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"Karamusel and After"
I remember there was one fellow who had an
RCA 45rpm record player, remember, the one that took small disks with big
center holes? Anyway, he had one record, "Rum and Coca Cola," by the Andrew
Sisters. The machine seemed to have had no automatic shutoff, so all night
we would hear "Rum and Coca Cola, over and over and over again. Maybe it
was to help us forget the cold. Maybe it was that he got a bit inebriated
and didn't realize he set
the machine to repeat itself. Adding to the pleasure of where
we lived were the shower accommodations, also. I remember walking down
the garden path to another Quonset hut, where we had those attractive zinc
or galvanized sinks...the latest in lavatory chic. The showers, with the
rope you had to hold while you got wet, then let go of so you could lather
yourself, hoping that some soap stuck on top of the mountainous goosebumps
in that unheated tin can.
I remember, a couple of times, as we Americans stood showering in our birthday suits, the Turkish soldiers would shower more modestly, wearing their skivvies. I though that was an unusual local custom, albeit one I did not think of trying. Maybe they wanted to keep the family jewels warm.
During that time I worked Day shifts in the back.
After a month or so, I was put on Able as their 202. I don't recollect
how we were supposed to be barracked, but for quite a long time I lived
in barracks that housed different shifts. I remember many a sleep done
with a blanket hanging from the top bunk down, trying to keep out the light,
and some of the noise of my
roomies.
About the only reason I remember that I was on Able is that I have a gray mug that had the shift name on it, as well as the 3 work period names in Turkish. Since quite a few of my brain cells have gone south, about the only names I really remember were people I went to school with. Never having been in Goodfellow, I didn't know anyone from there. I don't remember the names of any 292s on the shift.
Somewhere I have some pictures from trips we took to Istanbul, or camping out. I'll try to find them and get them scanned and out to you all. I remember one trip to the Bull when we stayed at the Hilton. I don't remember how many of us were actually in the room, which was reserved for 2. But one of the guys ordered liquor to be sent up. He wanted vodka. When they asked whether he wanted domestic or imported, he answered, being in a Hilton, "domestic." Only when the rotgut was delivered did he see the folly of his order. He forgot, that although the Hilton was an American chain, we were not in America. Easy to forget, that.
I made a friend with one of the indigenous personnel who worked at the BZ, Reza Soyturk. He invited me to his house for dinner one night. His wife made fried sunfish and some vegetable I don't remember. Being a "representative" of America in a foreign house, I didn't want to offend anyone by doing something wrong. I saw that they ate the fish with their hands, so I followed suit.
Then, as I sat with greasy lips, and not seeing a napkin, I didn't know what to do, Reza, I think, was sensitive to my plight. He tore a piece of bread off the loaf, and handed it to me. He and his wife took pieces, and used them to gently wipe their lips, then eat the bread. Well, if I was going to be a monkey-see, then I had to be a monkey-do. So I wiped my lips, and ate the evidence.
For dessert they served fresh sweet grapes. You know,
the kind with seeds. Alas, I had another problem, what to do with
the seeds. I watched Reza as he ate and talked. I noticed that he didn't
spit out any seeds. What was I to do to save America's honor? Naturally,
I ate the grapes in their entirety, crunching my way through the seeds.
Then, after a couple of minutes, I noticed Reza quietly spitting out a
wad of seeds he had, apparently,
secreted in his cheek as he ate. Boy, was I learning a lot!
After dinner, he and I took a walk around Yalova,
where he lived. We stopped at a stand where he wanted to introduce me to
"ayran." He bought he a mug of that cold drink. I took a gulp and almost
gagged. It was the sourest thing I could ever have imagined, or rather,
not imagined, drinking. I was determined to save face, so I closed my eyes,
tried to turn off my taste buds, and started gulping the drink down. I
felt sure I had finished almost
the entire drink till I opened my eyes. There, in the mug, was about
seven-eighths of the drink. Sheepishly, I looked over at Reza who was standing
there with his buddies, all smiling at me. He told me, as we walked away,
that it was an acquired taste. (What, after drinking vinegar?)
PART TWO
After finishing my tour in Turkey, I spent a year in Germany, mostly in Berlin. Had the pleasure of watching the Wall go up and experiencing the frightening times that followed it, ready for WW3. Fortunately, that never happened. For a few winter months I was TDY, in vans, at Hof, then a small town in a corner of West Germany with East Germany on one side, Czechoslovakia on the other.
