Category Archives: Writings

A FICTIONAL NEWS STORY FROM THE COLD WAR

09 Sunday Mar 2014

Posted by in East Germany, Fiction, Short Story, Writings

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   EXTRA                                                                       NEW        YORK                                                   LATE CITY EDITION   

                                                                    METROPOLITAN               DISPATCH                                                                 

                                                          WEDNESDAY,           SEPTEMBER   17,          1958                                                            

                           

                            East  German  Defects  In  Holland 

                            Tunnel; Later Visits Mayor Wagner

                            State Department To Decide Fate

                                       

                                         By Hank Dulgarian

                       From the Metropolitan Dispatch Bureau

   NEW YORK, Sept. 17—–Gunthar  Rheinhardt, 33, of  Sangerhausen,

East Germany, here in the United States as part of a goodwill exchange

between  the two nations, declared his  intention  to defect  to the  West

yesterday  morning as  traffic  jammed in  the Holland Tunnel, the result

of a minor vehicular  accident. The international  incident  occurred  four

vehicals behind  the traffic accident at approximately 10:00a.m. Eastern

standard time near the halfway point between New York State and New

Jersey under the Hudson River.

Mr. Rheinhardt, a pianist, along with two unnamed East German musi-

cians, an unnamed East German security officer, and their host, Bernard

Bellinger, interim Executive Assistant to New York City mayor Robert F.

Wagner, Jr., were passengers in a private limousine traveling westward,

from Manhattan to Newark, to attend the opening of the ‘Berlin Club’, a

cultural exchange center, where Mr. Rheinhardt and his fellow musicians

were to perform; conversely, a trio of American musicians, representing

the U.S. in the program, were sent to Leipzig, East Germany to complete

the adversaries’ détente.

As the car the five men were traveling in braked for the accident, Mr.

Rheinhardt stated in English, “I want to defect. I want asylum.” Then, as

the vehicle came to a stop, Mr. Rheinhardt opened the back door nearest

him and stepped out, standing against the tunnel wall, arms folded. At that

moment the East German security officer stepped out and attempted to

wrestle Mr. Rheinhardt back into the limousine, but was intervened by Mr.

Bellinger who, with assistance from the limousine driver, reminded the East

German security officer that the situation was then a matter of international

concern, to be handled by the U.S. State Department.

As traffic resumed, Mr. Bellinger reassured Mr. Rheinhardt that he was,

“now in American hands until the matter could be addressed officially, and

according to protocol.” Then all four men returned to the limousine, where

upon it continued on to daylight on the New Jersey side, and then turned

around heading back into Manhatten, directly to City Hall. Mr. Bellinger

then escorted Mr. Rheinhardt to the mayor’s office, while the limousine de-

livered the East German security officer, and the two other East German

musicians, to the Soviet Mission to the United Nations, located on the

Upper East Side.

Mr. Rheinhardt was received by the mayor and his staff with open arms,

and was treated in accordance with international law, until the State De-

partment could take over the case. According to Mr. Bellinger, Mr. Rhein-

hardt seemed satisfied with his choice to defect, and was observed as

being relaxed, and relieved as he answered questions. Mr. Bellinger also

noted that Mr. Rheinhardt was overjoyed with the reception,  thanking

everyone there repeatedly.

It is not as of yet known by this reporter how well the East German

security officer or the two other East German musicians were received

and treated by the Soviets upon their return to communist control.

Later when asked why he defected, Mr. Rheinhardt told a senior State

Department official, “I want to play jazz music the way it was meant to

be played—the American way.”

                                                     by John Patrick Seekamp,  © 2012

AS THE NIGHTINGALE SANG

06 Thursday Mar 2014

Posted by in Poems, Writings

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There were cats in the kitchen of the spinsters Worrell,

       There were frogs in the bucket of Deacon Sudbury’s well,

There by the noon bell in the sun at its high,

       Was a purring, and a croaking, and the nightingale’s cry,

Where the thorn plums, and the thistle downs, and the touch-me-nots grew,

        There in the thicket did the nightingale spew.

