HOT ICE

               

The entrance to the bahnhof in Munich, Germany looked liked the mouth of a huge man-made cave. This was my first trip to the giant train station. It was 1958. As a newly arrived second lieutenant everything I did in Germany was a first. Today, I was meeting the train of a perky little coed. 

Bavaria 1958

I walked along the apron that lay like a big flat comb with its platform teeth stretching out between the iron rail spaces. I was early, but I could hardly wait to see Joan again. We had met a month ago at a social function sponsored by American University, Munich campus. An afternoon tea, hosted by the woman’s dorm mother, provided the venue. Invitations were extended to an appropriate (read single) list of American males living in the greater Munich area. Joan and I hit it off, and had been getting together as often as army and college schedules permitted. Aside from the healthy physical attraction, it was a pleasure talking to a girl and not struggling with the language as well as the delicacy of a new relationship. 

It was nine o’clock on a Saturday morning of a beautiful September day, and I had a great weekend planned. Not much traffic in the bahnhof. I was just people-watching.

Something about this one fellow snagged my attention. He dressed well: a tan, three-quarter length, rag-shouldered top coat exposing a neatly Windsor-knotted necktie. He wore dark brown slacks. But it was the forest green Tyrolean hat that caught my eye. He looked quite dapper. 

I was staring. Was he looking at me? I turned over my shoulder; no one.

He was barely thirty feet away. Was he coming to me? I revised my assessment of his looks—more like a “dandy”. As he approached conversational distance he checked over both shoulders before speaking.

“Excuse me, are you American?” He spoke with a slight German accent on an Oxford English dialect which surprised me, but, that he picked me out as an American, didn’t: levis, V-neck sweater over open collar white shirt, extra short hair cut. American soldier; no contest. 

I recovered from my surprise. “Yes, I am.” He looked over both shoulders again. He is afraid of something.

“I’m in a bit of a spot. Perhaps you can help me.” I gave no sign of interest. Somebody’s after him.

“I have just arrived from Bad Nuehime where it seems I ran up some serious gambling debts. I owe bad people a lot of money.”

He pulled his left hand out of his top coat pocket and held it out to me. “I must sell my wife’s wedding ring as quickly as possible.” A nervous glance over his shoulder.

In the palm of his hand lay a solitaire two carat diamond ring. Holy mackerel! This guy’s as phony as a three dollar bill. I turned to walk away. “I don’t think I can help you.”

He crowded me as I attempted to move. “Bitte, this is life or death; these people will hurt me. I must sell this ring.” Yeah, I’ll bet you do. You probably stole it and the politzei are hunting you right now.

“Bitte, you must help me; believe me it is a real diamond.” He herded me against the concourse wall which was lined with glass poster-size billboards. He reached into the upper right corner of one, and cut the glass down to the lower left corner. “You see, real diamond: easily worth a thousand American dollars.” 

I spun around. This was a clear act of vandalism. I headed into the concourse. The guy is as crooked as a dog’s hind leg. He was almost running beside me. I halted and he scurried to my front. 

“Look,” I said, “I don’t have a thousand dollars. I can’t help you.” 

Hot Stuff  1958

“I will sell for 500.”

“I don’t have fifty dollars for a hot ring.”

“How much do you have?” 

The weekend with Joan hovered in the back of my mind. “I couldn’t spare twenty dollars.”

“I’ll take twenty, danka.”

Without another thought I pulled a twenty from my billfold. The dandy man snatched the bill, thrust the ring into my hand, and disappeared like Spencer Spook.

What have I done?

Paranoia immediately set in. No, officer, I have never been to Bad Neuhime. Well, yes, I know what trafficking in stolen goods is, but I was just trying to help a guy out of a rough patch.

A soft voice came from the right. “Why so serious, soldier?” There she was; dark curls around an angular face, sparkling brown eyes and a smile that knocked me for a loop. She walked right into my arms. I kissed her cheek, and held on an extra second. This could get serious; or was I just lonesome?

As we pulled apart I consciously inspected the lovely figure defining the little five foot nothing frame. She twinkled, “What’s in your hand?”

Without a thought I opened my fist for her inspection. Her hand snapped to her chest, fingers spread. I could hear the sound of breath on the intake. She looked at me, tears welling in her eyes, and then scanned blindly into the distance.

Can one man be this dumb—twice in fifteen minutes? I reached for her overnight bag. “Come quickly. I have a story to tell.”

I hustled her out of the station into the car, and by the time we were in traffic I had confessed everything. I couldn’t tell if she was relieved or disappointed, but we had a great laugh.

“There’s a little jewelry store on the corner,” she said. “Shall I run in and get a hasty appraisal?” 

“Why not? Traffic’s heavy; I’ll drop you and circle the block.”

We were still laughing as she popped out. Alone, however, I was sober. What if an “all points bulletin” has been sent out? First place to go would be jewelry stores... What if Joan thinks this is an engagement? Oh boy… Either or both outcomes would be life altering.

As I made the third turn around the block I saw Joan on the corner with a great big grin. She jumped in, and I pulled back into the stream of traffic. At least she wasn’t picked up for questioning.

“Ok, spill it.” She’s having too much fun. 

“It took the trained eye,” a chuckle in her voice, “of jeweler without his glass,” she spoke deliberately, “to tell me it was worth about eight Deutch marks—new.”

“What? ... Two dollars?” I was stunned… 

Then, slowly; the humor of it registered: the old bait and switch trick. Of course, no real well-dressed thief would steal a piece of glass, but a slick con man would switch a real diamond for a glass one. “I guess there’s little larceny in all our hearts.”

“Yeah, greed’s a strong motivator. But, it’s the thought that counts.” she giggled. “And, just so you don’t forget the lesson, I’m accepting this toy until we’re ready for the genuine article.” She slipped the sparkly chunk of glass onto her right ring finger. Oh, that lovely, impish smile.

I, myself, was greatly relieved.