It was around 7:00 in the evening. We had just gotten into our London hotel
and flicked on CNN. The news hit us. The East German government was disintegrating.
They were starting to allow free movement into West Berlin.
Young Germans could be seen dancing and shouting on top of the wall.
My friend and I looked at each other. Both of us had the same thought.
Our job was done. We would be going home to America.
That was Thursday, November 9th, 1989. We hurried to find a nearby Pub and celebrate.
God, it was great. I hated the evil of communism. I had seen how it had squashed
so many hopes and dreams and spirits.
I was eager to get back to my home in Munich and then to Berlin to see it all come tumbling down.

East Germany was such a dismal place.
Entering Checkpoint Charlie or another crossing point, had always depressed me.
The ugliness. The blandness. The despair.
The trees, the buildings, the pathways were all painted in dull gray sadness.
As I watched the joy of the students, I knew this time, for once,
I would be happy to go through Charlie.

Returning to Munich, paper work; my job; personal commitments and the holidays.
They all ganged together to delay my trip to Berlin. Before, I hated to go to Berlin.
Now circumstances were delaying me.
Finally on President's Day weekend, myself and two colleagues jumped into my minivan
and headed for Checkpoint Alpha. Entering East German Border, it was still depressing.
A few hours later, Checkpoint Bravo and West Berlin. Brigthness and joy.
I stopped by our warehouse and borrowed a sledge hammer.
Then we hit the Wall. Literally. It was great.
By the end of the day, I had liberated the main lock from the Brandenberg Gate;
thrown an East German Guard Tower Ladder into my minivan andf grabbed some
pieces of the Wall. Those stories for another day.