Janey Way Memories #129: Torremolinos

I discharged from the U.S. Army in Europe during April of 1971. After that, I travelled through Austria, Yugoslavia and Italy with my friend Jeff Lucas. Then we had to return to West Germany in July so Jeff could go back to the Pennsylvania to interview for a teaching position.

After arriving back in Germany, we sold our car and I bought a train ticket for Barcelona, Spain. I left Germany the next day, and when I arrived in Barcelona, I went straight to a camp ground called the Laughing Whale. It sat right on a beautiful section of Mediterranean beach and teamed with European travelers.

Once there, I pitched my tent and went right down to the beach. There, nestled on the sand, were three Australian guys I had met in Venice, Italy. They were very happy to recognize a fellow traveler so I sat down next to them and struck up a conversation.

They had been in Barcelona for about a week and were planning to travel up to Pamplona in the north of Spain for famous “running of the bulls.” They asked me if I wanted to come along. I said yes, and two days later, off we went.

We went to Pamplona, ran with the bulls, and partied for about three straight days before heading off for Torremolinos on the southwestern coast of Spain in an area called Costa del Sol (the sun coast).

We arrived there three days later, and took up residence in a camp ground located next to a resort with a high rise hotel, restaurant, bar and massive swimming pool.

We went right down to the hotel to check out the scene. It was crawling with European travelers, mostly young women, there on summer holiday. We had discovered paradise.

We took up a strategic location in the bar, ordered beer, and checked out the action by the pool. I noticed immediately that a group of guys were sitting near the pool, playing guitars and attracting a crowd. So I pulled my harmonicas out of my pocket and went down to join them.

Once there, I blew a few notes and figured out they were playing traditional blues songs in the key of A. Then, I started accompanying them with my harmonica. After finishing an instrumental song, they asked me if I would sing a song. I said yes, and told them to play “Little Red Rooster” in the key of A. It went great. They liked my singing and my harmonica playing, and I hung out with them the rest of the day. I already loved Torremolinos.

I ended the day with an attractive young French girl named Lucianne. Life was good.

I spent several weeks with the Australians in Torremolinos. We went to a bull fight, featuring the famous matador, El Cordoba. We travelled up the coast to Malaga, where we spent an afternoon in a Bodega drinking fortified wine and eating tapas, mostly fresh sea food.

I had a fabulous time there. It was the perfect time and place for a young American man to be in that wonderful sea coast city. Now it’s just another incredible Janey Way memory.

Janey Way Memories: The Downtown Dealer’s Association

After finishing my two-year tour of duty in the U. S Army, I returned home to Janey Way in October 1971. The old neighborhood seemed really different. Almost all of my friends had moved away. However, my friend Randy Puccetti, who still lived at home, soon came by. He told me that the Janey Way boys had formed a slow-pitch softball team and encouraged me to join.

So, despite the fact I had not played baseball since Little League, I showed up, mitt in hand and prepared to play in the next game. My good friend, Jim Ducray, who coached the team, said I can only play you three innings Mart, we have too many players tonight.

Then he handed me the team jersey, a T-shirt emblazoned front and back with the following: “Downtown Dealer’s Association.” I laughed. This was a veiled reference to the plethora of pot dealers now living in the downtown area. Then, out I ran to my new position: Right field (where the weakest player on the team goes). No problem. I would soon rectify that assignment.

I got off to a bad start though. In the third inning a guy hit a towering pop fly at me. In my rush to catch the ball, I overran it, and the ball trickled off the end of my glove, allowing a run to score. After that, I ran to the dugout where I remained for the rest of the game. So much for good starts. Fortunately, we won the game.

The next game turned out better for me. Our team fielded just enough players that evening, so I got to play the whole game. It proved a tight game with the lead seesawing back and forth. But, by the fifth inning we led 8 to 6, as we ran out to the field.

Randy, our pitcher, fielded a weak grounder for the first out. But then, he got into trouble. He walked one batter, then another, putting men on first and second base. The next hitter popped out. With two outs, Randy walked the next batter. The bases were loaded. A hit would likely empty the bases, erasing our lead. The situation grew tense.

