No Regrets: A Long and Lucky Life

By Genevieve Chapman

I wrote this for my children, grandchildren and their offspring.

I lived at an especially prosperous time. The Depression in the 30s did not affect our family, so we lived a charmed life. After the second world war, life was grand. Everyone could get a job, the middle class was well paid. They were able to buy houses, put their children through college without sacrificing their old age. San Francisco was as beautiful as it is today. The bridges gave easy access to Marin and the East Bay. Traveling abroad became a reality. I wanted to share this with those who are not so lucky.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 25, 2015
• ISBN: 9781496965035

Genevieve Chapman

Genevieve Hennessy Chapman was born in San Francisco in 1927. She graduated from UC Berkeley in 1949.She had three careers: The Foreign Service, Everywoman’s Magazine and Real Estate. She married in England and came home to San Francisco in 1960. She lived in Tiburon with her husband, Bryan, for 50 years. He died in 2009. She still lives in Tiburon surrounded by her children and grandchildren.

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A Long and Lucky Life

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© 2015 Genevieve Chapman. All rights reserved.

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Published by AuthorHouse 04/25/2015

ISBN: 978-1-4969-6523-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-6524-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-6503-5 (e)

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CONTENTS

Dedication

First Love

John

Bad Godesberg

Childhood

My Mother

Summer In The 30’S

Star Of The Sea Academy

Summer In The 40S

My Brother Edward

U.C.

Berkeley—Washington

Arrive In Europe

Paris 1950

Germany 1950

Travel 1951

Coming Home In 1953

Manhattan

Arriving In London

Bryan

Wedding, Honeymoon, London

Return Home 1960

My Father

Tiburon

Summer In The 60S

Child Rearing

Building A House

Family Camping Trip

Bahamas

Query

Work

New York Work 1954

Real Estate

Irish In San Francisco

Uncle Mike

Mali

Aunt Bernice

Bedtime

Mamie

Old

Egypt Israel-1992

Queries

Safari 2005

Acknowledgments

DEDICATION

My mother and father left Ireland and I don’t know why. This prompted me to embark on this memoir so that my children and grandchildren will get an inkling of my life; the time and places I grew up in.

I am writing this from the perspective of having lived eighty~seven years. Lots of love and adventures greeted me along the way. On the whole I have had a very happy and fruitful lite–a happy childhood, a devoted husband and four children who turned out to be good people. One cannot hope for more than that.

I dedicate this to my children, Colin, Moira, Owen and Geoffrey. Also to my grandchildren Nicholas, Gretchen, Aidan, Kai, Bryan and Toby.

FIRST LOVE

It was a typical German dreary sky when I left the train and walked a mile or so before I saw it. A massive dark grey concrete building loomed over the landscape. John lived there. I had never been to a prison before but I had not expected such piercing silence and overpowering disinfectant odor. After I was patted down I was led to John’s cell, a tall-ceilinged room painted a glaring white. The stereotypical light bulb hung from the ceiling. Standing in the middle of the room was John, a 6’2 blond- haired boy, in a dark green all -in- one prison garb. It hung on his very thin body like a bag with a hole for his head to go through. His large blue eyes had lost their twinkle. I ran to hug him. The monster guard stopped me. No touching he said and in German and You must speak only German. I was very nervous.

It is hard to talk when a big hunk, slouched in a corner is listening to your every word. How is the food? I asked. ok he said. Do you get any exercise? yes, he answered. I knew then that he was not going to chit chat so I talked. I told him about how I had been working full tilt because we were negotiating with the allies to end the occupation and give the country back to the Germans. And then, hoping I’d get a reaction from John, I told him how one day, Cohn, McCarthy’s henchman barged into the office of Charley Thayer, the chief of Political Affairs, and demanded to see Charley. Glenda, Charley’s secretary said that since he didn’t have an appointment she could not interrupt her boss. Do you know who I am?" Cohn said. Glenda, without batting an eye called security and reported that there was a man in Charley’s office who didn’t know who he was. Cohn furiously left the office. This, at least, got a smile from John. I prattled on filling the void with useless information.

After half an hour the guard said Time is up, leave and I did.

I didn’t cry on the walk to the train, I was brainless. What will happen?

I majored in International Relations at Cal and my favorite professor suggested I apply for the Foreign Service. I was accepted but I had to wait until I was 21 to be assigned to a post. Lucky for me I was sent to Germany. I boarded the America in New York. The State Department sent us First Class. It sounds romantic but the ship mates were all over sixty. I arrived at the train station in Frankfurt. It was desolate, bombed out and eerie. Funny how you tend to accept reality. We used to call the area the Ruin. It turned out to be a very Bohemian place—full of artists and craftsmen.

I was assigned to Political Affairs in the IG Farben building. It was in a part of town that was not bombed out. Very exciting work.

Then I met John.

He had taken a year off from Dartmouth in order to travel around Europe and find himself. Having been sent to high school in Switzerland by his very Swiss father, he was confused about what and who he was and where he belonged. We fell in love.

It was a romantic and exciting time in my life. John was an intellectual and he introduced me to the works of Mann, Hess, Kafka, Proust and obscure Russian authors. Whenever I hear La Boheme I remember those evenings and the delicious feeling of being oh so in love. It was a lovely time. Do those times ever last?

