This next-to-last post
in the “cultural history” series will be the last one where I draw directly from
Christine Heeb’s thesis, and I plan to intersperse some of my own memories to
add the context of my experience to her analysis. I’ve certainly enjoyed my encounter with her
thesis about the cultural history of Tempelhof Airport – it served to remind me
of history that I used to know quite well, but have forgotten over the years,
and there was plenty of new information to learn about.
If I understand her intention,
Heeb’s document sets out to develop an argument for designating Tempelhof as a
cultural heritage site. There is a long
history of progressive use of the site that offers a solid justification for
this – I’ll see if I can find any additional information about whether or not
this is being considered; however, at the moment I am only aware of the
airfield’s designation as a “freizeit park” which acknowledges all of the
history and culture of the place, and restores it to public use.
Near the end of her
thesis, Heeb mentions the history of Tempelhof when it was under the control of
the United States Air Force (USAF) – the situation for most of the post war
era, including during the Berlin Airlift – and she mentions the open houses
that were held there beginning in 1948. She
writes that the Candy Bomber displayed along Columbia Damm was flown in to the
open house in 1973 for the 25th anniversary of the Berlin Airlift,
and that artifacts from the American space program were displayed in 1974, when
320,000 people attended!
When I was stationed
at Tempelhof, the open house was one of the big events we looked forward to
every year, but we never had crowds quite that large. It was the one time of year that we might
have a good, close look at USAF aircraft – our situation was such that it was
pretty rare to encounter the planes, except to see them taxiing around the
airfield from a distance. It was incredible
to see that a C-5, among the world’s largest aircraft, could actually land and
take off from those short runways; I also remember seeing a new Pan Am 737 maneuvering
around the tight quarter of the airfield, preparing for a flyover during the
open house.
We used the open
houses as a way to earn a little money that could be used for morale, welfare,
and recreation purposes. We’d set up
little concession stands to sell American food, or American versions of German
food. When I was on “Baker Flight” in
1982 and 1983, we sold hamburgers. I
also helped out with that booth in 1984, but in 1985 I was on “Dawg Flight” and
we sold bratwursts.
We’d raise anywhere
from $1,500 to $3,000 over the course of the weekends there. We might use these funds for annual holiday
parties, or to help out a colleague who’d had a family emergency, among other
things. But the good times were
definitely working in those booths and meeting the Berliners who came to visit,
especially those times where the days were sunny and warm.
On Baker Flight, our
nickname was The Buzzards. Over the
years, someone had built a 7-foot plywood statue of a buzzard, and we mounted
that (very dangerously) on top of our little booth so that it could be seen
from all over the airfield. Then we made
little handbills with pictures of the buzzard and hamburgers and sent some
folks out into the crowd.
The little saying
that went along with the handbill? “Buy
a buzzard burger or go the fuck home.” We
were absolutely mobbed with all of that, hundreds of Berliners asking for
buzzard burgers.
There was a little
confusion – some of the patrons thought they might get a discount or something,
but at least they didn’t go home. We
sold tons of burgers, and I remember hearing the sound of burgers hissing on
the grill for two or three days afterwards.
At the end of the day on Sunday we were out of burgers, and the
Berliners still wanted to buy stuff from us – some of them even offered to buy
cups of the “goop” condiment, the equal parts mixture of ketchup, mustard and
relish, to take home with them!
An article about one of the hijacks I saved from the base paper. |
Typically they would
call in some of the Polish linguists to help with sorting things out after one
of these events. There was one Saturday morning in 1984 when one of the small
private planes was flown in – an Antonov bi-plane, with a crudely painted red
star on the tail fin. The first thought
was that here we had Soviet defectors and the call went out for Russian
linguists to translate.
Here's the An-2 that I mention in this post. |
Ah, youth. Maybe someday I’ll write that day up in a
post.
My next post will
wrap up this series. I hope to bring together
my memories, Christine Heeb’s historical and cultural information, and the
previous series I did on the development of Tempelhofer Freizeit – the new
public park at the old airport into a summary.
That will go up later in the week, so for now, here’s the link to the
Heeb thesis I’ve been referring to:
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