With a right handed batter up, I edged over toward Bill Jones, our center fielder. In high school, he had played on the varsity team at Sacramento High School. Randy threw the next pitch, a ball. Then he proceeded to fill the count at 3 and 2. The next pitch was critical. We were on the tips of our feet. Randy hurled the pitch: a strike. The batter swung, cracking a hard line drive to center field. I broke toward the ball. Bill Jones held his ground preparing to field the ball on one bounce. I kept running. As the ball hurtled toward the ground, I bent down, arm extended, and the ball popped into my mitt. I immediately stood straight up extending my arm to show the ump I had caught the ball, and he yelled, “You’re out.”

I looked back and Jones. His eyes were as big as silver dollars. Then I ran in toward the dugout past the flabbergasted Puccetti. As I passed him, I said, “Come on bud, it’s time for us to hit.”

We won the game, 12 to 4.

Needless to say, I started every game from that day forward at my new position, left field. The team had a good season, finishing in second place. One of the teams with sponsorship and full baseball uniforms won the league.

The Downtown Dealer’s Association never played again after that year; I went on to play soccer, a sport I truly loved. Now my days of playing on that storied team are just another hard hitting Janey Way memory.

marty@valcomnews.com

Janey Way Memories: World Cup Soccer Brings Back Memories

One Sunday last month, along with 26 million other Americans, I watched the Federated International Football Association World Cup of soccer championship game on television. The game lived up to its hype. After 120 minutes of hard fought play, my favorite team, from Germany, triumphed 1 to 0.

The game brought back wonderful memories of my time abroad and my own experience on the soccer pitch.

Back to 1969, after completing my U. S. Army training in Fort Lewis, Washington, I received orders to serve a tour of duty in the Republic of West Germany.

Weeks later, I boarded a plane for Frankfurt, Germany. Ultimately, I landed in the small town of Gunzburg in Southern Germany, where I served with 510th Ordinance Company at a German military base called Prinz Eugan Kaserne. There, I had many great experiences. I ate wonderful German food; drank good beer and wine, met many gregarious and friendly people.

However, my most lasting and exhilarating memory of Germany is of soccer. I remember walking along the fringe of Gunzburg one Sunday in spring and stumbling upon a soccer game in progress. The fans cheered wildly for the home team as players moved the ball back and forth on the field with speed and grace.

At one point, one of the home team players kicked the ball 30 yards to the front of the net and another leaped high into the air and headed the ball right into the net. It blew my mind. I asked a German standing next to me. How does he do that? He replied, “We play football from the time we are 5 years old and over time we learn these skills.”

I said to myself, then and there, “I have to play this game.” Thanks to my friend, Bill Sontag, I did learn how to play “the beautiful game.”

When I returned home to the states, I began looking for an opportunity to play soccer, and eventually I found it. One day, I engaged in a conversation with my friend Bill, and he mentioned that he coached youth soccer.

I told him that I wanted to play the game. Bill told me that he was starting a team composed of youth soccer coaches and asked me to join.

Weeks later, I arrived at Glenbrook Park, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, ready to play. Bill assigned me to play goal keeper. He figured that with my size, 6 feet, one inch, 210 pounds, as well as my experience playing wide receiver in football, I could play that position well. He was right; I fit the position like a glove.

Playing in the net, I saw the whole field of play in front of me. That taught me the strategy of soccer. Learning the skills took lots of time and practice. But, we played 35 games per year, and eventually my skills matched my desire and love of the game.

I played soccer for nearly 15 years. Age ultimately caught up with me and I quit in my mid-40s. Soccer is a game for the young and hearty.

Now, I watch the game on television, and I watch my grandson, Angelo, play it. I yell at him, “pass the ball to Ryan, now run to the open space, shoot.” He rarely listens. He is too busy playing “the beautiful game.”

These days all that is left are my Janey Way memories of Germany, and soccer and my dearly departed friend, Bill Sontag.

marty@valcomnews.com

Janey Way Memories: The Last Father

Last Friday night, my wife and I attended the Music Circus production of “A Chorus Line.” We loved the show.

One of the most compelling stories in the production was the story of Paul, a young, gay, Puerto Rican dancer trying to earn a part in the chorus line.

During his interview for the part, the choreographer asks Paul to tell his story.

Despite his reluctance to open up about his life, Paul breaks down and tells all.

As a boy, he was different from all the other boys. He didn’t like sports and really didn’t want to rough it up. He wanted to dance.

So, he taught himself to dance by watching Hollywood musicals. By the time he got into high school, his difference from other children caused trouble for him. They teased and bullied him. Eventually, he sought the help of a psychologist who told him he was perfectly normal and urged him to drop out of school and pursue a career in dance. So, he took the psychologist’s advice and left school. But, it wasn’t that easy for the 16-year-old boy from the Bronx find a job as a dancer?

