I can still hear these words clearly in my ears, for I heard them countless times throughout the eleven
years that I carried out my police duty together with soldiers from the American military police.
"Golf Papa" comes from the NATO alphabet, and stands for "G" "P" in English, and abbreviation for "German
Policeman". The American counterpart was "MP" or military policeman. I would never in my wildest dreams,
at least in my childhood and teenage years, have imagined that I would all of a sudden be transferred to
the U.S. military police station, thanks to my knowledge of English.
In the year of my birth, 1947, the German police had already begun to work with the military police.
As with the Americans, the team changed regularly. On the German side, there were colleagues who had been
taken prisoner of war by the Americans, and then a few years later were carrying out their duty alongside
the former enemy. These were just some of the few idealists who clearly stood out from those who were just
looking for a brief change of job.
The Americans named the office that was located on the Andrews barracks the "Office of the Provost Marshal"
(PMO). In its last few years, its name was lengthened to "Combined Police Station" so as to clarify and pay
respect to the close co-operation between the German police and the U.S. military police. Whereas everyone
had known what and whom was meant by the term "U.S. MP Station", the majority of citizens and many external
police colleagues had no idea what the new term "DIR 4 OES 16", which the German authorities had made up,
was supposed to mean. In each of two rooms which were openly linked to each other, there was a German and
an American police desk respectively, and it was from here that operations were controlled and coordinated.
The field of operations was the entire western part of the city, with emphasis on the U.S. Sector. The
range of operations stretched from minor traffic violations to actual crimes. Some of the operations were
carried out just by Americans, but most of them involved German input. If there weren't any operations to
be carried out, then the police simply cruised around patrolling the American sector, the U.S.
establishments, and the wall.
The bafflement on the faces of German drivers if ever they were stopped by U.S. patrol vehicles, which they
often did not take very seriously, was quite a picture when conducted by a joint patrol. As soon as a
German police officer got out of the car next to an American MP in army battle uniform, the traffic
offender was often rendered speechless. They certainly wouldn't have allowed themselves such escapades
within sight of a German radio car.
Throughout the years, I covered countless miles in American patrol sedans and jeeps, either in the
Grunewald, in the city, or along the border. Particularly during my many rides along the wall towards
"Checkpoint Charlie" or "Bravo", I was again and again able to note the stark difference between "freedom"
in the East and freedom in the West. Together with my American patrol partner, I would constantly be trying
to settle German-American problems. We regularly escorted U.S. military convoys from the Grunewald or their
barracks, and accompanied them wherever they were heading. I was now doing duty with the units that I'd run
away from, panic-stricken, as a boy! There were lots of parallels here that reminded me of my youth. I'd
like to mention just two examples.
On one occasion it so happened that I was sent into the maneuver area together with an American MP in his
jeep, to drive away all the spectators, among them lots of kids, from the scene of an exercise.
"The hunted" had turned into "the hunter"! The children stood no chance of leading me up the garden path,
because I knew all the trails and all the tricks from my own experience. However, I still made a great
effort to try to objectively explain to them the danger of such big field training. An especially good
argument in my favor were the poor driving skills of the young, inexperienced soldiers who took part in
these exercises in their countless tracked vehicles. As proof, I could cite all of the traffic accidents
caused by the Americans - we recorded about a thousand of these each year.
In such situations, I often thought back to the Havelberg maneuver scenario from the 1960s, almost as
though it had happened yesterday. Always the same image - the defenders would be sitting in their foxholes,
just as "enemy" ground troops, attacking in a loud turmoil of combat and tanks driving across country, would
attack the positions. Everywhere, there were detonated simulators, smoke grenades, and empty flares made
of silver colored metal falling through the air, which then hit the ground with a loud clatter. And amidst
all of this, kids and juveniles carelessly chasing after material profit, running about all over the place,
just like I had once done. I must have had a guardian angel in those days!
