A Chance Encounter with History

I have often wondered about fact that several of my most remarkable travel experiences have apparently happened by chance or coincidence. I use the adverb, "apparently," intentionally. These experiences have had such emotional resonance for me that I wonder if the coincidences were really mere coincidences or whether something else might have been at work. Some might call what has happened rather often to me providence. I am not uncomfortable with that term, but I like to think of them more along the lines of Carl Jung's concept of synchronicity or "meaningful coincidence." Sometimes it is a chain of meaningful coincidences that lead to an unexpected adventure. Such was the case on August 31, 1994 in Berlin, Germany.

I had spent that summer studying in the city of Klagenfurt, Austria, an off-the-beaten-path city for most Americans, but a beautiful city with the biggest lake in Austria, the Wörtersee, surrounded by the the Karavanken Mountains. I wedged my stay in Austria between a short two day visit to Berlin to catch up with an old friend and a short day and a half stay before I returned home.

I left Klagenfurt by train and arrived in Berlin on August 31. I knew that I only had a day and a half there before I was to leave for home. During my stay in Berlin at the beginning of the summer, I didn't do much sightseeing. I had been to Berlin before, and my friend and I managed to catch up without it.

Although I prefer exploring a city on my own, this time I thought a bus tour might be the most effective and efficient way to spend the limited time I had in Berlin. I would take a tour and then go back the next day to spend some more time in the place(s) I found most interesting. On the way to my hotel, I passed block after block of tour hawkers. I was still making up my mind about whether I wanted to take a tour or just head out on my own. Finally, I decided to stop and inquire about a tour. The guy booking the tours said, "I could sell you a tour, but if I were you, I would head over to Treptower Park in East Berlin. Yeltsin and Kohl are there today. Russian troops are leaving the city, and there's a big ceremony." I had been traveling for a couple of days and had not heard about this big event, but I knew that I had to be there to witness it. Germany was finally reunited, and Russian troups were leaving Berlin. It was the last page in the last chapter of the history of World War II. I was not about to miss that!

I immediately headed for the subway. I got in a car and went up to study the map to make sure I got off at the right stop. While I was studying the map, an older man approached me and in perfect Oxford English asked, "May I help you?" "Yes," I said, "I'm looking for the stop for Treptower Park. I want to see the ceremony there." "Oh," he said, "I'm going there, too." He pulled out a beautiful invitation, written in calligraphy, to the event. "It says I can bring a guest. Would you like to be my guest?" "Of course, thank you very much! My name is Kipp Matalucci." "And I am Christoph von Herwarth. I'm a retired diplomat."

Thanks to Herr von Herwarth, we got off at the right stop and proceeded to walk toward the park. There was all the big to-do one would expect for such an event: lots of people, police, limousines, TV cameras, press and sound and fury. We walked up to a large gate, and Herr von Herwarth showed the guard his invitation. "This is my guest, Mr. Matalucci," he said. I had only told him my name once, about twenty minutes before, in the subway car. The guard let us in. You, gentle reader, probably realize that without Herr von Herwarth and his invitation, the gate to the park was the closest I would have gotten to the ceremony itself.

I had been to Treptower Park once before, as a sixteen year old in 1967, when I spent six weeks in Germany and Austria with my teacher, Mrs. Marion Cote, and a small group of friends. The park is named after the Soviet General, who led the troops in the final battle of World War II, the Battle of Berlin. When a reunified Germany signed The Reunification Treaty, it had to promise to maintain this park in perpetuity. Treptower Park honors some 5,000 Soviet soldiers who died liberating Berlin from fascism. An impressive statue of a Soviet soldier with an orphaned German child in his left arm and a sword crushing a swastika in his right arm rests atop a mausoleum for the Unknown Soldier. Sixteen white stone sarcophagi representing the sixteen republics of the former Soviet Union line both sides of an area that is about the length of a football field. It is the burial ground for 5,000 of the 20,000 Soviet soldiers who fought in the Battle of Berlin. The Soviets knew how to do things big! The various monuments are grandiose, perhaps even kitschy, but they are nonetheless impressive and somehow appropriate for the event they commemorate.

Herr von Herwarth and I joined a group of smartly dressed invited guests at the portal entrance into the field. After a few minutes, we were asked to move to the other side of the field. Herr von Herwarth was wearing a brown suit. I was wearing a pair of jeans, sneakers, and a tee shirt with the words, "Bob Dole, sit down and shut up!" I still have it! Of course, I was also carrying the pack which never leaves my back whenever I travel. To cross the field, I had to walk past a squadron of Russian soldiers standing at attention. I could have almost reached out and touched them! If the entire siutation had not been so surreal, I would have been embarrassed to pass such beautifully uniformed soldiers in my getup! I have often wondered if some photographer thought to him or herself, "What the hell is that guy in the jeans doing here!?" Then maybe took a shot. I even looked the next day in several newspapers for it. There was no such photograph. To this day, I think that the photographers missed a great shot.