Ultimately, he got a job dancing in drag in a club on the lower east side of New York. His new occupation embarrassed him and he didn’t dare to tell his parents. However, when the manager of the show decided to take it on the road to Chicago, Paul asked his parents to give him a ride to the airport after the evening show. That night his parents surprised him by arriving early to pick him up, and when he walked by them in full costume, gaudy dress and all, they recognized him. This made him feel horrible, but he went on to finish the show.

After the show, he walked out the stage door and discovered his parents talking to the show manager. He saw his dad point a finger at the manager and say: “You take good care of my son.”

At this point in the interview, Paul broke down and said, tearfully, “that was the first time my dad ever called me his son.”

This was a touching moment in the show and it brought back memories of my father. I remember him introducing me to his friends, saying proudly, “this is my son, Marty.”

What made Paul’s story even more meaningful to me is that just two days before seeing “A Chorus Line,” I attended the funeral of one of the Janey Way fathers, Virgil Petrocchi. In fact, he was the last surviving Janey Way father.

His son, Dan, delivered the eulogy. It was a good story about a man who lived a good life, had a good sense of humor, gave sound advice to his children and cared deeply about all the children in the neighborhood. Virgil, like all the Janey Way fathers, played a special role in my life.

These men coached little league, took the boys camping, set off fireworks on the 4th of July, and taught us how to live our lives with honor and dignity.

With Virgil’s passing, all the Janey Way fathers have left us, but we will always remember them in our Janey Way Memories.

marty@valcomnews.com

Janey Way Memories #124: A Chance Encounter

In fall of 1969, I completed my advanced infantry training at Fort Lewis, Washington.
Two weeks later, I boarded a plane headed for Germany, my next duty station. After three days at the 29th Replacement battalion in Frankfurt Germany, I boarded a bus and headed off to join the 510th Ordinance Company in Gunzburg, Bavaria.
When I arrived at the 510th and assumed my duties, fall was ending and winter was approaching. By the first week of November, snow covered the ground. It remained there until April of 1970. This kept us pretty much limited to our base. However, by April, the sun came out and we began to venture into town and explore the countryside.
One Saturday evening, my friends Jack, Walt and I headed into Gunzburg, one kilometer away, to have a night on the town. As we explored the main part of town, we discovered a little wine bar called the Wein Keller (wine cellar). Curious, we went in.
The place had wine for takeout on sale. Or, you could pick out a bottle you liked and drink it in the back. We picked a bottle of Moselle wine called Rosengarten and drank it on the premises. The shop owner told us find a table and be seated.
Minutes later he came in, uncorked the bottle and poured our wine. We picked our glasses up and smelled the wine. The aroma was wonderful. We tasted the wine and agreed it didn’t taste at all like the swill we drank at home. We knew we were on to something. For the rest of the evening, we sipped the wine, ate some snacks and chattered away.
At some point in the evening, a group of three older German men engaged us in conversation. “Where are you from,” they said. We told them that we were American soldiers stationed at Prinz Eugan Kaserne just down the road from Gunzburg. Almost in unison, they thanked us for our service to Germany.
By 11 in the evening, we had finished our bottle of wine and stood up to leave the wine bar, but before we could exit, one of the old German gents asked if we would like to come to his home for a night cap. “Sure,” we said.
So, we followed the men to a nice stone house in a residential neighborhood near the bar. There, we were served more good German wine and a tray of meat and bread. They asked us where we lived in the United States. I said “California,” Jack said, “New Jersey” and Walt said, “Oregon.”
They were particularly interested in hearing about the Golden Gate Bridge and the Pacific Ocean in California and the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building in New York City. They didn’t know where Oregon was.
After we finished the wine and meat, our host poured coffee for us and brought out a tray of pasties. We were getting full, but we ate and enjoyed. Finally, our host poured us a glass of Schnaps and we toasted to peace and prosperity. By now, it was 2 a.m.
So, we thanked our host and headed back to the base. Our first evening out had turned out better than we could have imagined. We made some new friends, drank some very good wine and learned a great deal about German hospitality. Now my first night on the town in Gunzburg is yet another culturally-enriching Janey Way memory.