And this guardian angel of mine hadn't gone into "retirement" in the 1980s, as one normal day at work showed
me. Following my usual routine, I had escorted several American armored personnel carriers (APC) to their
Parks Range training area, in the lead vehicle. Shortly before arriving at our destination, I pulled onto
the sidewalk on the right in order to let the tracked vehicles pass. The soldiers sitting on top gave me
a friendly wave, just as right beside me their APC suddenly veered off to the left and collided into the
wall of a house with a crash. A few soldiers were catapulted into the surrounding bushes. No more than a
yard away from me, I discovered the cause in the form of a ripped tank track that was lying on the road like
a flat strip. Had it been the other track that had come off, the armored personnel carrier, weighing several
tons, would have flattened me in my police car. How lucky I was that nothing had happened to me, and that
the soldiers walked away with just a few bumps and bruises.
The other occasion was when I realized that my American colleagues did not get hopelessly lost in the
Grunewald like the soldiers used to; now they lost their way driving around the city in their patrol cars.
Despite the fact that they had maps of the city, many a trip unintentionally ended up thwarted at the Berlin
wall. Instead of Wannsee, they suddenly found themselves in Tegel, an entirely different location in the
city. Whenever they called for our help over the radio, and we asked for their position or for street
names, it was often the case that they gave us names such as "Einbahnstrasse" (one way street), "Umleitung"
(detour) or "Feuermelder" (fire alarm pole). Thinking that these were street names, they had already
looked for them, in vain, in the street index! We were highly amused many a time, but who knows how we
would have managed in the USA? The sometimes strenuous shift duty has long been forgotten, but not the many
funny experiences. They have given us the nice 'colors' and have brighten our days "gray" routine.
I often think back to incidents with American colleagues. Teasing and irritating the GDR border guards was
particularly good fun for some of the military police soldiers. On the eastern side of the Teltow Canal,
the inhuman GDR barriers were guarded around the clock by heavily armed soldiers, and the U.S. military
police border patrols quickly worked out how they could get their attention. During the night the U.S.
patrols would stop in front of a watchtower. Here, the Americans were less than one hundred yards away
from the barriers. In the tower window you could immediately see the reflection of the infra-red binoculars.
Then all you had to do was to "greet" the curious border guard with a flashlight or a camera flash and the
reaction would always be the same. Startled by the extreme glare, the observers almost let the highly
sensitive night-vision instruments slip right out of their hands. But seeing as the East Germans' curiosity
knew no bounds, the Americans' little games, which were probably considered mean provocation "over there",
were always successful.
If the border ever appeared to be deserted, the Americans had another game up their sleeves. It was called
"wake up service". For this, all you had to do was to drive several times up and down the border between
two points with a flashing blue light. It would only be a little while later, before the other side would
be a hive of activity which lasted for hours and brought the border guards' nightly peace and quiet to an
abrupt end. You couldn't fail to notice the malicious glee of the MP soldiers. This method was used
particularly with newcomers in order to get them used to the reality of the city. Although all members
of the military police had already heard about the Berlin wall back in the USA, many of them were speechless
when they stood directly in front of this monstrosity for the first time. Nowhere else was the forced divide
so obvious as it was in Berlin. There proved to be a huge difference between stories and actual experiences
of the wall, which the MP soldiers were now regularly being drawn into.
At Checkpoint Charlie and in its vicinity, many incidents occurred that couldn't really hide their funny
side, despite their sometimes serious circumstances.
As was usual during an early morning joint patrol ride, we drove over there to pick up a newspaper from
the Axel Springer House (publisher) which stood near that check point. It was about 3 AM when my U.S.
partner stopped briefly in the Kochstrasse as usual to look at the newspaper's "pretty nude page three girl".
The street was almost deserted, as we got our adrenalin jumping in the way of young men around the world.
Suddenly there was a tremendous bang and a huge cloud of smoke blocked our vision like fog! All over the
road laid splinters of glass from broken windows.
As we soon established, a crazy fool had blown a hole into the wall no more than a hundred yards away from
us with a highly explosive charge. We immediately drove back to the control house at the checkpoint.