One day I was meeting people for lunch in the dining room and I was greeted by a thunderous silence. There on the entrance table was the Stars and Stripes. On the front page a picture of a young American who had been arrested on charges of currency black market trading and possible spying. It was John. Everyone knew I was dating him.

They took him to an American army prison while they negotiated with the Germans over jurisdiction. The Germans took him into custody until the negotiations were finalized. Because I had been seen with John over the year, I was also investigated. Brewster Morris, my boss and friend called me to offer his help in getting me out of town. He knew how uncomfortable Frankfurt had become for me. I joined him in Bonn.

I wanted to visit John. Bob, who I had dated off and on, offered to drive me to Frankfurt. He was the most eligible Foreign Service Officer in Germany and since I had been a wallflower through high school and college, it was a big feather in my cap. What a shame that I was not in love with him. Life would have been very different.

Little did he know that I was going to visit John, when he dropped me at the train station.

I never saw John in Germany again. The Americans got him out of prison and sent him home to White Plains New York. I hoped I would see him again sometime, somewhere.

JOHN

You would think you would remember when and where you met your very first true love, but alas. I don’t remember. I only know that John was there. A six foot two, thin boy of twenty one with very blue eyes and and a serious demeanor. He had a friend who he called Amadeus. I never did find out what his real name was. John spoke French, German and Italian and of course English. His father insisted that he attend high school in Switzerland. He was Swiss and thought that American schools were not good enough for his offspring. It sounded like a good idea because John was very well educated, but he was very confused about his country loyalties—Swiss or American. He had taken a year off from Dartmouth College to find himself. A very intellectual young man, he had explored an extensive library of philosophy, art, politics and literature. How different he was from the California boys I had grown up with. I had met my soul mate.

John read poetry to me. He introduced me to new thinking and new literature. I still remember Christopher Fry’s book The lady’s not for burning. We went to hear La Boheme and then listened to it endlessly in my flat. Long walks in the countryside and lots of talk. We needed no others. He not only opened my eyes and ears to new thoughts, he also educated me on the realities of life.

One day while driving on the autobahn, I saw several girls standing by the side of the road. I felt so sorry for them because they had to hitch hike. John said they were not hitch hiking. They were prostitutes. You are aways thinking ill of these people I said. Look how poor they are. Get in the back of the car and I’ll pull over he said. I got the picture then, but how naive I was. Four years of college and I knew so little about life.

Frankfurt looked a lot more interesting when I was with John. He introduced me to his many German friends. I was subjected to listening to them speak about me. Because I didn’t understand what they were saying. It made me study German harder. Helmut, his friend, said I was morgen shoen (morning beautiful). How could you not like someone who described you like that. Although I had a tutor who came to my office every morning, it was hard to become really fluent unless you could find Germans, who didn’t speak English to talk with. I was so lucky. As I became more fluent I understood the humor and warmth of the Germans and their intense loyalty- once a friend always a friend.

After a few months, when my German had improved, John took me to Zurich to meet his aunts. They lived in a lovely flat with a view of the mountains. They were not out of the mold of most German Swiss. A little eccentric but very cultured, interesting and fun. I had been to Switzerland before. It is so beautiful, but the German part is so very boring. They brought the sidewalks in at 8:00 pm and either went to bed or played cards. That visit helped to soften my opinion of the Swiss. I know. I sound very judgmental. I was. There was hope. I was twenty one.

John took a lot of trips. He said he had some business in other parts of Germany. I guess I didn’t think it strange that a young college boy would have a business. I didn’t ask what kind of business he was in. He seemed to have money and I thought his father had been supporting his wanderings and maybe doing some business for his father. Ignorance is bliss but then it all came out. He had been dealing in the black market in currency. The business was very lucrative. I still don’t understand exactly how he made money. He took dollars to one country and sold them on the black market in another. The black market was alive and well in Germany at the time. We all bartered our cigarettes for services of all kinds, but to deal in currencies was a cut above what we did. Besides the government thought he was more than just a currency dealer. They thought he was a spy.

They arrested him and took him to jail in Frankfurt. What could I do? I didn’t know whether he was guilty or not. I knew I had to do something. There was a question of jurisdiction. He was an American and the crime was on German soil. Since we were in the middle of negotiations on the rights of the German government, it became a cause celebre. Finally, it was decided that he would be imprisoned by the Americans. He was taken to a jail in Frankfurt. One of my roommates and Frank, a friend who worked for American Express, drove to the prison with me to visit John. On the way there we turned over on a icy road. We and a group of bystanders popped the car back up and we continued on our way. Not a good way to start. I did get to see him but only for a minute and then they transferred him to an American army prison near Heidelberg. I was not allowed to go there. I was bereft. I had not even been able to ask him any questions and though I knew he was a free thinker and pretty far left, I knew he was not a spy. I thought I would never see him again. There was no one to tell me what to do. No one to ask for advice. I was so in love I would have done anything to help him. The charges were serious. The FBI investigated me. What did I know? Finally they shipped John to a German jail about an hour north of Frankfurt. That was several months after his arrest. After my visit to the German jail, the Americans got him out of prison and sent him home to White Plains, New York.

We wrote.

BAD GODESBERG

And so we wrote. We wrote about loving. We wrote about missing. We wrote about happy memories and then after a while we wrote about our daily lives. John was living at