Janey Way Memories #122: Hanging out with my aunts

The Relles/Petta family has always been close-knit. When I was growing up on Janey Way, the family gathered often for holiday dinners, parties and road trips.
So it’s no surprise that after I retired in 2001, I began to meet regularly with my aunts at their Thursday coffee gathering. Back then, my mother, and aunts Alice, Kay and Margaret met regularly at the Muffin’s Etc. on 57th and H streets. That gathering has since moved to La Bou on Howe Avenue.
It is no big deal. We usually just chatter about current affairs, family happenings and stories from the past. The stories these ladies tell crack me up.
For example, my aunt Kay recently told me about my (step) Grandpa Rosario Petta’s migration from Sicily to the USA. He arrived first in New Orleans, Louisiana. There he worked for the railroad, saving money to pay back for his passage here. She tells me that after his first week on the job, he stood in line to sign for his pay. Standing there, he noticed the men signed their pay slip with an X. So when he reached the front of the line, Rosario, a man who read and wrote in three languages, signed his pay slip with an X. The sad truth is that the other men could neither read, nor write, hence the X.
After he finished repaying his passage to the USA, Grandpa Petta moved up the Mississippi River to Chicago Heights, Illinois. Some of our family still lives there. It was there that Grandpa Petta met my grandfather Xeverio Relles and grandmother Elena Sclafani/Relles. He rented a room from the Relles’ and they all became good friends.
Sadly, my grandfather Relles died in the 1920 Spanish flu epidemic that killed over 500,000 people in the USA alone. When that happened, my grandma took her three boys, George, Ross and Martin Relles to Sacramento to be with family. Grandpa Petta followed her to Sacramento.
There, he proposed to her. With three boys to raise, she needed all the help she could get. She accepted his proposal. Soon they managed to acquire a property on 52nd Street and 14th Avenue in an area called Colonial Heights. Grandpa Petta, a farmer, liked this property because it was located above the flood plain.
One day in the 1920s, as they sat in their kitchen drinking coffee, Grandma said to Grandpa, “When I married you, I thought that your had money from the “old country.” He replied to her, “I thought you had money from insurance from your husband’s death.” They both laughed and went on with their challenging lives, raising seven children. Ultimately, five of those children graduated from University, a testament to the Petta’s hard work and working class values.
I won’t see my aunts this Thursday as they will be out of state attending a family wedding. But, on the following Thursday, we will gather as usual to share more stories and reminisce about our Janey Way memories.

Janey Way Memories No. 121: Army Football

I played football in 1962 at Sacramento High. That year I played weak side end for the junior varsity team. I had a good season catching several passes from quarterback Bob Ferguson. I even scored a touchdown in our last game. That gave me the confidence to ask the coach for approval to play football for high school credit in the fall of 1963. He rebuffed me saying, “Let’s see if you make the varsity team.” That disappointed me so much; I didn’t even try out for the team that year. I thought that marked the end of my competitive football career. It didn’t.
In the fall of 1969, I shipped out for a tour of duty with the U.S. Army at the 510th Ordinance Company in Gunzburg, Germany. After arriving at the 510th in the fall, I soon learned that they participated in an army competitive flag football program. Units from all over Germany competed in this program. The 510th team had just finished its football for that year, but next year loomed on the horizon.
When tryouts began during the summer, I participated along with my friends Jack and Walt. Jack had played pitcher on the baseball team at the University of South Carolina.
Walt played linebacker at Laney Junior College in the bay area. Another fellow, Dave Goss, had played on the freshman football team at Penn State. We had the nucleus for a good team. Jack would be our quarterback. Walt would play linebacker and Dave Goss played on the defensive line. I played tight end. Our team bonded together as we practiced hard and looked forward to a successful season.
We won our first game easily and quickly gained confidence. Jack whizzed passes to me and the other receivers, and our running back zigzagged through the line for big running plays. By the end of our 8-game season, we were undefeated. That got us into the playoffs.
We played the first playoff game against a team that won the league title in Augsburg a big army town. We handled them easily, winning 28-7. Next, we went to Munich to play for the Bavarian Section title. There the going got tough, but we won a close game, winning 14-7. I caught the winning touchdown pass.
Now, we were heading off to Stuttgart to play for the Southern German championship. The whole battalion was buzzing with excitement.
We bused up to Stuttgart on Friday evening, staying over at a barracks near the field. I remember arriving at the field that day feeling really nervous. This was it. If, we won this game, we would play in the all-German finals in Frankfurt. It wasn’t to be. We played hard. The game was close. I nearly scored a touchdown, getting inside the ten yard line on one play, but we couldn’t get into the end zone on the ensuing plays. We lost 13-7.
Our spirits were low on the bus ride back home, but our buddies were waiting for us when we arrived. They dragged us over the enlisted man’s club and drank to our success. At formation on Monday morning our commanding officer praised us for representing the battalion honorably. It was a great feeling.
That turned out to be my only Army league football experience. Prior to the next fall, I discharged from the army. However, I would play football again in the State of California league and the Sacramento City League where John Ducray led our team to the city championship. I will never forget my Army league football experience though, yet another hard-hitting Janey Way memory.

