"The end justifies the means". At the time I was not yet familiar with this saying, but it's rather
appropriate to the following story that could just have well have been called "The Big Bluff". Although I'd
always had to battle along on my own, I felt lonely and abandoned after the loss of my elderly friend.
Right around this time, a young man suddenly started to appear regularly who liked to make life difficult
for the majority of the brass collectors, especially the younger ones and the really elderly ones. We called
him "Potter". He didn't go to school, and he didn't have an apprenticeship, so he just hung around in the
Grunewald day and night. People said that he'd given up a pottery apprenticeship. He was about 19 years of
age, tall and strong, and he acted like a bull in a china shop. Wherever he went, he immediately caused
trouble and dispute. It was his principle not to stick to the unwritten rule of "first come, first served",
which in practice meant that whoever found a pile of expended cartridges kept them for themselves. Potter
pushed and shoved and was not willing to share. Only a few rivals were brave enough to stand up to him. He
stole brass from the weaker ones, and started fights with those who didn't take his threats seriously. You
always had to be on your guard whenever he was around, because Potter didn't know the meaning of the word
"fun", especially when there was profit involved. Once, when he even tried to start a fight with the
Americans because they were protecting the other collectors, he had a nasty shock when the soldiers suddenly
leaped up, took his brass away from him and gleefully dropped them into a foxhole. They chased him away,
brandishing folding shovels and threatening to call the police. Boy, did he feel small when he realized that
the Americans meant business. Brought down a peg or two in this way, Potter was a bit calmer from then on.
I came to realize that you could have a relatively normal conversation with him, so long as there were no
practice battles taking place at that very moment. It was only when shots were fired that he blew a fuse.
I couldn't rely on peace alone, and was convinced that only someone that he could respect would be able to
curb his wild aggression. And so it came about, that during a conversation with him, I happened to mention
that my uncle kept giving me grief because of my bad marks at school. Unfortunately, my uncle would not
tolerate any mischief because he was a trainer at a well-known karate school. Now, much to my annoyance,
he kept coming into the Grunewald to see what mischief I was getting up to. I complained to Potter that it
was only because he had his fourth black belt that he was causing such a fuss. I must have been quite
convincing because he seemed really sympathetic. I only really had a father on paper, and Potter would have
laughed his head off at my Opa, so for my plan I had to employ my uncle Gunter who lived just around the
corner. Of course, I'd made it all up, it was all a lie, but the first step was done. Now all I had to do
was to get my uncle to go into the Grunewald with me in order to play "Big Brother". Gunter was short and
sturdy, but he had a mouth on him which could really scare people. Deep down he was really peaceable and
liked to avoid trouble, but Potter didn't need to know that.
In the past, Uncle Gunter had often taken me on rides on his bike. Often he acted like a great father, I
really loved the common times with him. It was no problem, then, for me to get in touch with him and to whet
his appetite for my unusual hobby, which he had already heard all about. I didn't tell him about the true
matter at hand, just to be on the safe side. I had no qualms about exaggerating a bit when I enthused with
him about a "bit of money to be made". I told him that the bank notes were lying around everywhere, and who
didn't need money in those days? It didn't take long to arouse his curiosity. Soon afterwards, we began our
first bicycle tours into the Grunewald together. Unfortunately, we usually couldn't go out until late in
the afternoon because my uncle worked. To keep him in a good mood, I made sure at first that he got
everything I found. Later, we shared everything in a brotherly fashion. Fate had it that despite having
gotten out there so late, we were still in time for a series of really wild exercises. Thanks to his being
there we collected an excellent yield. One of his harsh looks was enough to make our rivals move on of their
own accord. Wow, what a thrill!
I had great fun with the little saying "Listen to my uncle's advice, it's better for you to be nice".
Gunter was so impressed that he even started going into the Grunewald on his own. One day, he proudly told
me all about a rather unusual experience. When the soldiers had suddenly left their positions unsupervised,
he had quickly grabbed a wooden crate full of blank cartridges, loaded them onto his bike and ridden home.
As the GIs now had no practice ammo left, they had no alternative but to shout out loudly "bang, bang"!
How cheeky of him, I would never have dared do such a thing! But that's just what he was like, my good old
uncle Gunter.
One day, the scenario that I had been waiting for and working towards for so long, actually happened. One
Saturday morning, together with uncle Gunter, I caught my "special friend" Potter by surprise as he was
collecting brass that had been left behind. Because everything around was quite calm, he was being rather
quiet and well-mannered. I coolly introduced him to my "personal karate master". I had not let Gunter in on
my plan until just beforehand, so that it would be difficult for him to back out. With a grin, he had
agreed. Potter politely extended his hand. As my uncle brusquely told him that today, luckily, there weren't
so many "dumb ass-holes" out and about, meaning other collectors. Potter nodded, clearly impressed. With a
"Bye then, until the next time", we continued on our little bicycle tour. My plan had worked! I could hardly
believe it, from that day on Potter was always nice, courteous and friendly to me. A lucky thing, for in
the meantime my uncle had given up his new hobby. He had obviously felt awkward when he sold his brass for
the first time and the scrap dealer had asked for his ID card.
Well, as I said, the end justifies the means. Had it not worked, this story might today have been called
"fibs always catch up with you in the end", but as it was, my good old uncle Gunter had played his part
perfectly and then withdrawn again as a competitor. What more could you ask for? After a few months, Potter
was no longer a problem for the others either, because he suddenly disappeared. There were a couple possible
reasons for this. It was either the ever-increasing number of competitors or the Americans that obviously
had it in for him, or he'd simply found a new job. The quarrels, however, had resulted in some unwelcome
side effects. The Americans had apparently tired of the large number of collectors and spectators, and for
several years they stopped all military practice in the Grunewald during school vacations. From then on it
became more common for them to schedule their mock battles in the early morning or night hours. This
inevitably led to a considerable loss of profit which of course had to be compensated for somehow.
The competition among the hardcore collectors became quite fierce. They had got too used to the financial
profit that one hundred pounds (50 kilos) of brass could bring in each month.
Remark: In 2007, my Uncle Gunter passed away, RIP Gunter !
The other side of the coin