March 8, 1946

                                    Still Frankfurt, Germany –
oh, about 8 March 1946.

Dear Fambily:

Rog, you ain’t heard nothing until you’ve sat in a Frankfurt Bier stube and listened to a couple of German pianists, on two pianos, play Lili Marlene (French) for an audience of Americans, with variations and a bogie wogie bass (Lili, not the Americans). I can’t get over the fantastic qualities of this place and this life. It’s completely out of this world. Lola, Wally (in an unguarded moment this evening he admitted to having been christened Ernst Heinrich Waldeman Dietz, back in St Louis about 28 years ago) and I spent Wally’s and my last evening in Frankfurt in the bar hangout under the Rendevous. And now we men are getting in early, preparatory to a dawn take off into the Lands to-morrow.

Today we took the car that we requisitioned (a Brig. Gen’s Chevrolet – a big car, with our corporal driver) and drove over to Wiesbaden. We finished our business with the Military Governor by noon – and spent the afternoon back at I.G. Farben, sweeping up the corners. Now that’s done and we can go on our way. Wiesbaden is only 38 kilometers from Frankfurt. It’s one of the heavy industry cities of this area and took an awful beating from the American and British bombers. Our Laender office is located in the Landeshaus – the state capitol. Half of the roof was blown or burned off but repairs are being made while military government carries on. It was an interesting visit and we found a group of military men, like babes in the woods, faced with the problem of civilianization – and knowing nothing but military procedure. That problem of conversion is our biggest headache today, augmented by the fact that OMG(U.S.Zone) in Frankfurt is washing up as of 1 April and we shall be faced with the problem of administering the Laender Detachments from Berlin. I have a hunch that I’m going to be spending much of my time on the road.

March eighth – you should be just about going home from the hospital, sweet, with your newest son. Oh, gosh, why am I so far from home! Love to you all.

Affectionately

Dad.

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