(image of the Frankfurt airport in 1974 from here)
Though I grew up quite poor, I had the extraordinary good luck to leave the country & visit West Germany in 1974. This was because my mother was German & I believe that her parents paid for it. My mother took me, my little brother Chris, & my brother Ralph with us. Of my six siblings only my sister Pat - who hated to fly - never visited Germany. My brother Eddie was born there, & I am not sure he's ever been back.
Whether we left out of DFW or Love Field, I don't know. I have no memory of the airport out of which we flew. My mother always insisted on flying to Germany on Lufthansa, & my guess would be they'd only operate out of an international airport like DFW. But a cursory internet search tells me nothing.
What I do remember was the Frankfurt Airport. I came to it both exhausted & disillusioned. I was six years old, & I was very excited to fly. Mostly I wanted to see above the clouds, to see the angels I was certain lived there. Angels were always portrayed on top of clouds. I wasn't entirely sure how they felt about planes flying through their homes, but I hoped one would wave to me. How sad to discover there were no angels on the clouds. I wish I could say it was the beginning of my abandonment of believing in supernatural things but nah - I still loved fantasy & comics & really wanted to believe in magic.
The plane flight was very long, especially for a six-year-old, & very stuffy, as my mother smoked & we were in the smoking section. & I was fidgety & bored. I probably slept a bit. I had no real idea what awaited me.
What awaited me was fucking terrifying. As a child I had no idea what terrorism was & of course I knew nothing about the Munich Olympics. But I was frightened out of my skull at the number of soldiers with rifles at the airport. They were everywhere. & the place smelled weird - more earthy. & of course I couldn't understand what anyone was saying. When my mother's family approached me - my grandparents happy to see their grandchildren, my aunt & uncle happy to meet their nephews - they embraced me & I discovered that my German relatives had no idea what deodorant was. They were very sweaty & they smelled it. I did what I generally did when I was six & was overwhelmed - I started to cry.
The plane flight was very long, especially for a six-year-old, & very stuffy, as my mother smoked & we were in the smoking section. & I was fidgety & bored. I probably slept a bit. I had no real idea what awaited me.
What awaited me was fucking terrifying. As a child I had no idea what terrorism was & of course I knew nothing about the Munich Olympics. But I was frightened out of my skull at the number of soldiers with rifles at the airport. They were everywhere. & the place smelled weird - more earthy. & of course I couldn't understand what anyone was saying. When my mother's family approached me - my grandparents happy to see their grandchildren, my aunt & uncle happy to meet their nephews - they embraced me & I discovered that my German relatives had no idea what deodorant was. They were very sweaty & they smelled it. I did what I generally did when I was six & was overwhelmed - I started to cry.
Not just sad tears, I was bawling. I was a crybaby of the worst kind. & my German relatives were alarmed. & there was lots of chatter in that weird language & I heard my mother say, "Maybe his legs hurt." & suddenly these strange, smelly people are massaging my legs which means their hands are all over me which naturally terrified me more.
This did not endear me to my German relatives, & although I think my grandparents might have liked me if they got to know me, my uncle never did. When I visited again, in 1992, he was mostly cold to me.
Those were my first two airports. It would be twelve years - when I was 18 - when I would board a plane, from Dallas Love Field to Austin's Robert Mueller Airport. The latter no longer exists. I was going down to Austin for orientation the summer before my Freshman year in college. Both airports were tiny. Neither were frightening.
This did not endear me to my German relatives, & although I think my grandparents might have liked me if they got to know me, my uncle never did. When I visited again, in 1992, he was mostly cold to me.
Those were my first two airports. It would be twelve years - when I was 18 - when I would board a plane, from Dallas Love Field to Austin's Robert Mueller Airport. The latter no longer exists. I was going down to Austin for orientation the summer before my Freshman year in college. Both airports were tiny. Neither were frightening.
