We lived in Germany for a few years. That sounds so cool, but if you’re in the Air Force it’s really no biggie. We were stationed at Hahn Airbase in the Hunsruck. That’s a province in Germany that literally means “Dog’s Back”. Mainly farmland framed with really steep hills. Acres of barley, hops and wheat that goes into making that yummy German Beer.
So one day I was cheerfully playing with my F-16 when the Expeditor drives up. An Expeditor expedites stuff. Okay, he really drives back and forth making sure things get done. Jets get fixed, launched, recovered. Keeps track of who is working where. So anyway, John (the Expeditor) drives up to me and yells “GO HOME!!”
I start packing up my tools and he shouts again (John never yells), “WE’LL GET THAT. GO HOME NOW!!!” Okay, okay. I get into the truck. He drives me directly to my car. I drive home.
We lived in off base housing in the village Rhaunen, about 20 klicks away. (that’s the cool way to say kilometers, no it’s not misspelled). This gave me time to wonder what the big deal is. I’m betting that the wife has another migraine and needs to go to the E.R. As I neared Rhaunen, I saw a pall of black smoke coming out of our little valley.
“Oh Shit”, I thought, “our apartment caught fire.”
When I got to the housing area I counted three German Fire Companies and the Air Force one. A quick glance to see our apartment building was unscathed, WTH? White smoke and steam filled the air and before I could park, my wife walked up to the car.
“Brian won’t talk to any one until he talks to you. That’s what he said. Don’t be mad at him”.
Okay, seriously, what the fuck is going on?
There was Brian (eight years old, or so) standing, arms crossed with a half a dozen firemen standing with him. There were also the Air Force Security Police and German Polizei (police). He starts talking but the Security Policeman suggests we take the conversation somewhere else.
In my living room, the Security Police read me MY rights. I’m thinking “Okay, but what the hell is going on?” At this point the wife thinks that I’m in trouble. Well, I am. I’m responsible for the action of my “Dependents” (Militaryspeak for “family”). That out of the way I turn to Brian. “Okay. What happened?”
He says that he was playing with some boys. They had matches and were taking turns seeing how long they could hold a burning match. He dropped his and the wheat field caught fire. Oh yeah the four acres of smoking wreckage right outside. Gotcha. The Security Police thanks me for my “statement” and advised me to get a German Lawyer.
I get a German lawyer, Herr Rhaunen. I have always thought that was cool. Herr Rhaunen who lives in Rhaunen. Yeah, his family had lived in the valley since the Middle Ages and got to name the village. Rechtsanwahlter is German for lawyer. A direct translation is “He who sees the Truth, or Right.” I pay him a hundred Marks to have him suggest we talk to the farmer. I don’t get to talk to him, Lawyer Rhaunen goes and talks to him. It turns out that the field had already been harvested and the farmer was going to burn it anyway. Nothing was damaged, so the farmer thanked me for helping out.
That was Brian’s story and he stuck to it. Until 1998, when Brian came to see me in Las Vegas. Apparently it wasn’t the Truth, the Whole Truth and nothing but The Truth. It seems that Brian took the Rap for his Little Brother. Dear….Sweet…Little…..Timmy was the criminal. Yeah there were matches. Yeah there were boys from the neighborhood. Yeah, Brian was there too. Yeah they were playing “hold the match until it burns the shit out your finger”. But it was Timmy. Dear….Sweet…Little …Timmy who wielded the can of OFF insect repellant like a flame thrower. Which got out hand…literally and was dropped in that wonderfully harvested field of wheat.
23 thoughts on “How Much Trouble can a Kid Get Into?”
OMG. Is this story true??? I’ve never heard it before. See??? He really is the Patron Saint of Awesomeness…
Of course it is. Do you see “true” and “story” down in the tags? Go ask Saint Brian.
We won’t talk about how I left my cousin flapping in the breeze when he and I stared a forest fire. I did eventually get a pretty good slap on the wrist for that one.
and the trailer?
Never heard this one before, Walt! Hilarious!! You’re right, John never yelled. Anyone ever hear from John?
That was awesome!! Kind of reminds me of the story I’ve been aching to tell you for over 20 years Walter, when we can ever sit and discuss it over a nice Bitburger…But, alas, that is for another time…thanks so much for sharing and the great pics! BUCK
I lived there from 81 – 84 at 68 ringstrasse. 🙂
Wow, my house from 82-85 is in that first page as well! I was your son Timmy’s age and we lived at 16 Ringstrasse. My father is Ray Hughes and he worked in Personnel if I recall correctly.
Lived there from 85-90 at 6 Blumenstrasse! Good times…best of my life.
Thanks “Me” for your comment. BTW, which Me are we referring to?
I was just wondering….does anyone have any pictures of that exciting day in Rhaunen Housing?
That is OUTSTANDING………however. Having known the boys back then….I’m envisioning Timmy….laying waste to the field with his ersatz incendiary device….with one hand….whilst trying to hold his pants up with the other all at the same time…..lol
Yes, he was pants holder-upper back in the day.
Omg thats crazy but never the less thats the type of things kids do and it was nice of him to take up for his brother that was brotherly love
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Your welcome walt you was so funny at the medical center and made my wait time a pleasant and funny one i had to stop bye your website
No thank you. you made the time fly.. I’m glad i could brighten your day.
Funny! I’ve NEVER heard this story before
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