Janey Way Memories: Traveling to Spain

JaneyGang
In September of 1969, I completed my military training at Fort Lewis, Washington, and received orders to serve in West Germany. A few weeks later I boarded a charter plane headed for Rhine-Main Air Base in Frankfurt, Germany. A few days later, after processing through the 21st Replacement Battalion, I was on a bus headed for Gunzburg in southern Germany.

By this time, fall was settling in and the weather was changing. In November, the first snow began falling. It remained on the ground until April of 1970. By that time, I had settled in, made friends, and planned a trip for my summer leave. Along with my best friends, Jack and Charlie, I would travel to Spain.

And so it was that one Saturday in June we donned our back packs, got in cab and headed for the train station. There we booked first class tickets to Barcelona. Within an hour, we headed on our way. The train took us to Munich first, where we changed trains. When we stepped onto our assigned car we took note of a placard on the door: Orient Express. Yes, indeed, we were boarding the train made famous by Agatha Christy. Off we went.
The first thing we learned about European train travel is that a ticket does not guarantee you a seat. For the first three hours we stood in the space by the restroom at the end of our car. Eventually, three passengers exited and we claimed their seats.

After a dozen hours or so (no bullet-train here) we landed in Paris and changed trains. Jack had a sandwich at the train station. That proved to be a mistake. With an hour he had full-on food poisoning. In the end though, it worked out for him. While he hung his head over the rail of the train being sick, he met a girl name Pat. She ended up spending the next three days with us.

When we landed in Barcelona, the four of us booked rooms in a Pension, and headed out to explore the city. We had a ball. We visited a modernistic park designed by the famous Spanish architect Gaudi, the Barcelona Zoo, and a famous walkway called Las Ramblas. Later, we shared a wonderful Spanish dinner.

After three days, we traveled to Madrid, the beautiful capital of Spain. There, we toured the famous Prado museum, viewing incredible paintings by the likes of Goya and El Greco. Over the next few days, we explored much of the central city, seeing beautiful buildings, cathedrals, and upscale stores.

However, all good things come to an end. By Friday, we were on our way back to Germany. Thirty hours later we arrived back in Gunzburg completely exhausted, but already planning our next adventure.

During my tour in Germany, I traveled extensively. In fact, I took a European discharge there in 1971. After that, I continued to travel for six additional months. By then, I had visited Austria, Yugoslavia, Italy, Switzerland, France, Belgium, and Spain. The travel bug had definitely bit me.

Since that trip, I have traveled all over the world, setting foot on six continents. Only Antarctica has eluded me. But, my first trip in Europe, back in 1970, is still an unforgettable Janey Way memory.

