It is really difficult to explain the absolute devotion that military BRATS have for their overseas alma maters to anyone who doesn’t share that experience. To be a teenager in an American community in a foreign country is like nothing else. I haven’t met them all, of course, but I know hundreds of adults who attended DoD schools, from England, to Turkey, to Japan and everywhere in between, and most will describe their experience as a true highlight of their lives.
My own overseas school was General H.H. Arnold High School in Wiesbaden Germany. My family was transferred to Wiesbaden in the fall of 1959, the start of my sophomore year. I never had a great deal of difficulty adapting to new places, schools and friends. I was very fortunate. Growing up as a military dependent was the perfect childhood for me, but not all BRATS would say the same. Some, in fact, really suffered the dislocations, but not I.
My father and I were visiting some years ago, and Daddy seemed concerned that his absences were a hardship for his girls. We did miss him so much, and were often afraid for him, but I wouldn’t trade the life he gave us for anything on earth. And I can’t imagine not being raised by a hero, by a father we could respect almost as much as we loved him.
So, in 1959, we moved to Wiesbaden, Germany – USAF Headquarters Europe – and began a magical time in our lives. A couple of my sisters were just too young to appreciate the wonderful opportunity we had, but we three older girls did, and I know that at the very least, the little ones have some interesting memories. This isn’t about traveling in Europe, although we did, and we loved it. London, Paris, Rome, the Alps, Amsterdam, what glorious adventures we had, but those places aren’t what make me “homesick” from time to time.
We arrived in Wiesbaden shortly after the school year started. Daddy had gone before us, and my mother and four sisters and I traveled across the country in our station wagon to reach McGuire Air Force Base in New Jersey, out of which the military and their families flew to Europe. Our car horn had gone on the blink in Missouri, and that made the trip most interesting.
Every time my mother made a right-hand turn, the car horn honked. We stopped somewhere in Illinois and talked to a mechanic about disconnecting the horn (we couldn’t take the time to have it fixed, because we had to make our flight to Europe), but that very kind man took a look at the five little girls in the back of the station wagon and told Mom that he thought it was a bad idea. He said she could need that horn in an emergency situation.
My mother could never be outsmarted by a car horn! She instructed us to move to the windows every time she turned right and smile and wave. We did, and people smiled and waved right back! We made friends all across America. And lo and behold, just miles from the McGuire Air Force Base gate, a truck cut in front of us and Mom had to honk, loud and long.
The flight to Europe took a long time. We refueled in Greenland and in Ireland. We flew in a military transport, a C-47 (affectionately known as the Gooney Bird), with young soldiers who were being transferred to military posts in Europe. Our belongings were stowed in cargo nets hanging on the walls, and I think we ate sandwich box meals. I had traveled by train and driven many thousands of miles by car, but it was my first airplane trip.
We were the only family on that particular flight, and those young men helped Mom keep the little ones entertained. There simply is nothing on God’s earth like an American soldier. They are the finest young people ever born, certainly for their courage, intelligence and sense of duty, but also because they are kind, helpful and respectful.
We landed in Frankfurt, Germany, where Daddy met us and drove us to Wiesbaden, just 25 miles away on the autobahn. We moved into the American Arms Hotel and were there for several weeks while we waited for our home to be ready to move into. We must have been considered an unusually large family (five girls), because although we often had to wait a while for suitable housing, we were sometimes put into larger homes intended for higher ranking military and their families. On Bergstrom AFB, in Austin, there were only four houses like ours on the base, and none of the other three were occupied by a lowly Major’s family!
Anyway, back to the American Arms Hotel. Daddy had found a place for us to live on the economy – the “economy” is the civilian community surrounding a military installation. There was nothing in military housing at the time that was large enough for us. So, we moved from the hotel into the entire second floor of a large gasthaus in a small village outside of Wiesbaden that had been outfitted just for us. It was truly beautiful out there, but it did make it difficult for me and my many school activities to live so far out.
So began my adventures in wonderland. I went to a “typical” American high school, with “typical” American kids, except that DoD schools attract the very best teachers in America (Who doesn’t want to live in Europe?), and senior trips were to London, Rome or Paris! Our Christmas vacations included skiing in the Alps. Spring break might include a Formula 1 race in Monaco. And our all-Europe choir performed in gorgeous European opera houses. Our surroundings and opportunities were not so “typical.”
General H.H. Arnold High School was also the school for Air Force kids stationed in places that had no high school, and we had the children of diplomats and American businessmen in attendance as well. So, we had a dormitory where a number of our friends stayed. Most of us embraced living in Europe – we loved the people and place so much – but it was still a foreign country. That meant that your friends were more than friends. They were your touchstone for everything American. They were your extended family. Going to school in a foreign country brings kids together in a unique way.
I was an outgoing kid – in my own way, but that’s another story – lots of friends and lots of activities. I certainly took full advantage of everything that Wiesbaden and Europe had to offer, but I also enjoyed the comfort and familiarity of the all-American “bubble” that I lived in. And almost 65 years later, though many have passed, I’m still in fairly close touch with several of my friends from those days. I’ve had a great life – interesting and fulfilled – but I still miss those years that I spent in just the right place, at just the right time.