Soon enough, we found out why we were asked to move. Both Chancellor Helmut Kohl and President Boris Yeltsin showed up right near where we had been standing. They walked across the field up to the tomb of The Hill of Honor. They marched up the steps, laid a wreath inside the mausoleum, marched down the steps and went to the two podiums from which they would address the crowd. Russian and German troops were standing at attention on opposite sides of the field.

The ceremony began. First, Chancellor Kohl spoke. As he was speaking, his words were translated into Russian. "Cool," I thought, "I can follow both!" Then President Yeltsin spoke as his words were translated into German. After their speeches, the German soldiers actually sang to their Russian counterparts. I wish I could remember the words! They're probably on You Tube, but I do remember something about how "You came here as enemies, but you are leaving as friends." Their Russian counterparts returned the singing tribute with a song of their own. Both ditties were tuneful. I half expected the soldiers to break out into a dance, but they did not. Then the Russian troops marched around the field passing stone sarcophagus after stone sarcophagus. They wound up in front of the two leaders and ceremoniously laid down their arms. It was a sight to behold, even moving to me, a teacher of German, who thought that he would be teaching about a divided Germany and the Berlin Wall for the rest of his career. I could only imagine what it must have been like for Herr von Herwarth, who looked to me as if he might have a been a young teenager when the Soviets first marched into Berlin.

When the ceremony was over, Herr von Herwarth made a comment about how he felt under dressed. "You," I said, "Look at me! I'm in jeans and a tee shirt!" I had a camera with me. Herr von Herwarth did not. As we were leaving the park, I thanked him for the remarkable experience, and I promised him that I would mail him pictures of the event, if he would like them. He said that he would, and he got out of his suit pocket the calligraphy invitation to write his name and address on. "Are you sure you want to part with that," I asked. He gave it a second thought, and then he pulled out a typewritten invitation he had received to a morning ceremony with Chancellor Kohl and President Yeltsin in attendance. To this day, I sometimes think that I should have kept my big mouth shut so that I would have the beautifully written invitation to the ceremony I attended, but I know in my heart that I did the right thing!

When I got back to the hotel that night, I turned on the news. The Berliners were complaining. "This thing was just for the big shots!" "We couldn't get anywhere near it!" "We couldn't even hear it! The sound system was awful!" They went on and on. I couldn't believe my good fortune! "Well, this American saw and heard it all," I thought to myself. I remember watching the news and shaking my head over and over again at my luck. Or was it really luck?

When I think of the series of coincidences that led to my attendance at that ceremony, it boggles the mind. I must have passed four or five tour hawkers before I finally decided to stop and ask one about a tour. Instead of selling me a tour, which was, after all, the guy's job, he gave me a tip. I could have arrived at the subway station a couple of minutes earlier or later. I could have gotten on any of several cars on the subway train. I could have immediately found the right stop on the map and not lingered there studying it. Herr von Hertwarth could have had his wife, a son or daughter, or a good friend with him as a guest. But he did not. He was alone!

I am a life long student of the language and culture of the German and Russian peoples. At the time, I taught both German and Russian in high school. I cannot imagine a more appropriate event to close out my summer experience than the one I attended. One of my favorite directors, Wim Wenders, made a film about angels in Berlin called "Wings of Desire," but I know that Herr von Herwarth was not a angel, because I did send him the pictures, he answered with a thank-you note, and the next summer when I was back in Berlin to see Christo's Draped Reichstag, I met him again in Berlin for dinner. He was real alright. But the experience was beyond real. It felt surreal to me. It seemed too good to be true at the time, and it still does. Sometimes, I think that somebody up there likes me!


Russian troops on the march for the last time on August 31, 1994 in Treptower Park, Berlin.

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Chancellor Helmut Kohl and President Boris Yeltsin leaving the mausoleum about to walk over to the podiums from which they would address the crowd.


The invitation, on which Herr Herwarth wrote his address, to an earlier ceremony.
Herr Herwarth's address
Unfortunately, the only picture out of focus is this one of Helmut Kohl and Boris Yeltsin as they are walking toward the mausoleum to lay the wreath. Still, I think you can make them out and tell who is who. Kohl is on the left and Yeltsin on the right


Another photo of German forces at attention. Or maybe they're singing?



More marching


An impressive lucky shot with one of the sarcohogai in the background