I had the good fortune to visit Europe for the first time recently. I’ve seen much of the United States, even lived in San Francisco and New York City a few years, but I’d never been a world traveler until I went last October to see my son Seth, who was studying at Freiburg University in the Black Forest area of southern Germany.
The city of Freiburg lies near the Swiss border in a long crescent-shaped valley which gets its rounded shape from a rather high hill around which it curves. The city follows the shape of the valley. Freiburg’s downtown area, with its beautiful streets and sidewalks of cobblestone, is north of the hill. As you go west and south around the hill you find the suburban area and then at the southern end of the hill the valley goes south, gradually becoming a rather hilly agricultural area.
The University, a highly renowned school, is located in the downtown area, where all the buildings have stores on the first floor, and two or three stories of offices or apartments above. Many streets are quite narrow and often shops open onto crooked little alleyways.
No cars are allowed in the downtown area. People walk, cycle or ride the light trains, which have tracks in the middle of nearly all the main streets. The occasional police car, fire truck, ambulance or authorized delivery truck are the only motorized vehicles about. Pedestrians and bikers abound.
The morning after I arrived, I spent exploring the downtown area, while Seth was in class. I got lost more than once among the neat little quirky cobblestone alley-ways, but managed to find my way back to our designated meeting spot quite timely. We lunched and then, rather than walking his usual route home around the hill, we went over it.
When I was my son’s age, I hiked with two friends from the floor of Yosemite Valley up to Glacier Point and back down. Though this climb was perhaps about one-quarter the height of the one in Yosemite, it reminded me of that trek. The paths were nearly as steep and there were almost as many switchbacks. The weather was perfect, I enjoyed it and I felt very good, but did have to stop and rest three times on the way up and twice on the way down.
At the top of the hill we climbed the observation tower, because thick trees all around blocked the view, not that we wouldn’t have climbed it regardless. So round we went up the circular stairway to the small platform well above the treetops. There we found a superb view of the city, the valley and the hills.
We were not alone. One man who looked to be in his mid-seventies was up there. Soon we asked him to photograph us with the city in the background and he was happy to do so. Then he and my son engaged in a rather lengthy conversation in German. I don’t speak German, so Seth told me afterwards of the conversation.
I was flabbergasted to learn that he was actually ninety-two years old. As I said, he looked a healthy mid-seventyish. But not only had he made the trek up there that day, he lived in Freiburg and in the two years since the tower had been built, he’d climbed up there precisely two hundred and eleven times.
There was considerably more than this amazing revelation in his conversation with my son though. It seems that as a German soldier in World War II he was captured by U.S. soldiers in Italy. With quite a few other prisoners of war, he’d been sent to Wyoming, to work on a sugar beet farm for the duration.
Uncertain exactly what to say, my son said: “That’s too bad.” But the man laughed and said: “No that wasn’t bad. Bad would have been being captured by the Russians.” He had made it through the war with all his limbs and his good health, but almost none of those who went to Siberia were nearly so lucky.
I regret not getting a photograph of him. I’ve thought about his amazing life occasionally and told this story about him to quite a few people. Thoughts of his longevity and continuing excellent health have spurred me on while I’ve worked out swimming laps.
He obviously appreciated the treatment he received as our prisoner of war, and in the ensuing sixty-five years has apparently told his story to many people. So we most certainly fostered much good will through him and his fellow prisoners-of-war simply by treating them humanely. He and his fellow POWs have been almost literally broadcasting our praises from the highest tower – fantastic PR if inestimable value.
His story troubles me considerably though. It has given me cause to ponder how the prisoners in our current war will speak of their American captors and the treatment they received in Abu Ghraib, Guantanamo or wherever they are being held. I worry that the truths those prisoners are going to tell and put into print and movies is likely to recruit great numbers of Taliban soldiers and suicide bombers to fight against us for many, many years despite the most sincere apologies we will be making someday soon.