Europe, 1960
by Jack Swenson
On the way over, on the ship, I met a girl from Cleveland. She got very huffy about the city where she lived. Cleveland was a nice place, she said. She glared at me, daring me to say otherwise. In London I followed a pretty girl around an outdoor market snapping pictures. She tracked me down and planted herself in front of me, hands on hips. She scowled and wagged her finger. No photographs, she said. I stood by the tube entrance and read the notes posted by the girls on a bulletin board. Oh, my! My mind worked overtime. Eeny meany miney…. I couldn't decide. In the Louvre I met a girl from Las Vegas. She was in a room all by herself peering at a huge painting by Seurat. The painting was on loan from a gallery in Chicago. We stood there connecting the dots.
I expected German girls to be fat. They were not. Blonde hair in bobs and braids. What happened to the hausfraus? Gone. Gone with the wind. The American girl and I sat at a picnic table outside the walls of the old city listening to a band play German marching songs. A trio of young sailors at a nearby table sang along. Old folks with sour faces sat at other tables looking at things we couldn't see. Everybody spoke English in Copenhagen. Everybody spoke English in Amsterdam, too, but nobody admitted it. One of our Dutch friends was telling a story. A girl with hairy legs glared at me. She didn't like me; I don't know why. I stood by the fire, took a book off the mantel, opened it, and something fell out. I picked it up. It was a fabric badge of some kind. I turned it over; it was a six-pointed star.
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Author's Note
More memories of a misspent youth.
Both of these are wonderful. The second-- with its message that what happened in Germany will always be there, shameful, not to be forgotten--is profound.
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You have great memories. Thanks for sharing them in such a light hearted way: which adds to the concluding impact.
Wonderfully distilled. Fave.
This is wonderful, Jack. Unsentimental and at the same time warm and reflective.
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You gave us a little bit of everything. Even the sad part never to be forgotten.
Fav.
Great sense of details here, Jack - "What happened to the hausfraus? Gone. Gone with the wind. The American girl and I sat at a picnic table outside the walls of the old city listening to a band play German marching songs. A trio of young sailors at a nearby table sang along."
Good piece. Strong writing style.
There is more here each time I read them. I love it that no one in Amsterdam admitted to speaking English. Great stuff.*
loved this, especially the louvre scene, especially the way you tell it. "Old folks with sour faces sat at other tables looking at things we couldn't see." i wasn't born then!
Liked this a bunch, Jack!
I was four in 1960, a-hem, but I picture all of this, especially Amsterdam. They didn't like Americans much in 1973 either, but what a fabulous city--what color! What life! What great prices for hashish!*
I love the details, Jack, the way you put me there, the way I can see things that only someone present could see. And I'm kinda partial to Europe. And German girls. *
Great details and voice, subtly layered. Fine work again, Jack. *
Implication. *
Thanks, Foster. Yes, I liked the German girls, too. Thanks for the great comment and the star.
"In the Louvre I met a girl from Las Vegas. She was in a room all by herself peering at a huge painting by Seurat. The painting was on loan from a gallery in Chicago. We stood there connecting the dots."
That is really funny, Jack!
But the ending is truly chilling!
You are the master of the casserole--lots of individualized ingredients, savory meal.
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So nicely woven, Jack. And a surprise ending that leaves the door wide open in a terrific way.
Yea, I love where both these pieces end up...or, rather, where we, as readers end up in the last piece. I enjoy writing like this very much...a jambalaya of fine ingredients, boiled down/reduced to heaven.
I particularly second Susan's comment. The end. In a terrific way, but also terrifying way. So many hormones to keep everybody, and still the unforgettable horror. This is a great piece.*
A beautiful piece you have rendered here, Jack. Slice of life and so much more. The year is so significant, and the stories are like winds across rustling grasses. Just superb!
Fave.
Such an interesting way of going at this story, as if you are telling it to your best friend, that is the level of intimacy and casualness that roll together here. Not easy to pull off, either.
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excellent. brings back memories of days gone by!
These memorable small scenes paint a larger picture. Greatly enjoyed this, Jack.
Wonderful, Jack *!