A member of the military police, Sergeant Alexander, was "holding the fort" there. When we arrived, we
couldn't stop laughing! The American had been resting on his camp-bed when suddenly, the force of the
explosion had rudely awakened him, and caused all of the loose objects in the room to rain down on him.
Among the objects, there were two wall telephones which he was still sleepily holding in his hands as we
walked in. What a funny picture!
On another occasion, the MP soldier on duty didn't look particularly surprised when an attractive young
woman gave him a particularly unusual surprise. It was common for tourists to have their pictures taken
with uniformed officers at the control points. And so it seemed on this day when a woman dressed in a fur
coat approached the American with this precise request. But what a shock we all had, at the very moment
that the photo was taken, when she dropped her coat and stood stark naked next to him, posing with nothing
but a smile. Everyone who was there found this to be very funny, but it was all rather embarrassing for
the American MP.
One person who has never been forgotten is John Runnings, who kept climbing onto the top of the wall and,
like a man possessed, struck it repeatedly with an oversized hammer. The GDR border guards obviously didn't
mind this American grandfather playing the fool, but his behavior drove the U.S. military police and our
security forces almost to insanity. While everyone kept on chasing him, he would carry on running up and
down the wall undeterred, and was therefore a popular photographic subject for the many spectators and
reporters. It was perhaps their presence which prevented an unhappy outcome, because many people had
already had to pay for the "violation of the state border" with their lives.
Some of the GI's acted like big kids in uniform. Their actions and behavior often reminded me of
experiences from my youth. At nighttime in the Grunewald, they played "cops and robbers" in their patrol
cars with the lights switched off. Although the crews wore infra-red gear ( night-vision googles), a few
times a patrol vehicle got damaged in accidents which could have been avoided. Luckily it was usually only
damage to the bodywork. The play instinct and the naivety of some soldiers sometimes proved to be
particularly odd.
Here is an unforgettable example. One afternoon my joint patrol with the military police took me to
sub-district Wannsee. (belongs to Zehlendorf) We stopped for a break next to a large open air enclosure
for animals in Nikolskoe. My U.S. partner, Scott, was fascinated to watch how a forester was feeding wild
boar (Gruni pigs) through a fence. When the forester spotted us, he interrupted his work, came over to
us and asked the American whether he liked these animals. I did the interpreting, and saw Scotty nod and
started rummaging in the pockets of his uniform. With face beaming, Scott then pulled out a small picture
and held it right in front of the baffled forester's nose. The forester's friendly expression darkened and
he turned away from us without uttering a single word. This was understandable for an animal lover, for the
picture showed my American friend with his arms outstretched, proudly holding up a large .44 magnum colt
in his right hand and a young wild boar that had been shot dead in his left hand. My partner didn't
understand the forester's reaction and pointed towards the small, low wooden huts which were inside the
enclosure - he seemed interested to know why they were there and what they were used for. I told him that
these were the wild boars' "apartments", and we continued on our joint patrol. Scott almost doubled up with
laughter at my explanation. What I didn't realize at the time was that he hadn't believed me. As soon as
he was on night duty again, he drove back to the enclosure with an American patrol partner in order to
investigate the wooden huts. Despite a warning from his companion, he parked the MP jeep directly in front
of the fence, climbed onto the hood and jumped over. He had already carefully swept over the area with his
flashlight and there were no wild boar as far as the eye could see. He obviously felt completely safe as
he reached the huts after about fifty yards and shone his big maglite inside. His partner later said that
he didn't know what had been louder at that moment, Scotty's scream or the wild boars' grunts. He hurried
back, chased by several large and startled "Gruni pigs", and jumped back over the fence. With scrapes and
scratches all over his body, and his uniform all ripped, Scott had the whole MP station in stitches. Oh
well, reality can be hard on us sometimes, but my macho American friend had learned a lesson.