After my hitch ended in 1962 I went to college in New York City, got a BA and a wife. This coming August we will celebrate our 35th anniversary. I spent a year in Ohio. A year was enough, so we moved on, to DC. There I worked for the Government for 4 years, getting a Masters in East Asian studies. My wife, Marcia, taught college biology at Trinity College, a Catholic women's school in DC. After the riots, which were after-effects of the Martin Luther King's assassination, many parents were afraid of letting their daughters return to DC. Since the school didn't need as many teachers, they let the lay staff go and kept the Sisters. Oh yea, we also had our first child, Leah, near the end of our stay in DC.
So we decided to move on. We left DC and went back to school in Indiana, where we moved into a 9 x 30 foot trailer. Cozy. Marcia got a law degree and I studied for a graduate degree in Mongolian studies.
With school done, so to speak, we returned to DC for a year, then moved to Minneapolis…for the weather. (Gene, we must have passed on the streets!) There, Marcia taught law. I opened a bakery, and we had two more kids, Yaffa & Joey. I ran the bakery for 15 or so years till we moved again. In 1991 we upped and moved to Jerusalem, Israel, where we live now. Marcia teaches law in St. Paul for the fall semester, and here for the spring. I work as a technical writer for Magic Software. I write those manuals that few of you computer jockeys ever bother to read, as well as the online help you usually do read.
My eldest child is studying for an MA in film studies in the Big Apple. Yaffa plans to return to the States to study graphic design. Joey, after he finishes high school this year, hasn't a choice. The army gets him in July.
So what do I do in my spare time? Well, it seems I follow, partially, in a tradition of many of you. I'm a uniformed sworn volunteer policeman. I have to do a minimum of 16 hours a month. We go out on regular police patrols. Our presence, if there is no expected trouble, gives the regular policemen more time off. My current route includes the Mount of Olives and Gethsemane church area. We patrol with sidearms, and whatever shoulder weapon is available: M-16s, Uzis, or - that old standby- M1 Carbines. In addition to the uniform we have to wear protective vests.
We patrol in vans, jeeps, or "traktorim," small covered beach-tractor-like vehicles. Like most police work, there are many hours of boredom but still tense. We never know what to expect since terrorism is a daily concern.
The Police force is national, with local stations, divided much like the army into regional commands. Regular police, in the past, all came after having completed regular army service (3 or more years). Now, the force is staffed with ex-army as well as "draftees."
When you graduate high school you see, you are draftable. All able-bodied men & women are eligible. Some get deferments for religious reasons. Most of the women that get that deferment serve in the National Service, working in hospitals or educational institutions, mainly with children or young adults with handicaps. (Yaffa did that for a year.) Young adults are drafted by the "army." They are then selected to serve in the Ground forces, Naval or Air units, Border Police (a paramilitary unit), or the regular Police.
That means, for better or worse, an 18-year-old is on the streets with the authority of a policeman. Regular police get 6 months training before they're on the streets. The draftees get less time. Who planned this, I haven't the slightest idea! After completion of the training the troops are assigned to either uniform or detective units. Plainclothes is not treated like a promotion or upgrade. Like in America, tests are taken for advancement through the ranks.
I should mention one thing regarding age and weapon control. In Israel, since we are always in a state of readiness, soldiers (18-year old +) carry M-16s with them all the time. Being a small country, many soldiers live at home and commute to work. When units visit a town to see a museum, and have free time at night, they change into their civvies, but still carry their weapon, men & women. It's a bit disconcerting for a lot of Americans to see this at first. You think you're in some banana republic dictatorship. Actually, you're in the only true democracy in the Middle East.
Other than soldiers and police, this country of 6 million issues close to 290,000 permits for carrying concealed weapons. In spite of this we have a very low weapon-related crime rate.
Whoops, maybe I'm going overboard on this. If anyone is interested in more info, you can contact me directly.
Anyway, if any of you are heading to the Holy Land
for the millennium, or later, give me a ring and I'll show you around (work-dependent).
My number, from the States is:
011-972-2-643-3587 (phone & fax). You have my email already.
Dennis