Everyone is welcome in Holland

As we approached one of those three-day federal  holidays, my school-teacher wife suggested it would provide us an opportunity to drive to Paris and pick up some  heavy copper cookware that we could never manage to carry on the train. The new Autoroute from the border with Germany could get us to Paris in abut six hours.

And, as usual in the early 1970s, I had some planning meetings scheduled for right up till the Friday morning before the break. This time it was at the AFCENT Headquarters in the Netherlands, where I and a couple of colleagues had been traveling frequently to oversee the establishment of an international school for the U.S., Canadian, English, and German kids whose families had been uprooted out of Paris and relocated in Holland and northern Germany following the French withdrawal from the military arm of NATO.

“Not to worry,” she said; “go on to Holland for your meeting, and after school on Friday, I’ll take the train to Paris and you can drive from there and meet me.”

So Thursday morning, I drove out of Karlsruhe via the northbound Autobahn that would take me around Cologne and Aachen into a short stretch of Belgium near Maastricht right to the Dutch town of Brunssum, home to AFCENT. My luggage included two small suitcases, one for me, one for my wife so she could be unencumbered on her train to Paris.

Having driven this route many times, I was very familiar with the road network that crisscrossed the Dutch-Belgian-German borders framing much of Limburg Province. (I even had a few favorite Gast-Haus  and bistro stops for lunch along a two-lane shortcut I used between the small towns of Maastreik and Weert, a road which meandered along the border.

The Germans and the Benelux were finally getting used to one another after the organization of the European Steel and Coal Union, and the traditional border inspections and courtesies were not generally followed. At the point where I left Germany to enter Holland, the border checkpoint was a small booth in the center of the road. It was staffed alternately around the clock by a Dutch and German police officer who normally would nod a greeting and wave me through.

On this trip, I reached that booth exactly at noon. I saw the Dutch officer respond to a gesture from the German officer inside the booth, who also motioned for me to stay put. They talked quietly inside the booth for several minutes before the German walked off to his car, and the Dutch officer asked me to step outside my car.

He apologized and explained that there was a big meeting at the Allied Headquarters. I told him I knew that, and that’s why I was there. “Even so,” he said, “my orders are to inspect every person and every car, even you official Americans,” as he glanced at my U.S. Forces license plate. 

He looked at the two suitcases in the trunk of my car, and asked me to open one. Of course, it was my wife’s. He looked a bit surprised as he peeked at the contents, then, with a smile, announced that “Everyone is welcome in Holland,” and told me to drive on.

Bratgenuity

The first apartment my boyfriend and I rented as a couple was more than we could afford. We were juniors in college. I had little concept of money, or that we were in a particular “station” in life, or what renting an apartment actually entailed. I was naïve; idealistic, and because the blurb in the apartment rental magazine made me desperately want that particular apartment, for better or worse, we decided to go for it. 

The apartment consisted of two bedrooms with a kitchenette, LR, and dining “room” area. It had a balcony, hardwood floors and it was pretty roomy. It also had a garbage disposal, something new and marvelous to me. I’d never seen one, so I spent my first few days after moving in to the apartment sticking pieces of dried spaghetti noodles down it and grinding them up. Magic!

The apartment was right near the Military Circle Mall, which I loved. I’d had very little experience with malls, and everything about Military Circle was bright, shiny and exotic. All the shop girls were chic and every possible thing I could ever imagine wanting was for sale, conveniently, under one roof. To me, the mall exemplified “America.” 

Old Dominion University, where we were starting that fall was about a 20-minute car commute away— Never mind that Bill and I didn’t have a car or job.  I had found “my” apartment, and by golly, I was going to have it!

We blissfully signed our lives away—barely skimming through the long contract. We were young, ambitious and ready to adult— We’d just transferred from the University of Maryland, Munich and were getting married in December. If we could just make it till then, hopefully, we’d get a few wedding gifts like toasters or coffee makers or table linens—or silver sets and tea services–we just had to survive till then.

That summer we lived in the unfurnished apartment with only a mattress on the floor, (which we had bought used, by the way), a cheap not-even-quite-a-futon couch, a second-hand kitchen table and a couple of chairs. We needed lamps and bookcases, but also had to eat—and to have some fun—so we came up with some creative solutions. At a hardware store we found a “lamp making-kit” and after finishing the contents of a fifth of rum and a fifth of vodka, we made lamps out of the bottles! I strung some discounted Christmas tree lights through dryer duct and hung the duct on a big branch, creating a light “sculpture.” A couple of plastic milk crates and boards made passible book cases—things were looking up! Our place was becoming a home in a funky, eclectic way. 