This incident reminded me of a similar one from my youth. The soldiers in those days tried to be clever
too. Once they unsuspectingly climbed over the fence of that very same wild boar enclosure at night,
in order to set up their combat positions there. They had already dug out a series of foxholes directly
behind the fence when suddenly and unexpectedly, the four legged inhabitants from that side of the fence
were standing next to them in large numbers. Perhaps they had smelled the Americans' rations and were
seeking their share. During their ensuing flight of panic, the soldiers left behind various pieces of
equipment. They had to win these back from the "Gruni pigs" by means of random blank cartridge fire.
The forester almost went crazy when he heard about this incident. He knew that the army rarely took any
notice of fences during their exercises, for fences could be found everywhere throughout this large
reforestation area. Under his supervision, the wild boar were warded off and the foxholes filled in again.
The thoughtlessness of some units in certain situations never ceased to amaze me. Following my routine, I
once escorted a long military convoy in my police car from Parks Range to the Grunewald. It was the busy
morning traffic period with people on their way to work, and with my convoy, I "battled" my way through the
crowded streets where it was impossible to see what was going on. The soldiers were literally hanging
almost motionless from their open-top vehicles, tired from the previous night's exercise. Up until this
point, it had been just a normal day at work for me, but that suddenly changed. In the middle of the
Ostpreussendamm, next to the popular "White Horse" bar, an U.S. helicopter bearing the enemy emblem
suddenly roared like thunder in low-level flight over us. I wondered whether the pilot had maybe lost his
marbles, as the helicopter turned and got into position for its next attack. I'd never experienced anything
like this before, not even in the Grunewald. At that very moment, all hell broke loose behind me.
The soldiers pointed all of their guns towards the enemy flying object and opened blank fire. Despite the
wild rattling of the guns, you could still clearly hear the squeal of brakes and the hoots of the civilian
cars. Everyone stood where they were, startled, and watched the unusual spectacle. After about two minutes
all the fuss was over, and the convoy and all of the people driving to work could move on. My heart almost
missed a beat as I looked into my rear-view mirror and saw several school kids running about between the
cars on the road, without taking any notice of the traffic, just to get their hands on some of the blank
shells that had fallen to the ground. But their behavior was somehow familiar to me. It was indeed a
miracle that nobody got hurt in all that chaos. I was glad when I had dropped off this "chaos unit" at
their destination.
Another incident was more embarrassing than funny. During a joint patrol, together with an American MP in
a German police vehicle, my U.S. partner wanted to stop a traffic offender with a German police "Halt stick"
(stop stick). Pulling over and waving with that Halt stick was obviously particularly interesting for my
partner, as the Americans pulled their drivers over in a completely different way. My American friend was
perched impatiently on the passenger seat with the Halt stick in his hands. I had only just explained to
him how the Germans stopped their drivers, and now came the "practical exercise". Although it was nighttime,
an U.S. sedan was driving through the housing area without its headlights on. I quickly pulled him over,
and my American friend waved the stop stick out of the window. Unfortunately, he hadn't considered the
strong head wind, which immediately tore the stick out of his hand and blew it onto the traffic offender's
hood, where it landed with a loud crash. To my astonishment, the U.S. driver jumped out of his car and
apologized to us! Who knows how a German driver would have reacted in a similar situation? I suppose we had
got a lot of trouble. It just goes to show that there's a big difference between theory and practice, not
to mention cultures.
One night, a supposedly wild animal caused particular excitement. An U.S. foot patrol reported over the
radio that they had spotted what looked like a young porcupine in the housing area, and he was requesting
for assistance to come quickly. When a "GP" turned up, accompanied by an American, he burst out laughing.
The callers were waiting behind a tree with their hands on the triggers of their .45 Colts. The animal that
they had thought to be a porcupine turned out to be just a little hedgehog on a nocturnal wander.
