints of Guinness Stout loosened our lips and whetted our minds as our conversation turned deep and existential.  Wow.  It’s been a few years since I’ve had a deep talk with anyone.  I was falling.  We hadn’t even kissed yet I wasn’t at that point.  Neither was she. 

   Since our 7:00 PM arrival to Molly Malone’s, it was now closing in on midnight. Karla and her friends had to get back to their dormitory on the university campus.  My coming home with her was strictly “Verboten” (Forbidden).  Me and my pals had to go home, back to our Army post.  A 100 Deutsch Mark ($50.00) taxi ride back to post was in order.  There was no romantic kiss goodnight, yet the groundwork for something very nice with Karla had be placed down.

Gute Nacht, meine hubsche Frau.  Good night, my pretty lady. 

   Karla was not available the following two weekends, as we planned a get together three weeks from that Friday night.  I could hardly wait.  U.S. Army duties and maneuvers occupied most of my time for the next three weeks.  A perfume-scented letter mailed to me out in on a field exercise stirred my feelings.  I hoped that she was as eager for our next rendezvous as I was.

   The songs of Roxy Music had gotten me to the next level.  I even wrote a poem about Karla.

It was April 1987 and I was hopeful that there would be “More Than This.”

 

Richard Melnick.