Page 7

POSTSCRIPT TO DORSTEN

I believe (that) all of you A-7 buddies would have enjoyed being with me four years ago.

I had a client, a German businessman, who needed an audit of his company's books and records. The company's home office and records were in Dusseldorf. Much to my surprise, the client paid my fare to fly from Salt Lake to Dusseldorf where 1 was to do part of my audit. When I arrived, the records were not yet ready. This being a Friday the records would not be available until late Saturday afternoon.

At this point the client said, "I will pick you up tomorrow morning in front of your hotel, ten o'clock. We will go for a ride".

At ten o'clock, sharp, I was getting into his Mercedes. After the usual pleasantries, I asked, "Would you mind telling me where we are going?"

"Not at all", he replied. We are going to Dorsten. Do you remember telling me that you were there during the war? It's a hundred miles from here. We will be there in about an hour.

And so we were!!

As we left the autobahn, I could see the church towers in the distance. We drove closer and the homes, red tile roofs, and all, came into view. In the distance I could see the railroad tracks. My heartbeat, which is usually a slow 48 per minute, must have been above 100.

We drove slowly into the town and stopped in the parking lot of a shopping mall half way between the two churches - about a block in either direction. I walked first toward one church, stood in front of it - no, this wasn't the one. I walked a block further and turned a corner. The church was in front of me, the Lippe Canal was to my left, and the underpass to the railroad tracks was beyond the church.

My client must have sensed my feelings. "You go ahead", he said. "I will just follow behind".

At this point, the past and the present merged. Those of you who were with me at Dorsten walked with me that day. We stood by the church for some time just looking and listening. We wa1ked under the railroad overpass and up the slight incline, to the point where the three smaller roads came together in a sort of circle. We stopped as we realized that what appeared to be a pile of horse flesh wasn't that at all. We looked back down the tree lined street that ran parallel to the tracks.

We were in no hurry as we walked along the sidewalk. The front yards of the homes were neat and tidy, the houses, neighborly. Did they remember us? We were there, you know, long ago. After I had walked about a half mile, I looked back to see if Hartwell was aware of the German soldiers milling around behind one of the houses across the street...

A voice, speaking in English but with a distinct German accent, softly said, "You must have many memories. We will have something to eat at the mall, and then we will leave for Dusseldorf ......"