The Americans always had new and funny tricks up their sleeves. One night, a MP asked if he could use our
"quiet room" (Pausenraum) in our basement. It was our break room, equipped with two comfortable sofas and
big chairs. There we sometimes could relax, especially during our twelve-hour long night shifts. We gave
him permission right away, without thinking much of it. Our American comrade knew the way, so he was able
to drop down onto the sofa without having to turn the light on. Suddenly we were startled by loud
screaming, howling and barking! The American came running towards us, pale, trembling, and with his eyes
wide open. We had completely forgotten that we had locked "Charly", a colleague's large dog, in the break
room, and that he had already made himself comfortable on that sofa. My other colleagues had a slight
problem with the size of this huge animal, which had previously always rested in the middle of the police
station entrance in such a way that everyone had to step over him. So, as to avoid any unnecessary trouble,
this four-legged friend who was meek as a lamb had been moved into the break room. Although the dog's
presence that night had been an exception, the soldier never stepped foot inside that GP room again.
The Americans always thought it was great fun whenever, during the night shift, we would swap uniforms
temporarily. While we put on their uniforms, they were delighted to slip into our police gear for a
photograph. It made for a pleasant change for the MP soldiers, for in contrast to their infantry brothers,
their work was considerably more extensive. In addition to living the soldier's life with all its different
facets, they also carried out police functions. The military police cap and clip board were constantly being
swapped for a steel helmet and a machine gun. While their comrades from the infantry generally finished
work late afternoon, unless a night exercise or maneuver had been planned, my MP colleagues were on duty
twenty-four hours a day. Utterly exhausted in the mornings, they then sometimes had to get changed in order
to be called out on an alert exercise with the infantry. In the long term, you couldn't cope with this kind
of duty without a bit of fun and a few laughs, but luckily we had plenty of that. The MP soldiers always
gloated whenever they managed to confuse us with their many numbered codes and abbreviations. These were
regularly used for official reasons. We got back at them by requesting over radio "Hotel Bravos" and "Papa
Foxtrots" during the lunch break. A short time later the telephone rang and a baffled American asked after
the meanings of these NATO alphabet abbreviations, which were unknown to him. When it turned out that they
were made up codes for Hamburgers and Fries ( Pommes Frites), he couldn't stop himself from laughing.
And so the years flew by for me and my colleagues. The peculiarities had such a huge appeal, especially in
comparison with the "normal" police stations, that some colleagues were even willing to remain with us
despite poorer promotional opportunities due to the small number of positions available for Germans at the
MP station. Being on duty with the Americans, with all its positive and negative aspects, represented such
a broad spectrum of activity that it never got boring, as long as you were interested in the job. Sometimes
compromises had to be found so as not to violate official regulations. It wasn't a rare occurrence that
German bureaucracy and laws were contrary to allied regulations. Negotiations were not held in our mother
tongue, but rather in English, and therefore they presented a particular challenge which the German team had
to overcome on a daily basis. Just as I had needed the Americans, they now required my help, and that of my
colleagues. Within this small police unit, there were a few German police officers who had chosen to serve
with the Americans for personal, as much as professional reasons. One such example was the long-standing
head and commander of the German police station, Polizeihauptkommissar (Captain) Wolfram Schrankenmüller.
For them, an exemplary, untiring personal commitment to promote and maintain the relationship and links to
American nationals was their primary motivation. They all helped to build the firm foundations upon which
the positive and friendly relations with the Americans rest today!
Likewise, there were members of the military police who showed similar personal commitment.
I've never forgotten the example of Sergeant Karl Zetmeir. His German was outstanding, and he was
passionately fond of speaking with a Berlin accent, but with an American twang. Karl, who went on to
a career as a high-ranking officer (Col), was a real character. With a serious expression on his face,
this funny joker could make all his other colleagues believe the most outrageous stories. In his company,
even the most strenuous shift was a pleasure. I hope he's well, he's not been forgotten.
The "Combined Police Station" was a unique establishment; it only existed in Berlin. It was closed down
when the wall came down, and its German members were spread across the other police stations. While most
of them left the U.S. grounds as early as the beginning of October, my service did not come to an end until
the 30th of November 1990. As the last German police officer there, I literally did "switch off the lights".
Fortunately, the many happy memories remained!
It's all over now