marty@valcomnews.com

Janey Way Memories: Remembering Catholic Youth Organization Basketball

Last Friday night, I watched my grandson Angelo play in a youth basketball game. It was a blast. Angelo at 4 feet, 10 inches tall was one of the big kids on the court.
The boys played on the main basketball court at San Juan High School—a regulation court with 10-foot baskets. They looked pretty small on the big court, but their enthusiasm and endurance amazed me. When Angelo took a rebound, he drove the ball quickly up court, before passing the ball to an open shooter. Later in the second half, he took a long shot which rolled around the rim and dropped in. That shot gave his team a 2-point lead, which they never relinquished. The final score was 33 to 31.
Watching the boys play brought back memories of my own youth basketball experience in the Catholic Youth Organization (CYO) basketball league. I joined the Saint Mary’s CYO right after graduating from Saint Mary’s School in 1960. Father John Puliz, the pastor of the church, started the club that same year. He felt the teenagers, who attended the church, needed a wholesome outlet for their youthful energy. The activities sponsored by the CYO included dances, trips, and team basketball. I signed up right away for basketball.
We had our first fall practice at Kit Carson Junior High School in East Sacramento. Bob Hocking served as the coach of our team. Coach Hocking had played basketball at Sacramento State College. He had lot of knowledge to share with our inexperienced, young team, which included my friends Dan Petrocchi and Dick Mckechnie. We learned how to play a three, two-zone defense and how to run a 1-3-1 offense. We had already knew the basics of basketball (dribbling, passing and shooting), but did not know how to play as a five-man team. Coach Hocking had his work cut out for him, but over time he molded us into a pretty good team.
In October we started our 10-game season. It was so exciting. Coach Hocking assigned me to the point guard position. My responsibilities included dribbling the ball up court and initiating plays. I had a pretty good set shot, and the coach encouraged me to take it when I had the opening. I remember scoring in double figures during a few of our games. That made me feel like my hero Bob Cousey of the Boston Celtics. Other times I passed the ball to big Dick Mckechnie in the key or to Dan Petrocchi on the wing. Dan had a good jump shot and often scored on those opportunities.
Our team played against teams from Sacred Heart, St. Francis, Immaculate Conception, All Hollows, and Saint Patrick’s churches. All the teams were very competitive, and the games were close—no blow-outs here. In the end, we took second place. Immaculate Conception, with their 6-foot, 8-inch center, won the league.
I have never forgotten my CYO youth basketball experience. In fact, I often see coach Hocking at meetings of the Dante Club of Sacramento. He always says, “How are you doing kiddo? Keep writing those columns.” I am glad the old coach enjoys reading my stories. I certainly have never forgotten all he taught me, another inspirational Janey Way Memory.

martin@valcomnews.com

Janey Way Memories: Meeting New People

After I completed my military training at Fort Lewis, Washington in September of 1969, the army assigned me to duty in West Germany. Soon, I was on a charter plane headed for Europe.
There, I received orders to report to the 510th Ordinance Company in Gunzburg, West Germany. Gunzburg lies in the state of Bavaria in the southern part of Germany, but even there the weather was beginning to turn cold in mid-October. Soon, the snow began to fall and we were pretty much confined to our base during the long, cold winter.
By April though, the sun came out and melted the snow. Then, my new friend Jack and I decided to get out and explore the countryside. We started in the town of Gunzburg. It is a picturesque, old village dating back to Roman times.
We wandered through the cobblestone streets checking out the old cathedral, the theater, the stores, and the restaurants. Eventually, we stumbled upon a neat little tavern called the Lowenbrau Steube. There, we wandered up to the bar and ordered a beer. The 40-something looking bartender poured us each a one-pint glass of good, German beer.
We began talking with the man. His name was Walter. He co-owned the tavern/restaurant with his wife Liz. He poured the drinks and Liz cooked. Soon, Liz came out from the kitchen and introduced herself. She spoke good English, asking us our names and where we came from. Jack was from New Jersey, and I from California. She had lots questions. She asked me about San Francisco and Hollywood. She asked Jack about New York City.
Liz introduced us to her two daughters, Monica, a pretty Fraulein in her mid-20s and Petra, 13, who was still in school. She and Walter had met just after the war. He had fought in the German army and spent time in a British Prisoner of War (POW) Camp. After the war, the British released the captive German soldiers and sent them home. Walter was lucky, as Gunzburg came out of the war relatively unscathed. The farmers there went about their business as they had before the war, indeed, as they had for a thousand years. Walt and Liz met, got married, bought the tavern, and the rest was history.
We would spend many nights at the Lowenbrau Steube during our tours of duty in Germany, drinking good German beer and eating Liz’s fantastic food. We soon met other friendly people. George, the middle aged tippler who drove a fast car and wore traditional Bavarian clothing: a green blazer with a crest emblazoned on the pocket and a felt hat unique to that region. We also met Horst, an office manager at Gunzburg City Hall. Horst and his wife Rosvitha had us over the Christmas Eve dinner that year. We watched the 1970 world cup of soccer there and spent many holiday’s there including Fasching (German Mardi Gras) and New Year’s Eve.
Liz treated us like the sons she never had. She prepared special meals for us that weren’t on the menu.
That chance encounter resulted in lasting friendship with Walter and Liz. Sadly, I never saw them again after leaving Germany in 1971. They are probably long since departed from this world. But, I will never forget the experiences I had in their little tavern: another unforgettable Janey Way memory.