That summer started out awesome—Bill got a job on the evening shift the at the Burger King up the road; I did, too– dayshift. But, I soon found myself unemployed because I wasn’t a good fast-food worker. First of all, I was too slow; second of all, I attempted to recreate what the pictures of Whoppers portrayed, and that made me not only slow, but subject to ridicule. After moving me from burgers, to fries, to cashier, BK admitted defeat—I wasn’t trainable, so I was let go. 

I was fine with that; fast food was not my thing–but—Bill—not so much! How could we afford rent? Get groceries? Ever buy a car? 

Secretly, I was relieved I’d been terminated—Bill and I had worked different shifts. It was stressful;  we hardly saw each other, and when we did, we argued. It was miserable. 

I was pretty sure I’d find an awesome job and things would work out. I’d read the classifieds and find a well-paying, perfect-for-me job. Bill was not so sure, and started rereading the lease. Maybe there was an escape clause. 

It’s sometimes better to not read a lease–or any other contract for that matter–because there may be something you’d rather not  know—this was the case for us. In it, the lease stated that 80% of the hardwood floors had to be covered with carpets. There didn’t seem to be any wiggle room or exceptions.

Our cozy two-bedroom place suddenly seemed to grow larger. There were acres of floor to cover.

We went over to the mall to see if there were any affordable throw rugs for sale. (There weren’t.) We were very discouraged. 

That weekend Bill’s brother came to visit. He lived in Williamsburg and attended William and Mary College. He had a VW Beetle, so we were looking forward to his visit. With a car, we could stock up on groceries, or maybe get out and explore our new city! The possibilities were endless.

But there still was the nagging problem about carpeting the place…

While Bill and his brother caught up on things, I excused myself and walked back over to the mall. Maybe I could find a job; maybe I would find some cheap carpet. Maybe a talent agent would see me and offer me a million-dollar contract!

As I walked through the mall feeling very sorry for myself, looking at things I could never, ever afford, I noticed that a shoe store was replacing its flooring. There was a gigantic roll of old carpet off to one side of the store. It must have been 15 feet long! 

In a daze, I walked into the store and asked to speak to the manger. 15 minutes later, I was the proud owner of a huge roll of carpet. Better yet, the owner of FREE carpet! All I had to do was get it home. Tonight.

I dashed back to the apartment, rousted Bill and his brother from their beers and persuaded them to drive the VW over to the mall. It was dark and the mall would soon close. 

At the shoe store, the manager had gotten the carpet out to the loading dock. The three of us tried to fold the rug into the car, but it was too big. It was a hot, sticky night, and after a few minutes, the guys were not interested in trying to get the carpet into the car any more. They wanted to go home. I didn’t want to give up so fast. We needed to cover the floors and now we could—this couldn’t stop us.

I had an idea! What if we put the roll of carpet OVER the car, and drove it home like that? It literally was only through the parking lot and down a tiny street, more like an alley. If we went very slowly, we could do it.

The guys had had just enough beer to think it would maybe work, so we all hefted the big roll over the car. It covered most of the windshield but the driver could see a little bit off to the side. 

Here’s where I can’t remember exactly what happened. In my memory, I sat on the carpet on the front of the car, while the boys each held onto the carpet from the window. Bill thinks I couldn’t possibly have. But, since it’s my story, I’m remembering it my way.

So…we navigated through the mostly empty mall parking lot and down a couple of small streets. It was both exciting and terrifying for me, and I am sure for the guys too, especially the one who was driving. I kept a sharp lookout for the police. Luckily, we made it home okay. 

Once back in the apartment, we unrolled the rug. It was way too big for our space, but that was okay. We could buy a box cutter and trim it to size. We also noticed that the rug wasn’t as clean as it had looked in the store. There were many stains and layers of dirt in the fibers. Back then we didn’t know or care much about germs or viruses—all we cared about was that we had carpet and were now in compliance with the lease. A big win!

Settling down on our newly acquired carpet, we opened another beer and toasted our ingenuity. We were young, resourceful and going to go far in life!

A side note-decades later I found the apartment complex on the internet. Either it had not aged well, or now that I have better taste, I see it for what it was-an inexpensive apartment complex which catered to largely to transitory military families.

C.Woessner