                                                                by John Patrick Seekamp, 2014

NEAR DISASTER AT FDR’S FUNERAL

17 Monday Feb 2014

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      The Funeral Train, now sitting on the private track siding along the Hudson River, had aready dropped off the President’s flag draped casket. A contingent of U.S. servicemen placed it onto a caisson, drawn by six chestnut brown horses, to be transported up the wood road to the Roosevelt estate at Hyde Park. It was a beautiful spring day, that early morning on April 15th, 1945. Under a mostly cloudless sky, FDR would be buried near the sundial, just inside the south entrance to the family’s Rose Garden, with its tall and thick evergreen hedge surrounding the peaceful location.

      My father, WIN_20140217_144123 (2)Cpl. John Paul Seekamp, was in charge of the four French 75mm Artillery guns that were positioned in the alfalfa field to the south of the large gathered crowd. There, along with the other soldier’s from West Point’s Field Artillery Detachment (“A” and “B” Batteries), the big guns, one of which would be used only in case of a misfire, would soon thunder the blank charges, presenting one volley at a time at 15 second intervals until the twenty one gun salute was complete. My father waited at the field phone for the signal to commence, as the planners wanted to wait until the caisson was halfway up the hill. It was decided to do it that way so that as the President’s casket came into view the salute would still be going on.

     At the head of the caisson were  Honor Guard riders; Ferralasco, Doty, and Matthewson. They were sergeants, also from West Point’s Field Artillery Detachment. They sat mounting the three left side horses, while the three right side horses were riderless, all six pulling the caisson. Along both sides and at the rear of the caisson walked more Honor Guards and behind all of them a West Point Buffalo soldier led a lone riderless black horse draped with a fringed black blanket, covering the animal from its hind quarters to its neck and hanging nearly to the ground. The saddle was covered by that blanket as well. In the stirrups, which were attached to the saddle through the blanket, was a pair of high black riding boots facing backwards. A sheathed saber hung from the horse’s left side and bounced off both the animal and the blanket as it walked.

      Just before 10:00a.m., as the six teamed up horses had reached the halfway point coming up the hill, unfamiliar territory for them, the order was given and the first shot from the cannons was heard. Loudly. One or more of the horses spooked and bolted back, pushing the rear of the caisson toward the steep embankment, which had a drop of one hundred feet or so. As the caisson was about to roll over the edge, one of the back wheels caught a small tree. The caisson had stopped and the casket, with FDR’s body in it, remained in place. The riders and other soldiers regained control of the team and then the caisson proceeded on toward the Rose Garden, the blossoming fruit trees and soldiers, sailors, and marines standing at attention, shoulder to shoulder, lining the trail. The cannons continued sounding and soon the salute was fulfilled.

      No one but the Honor Guards, the Buffalo soldier, and my father, listening to the whole episode over the field phone (and perhaps one or two of the other soldiers manning the French 75’s), knew of the near tragedy. With all the loud blasts taking place during the salute, the other’s there likely didn’t realize the slight delay, let alone the mishap. The service took place, Franklin Delano Roosevelt was buried, and Truman, members of the Supreme Court and Congress, and the rest of the dignitaries consoled Eleanor Roosevelt. That’s the part that made it into history. But of course anyone reading this now knows——what almost happened.

by John Patrick Seekamp, from the memories of my father, early 2014

I wish I’d been…

16 Sunday Feb 2014

Posted by in Writings

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I wish I’d been, I wish I were, In other times to be,

What you yourself once said you were,

When you yourself were he,

When only matters mattered most,

And most peculiarly,

When all the world was fast asleep, across the lands, and oceans deep, and in the clouds where angels weep,

But alas we are but thee,

And now but now we see!

                                                                    by John Patrick Seekamp, 2014

I wrote this on Saturday night while trying to think of something to post. My first post!