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. . . Unlike most of the locals around Bitburg, who upon hearing my Tennessee-accented mangling of their native tongue, would grimace and immediately switch to English, Dieter and Brigeta were willing to endure my twangy Deutsch.

I was determined to exceed the typical U.S. citizen’s . . . Continue Reading

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In: Nonfiction, Our Better Angels, Way Back When
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The commander’s desk rattled; his military knick-knacks crashed to the floor.  I watched, fascinated, as a crack widened on the opposite wall and the parking lot undulated outside the ground-level window . . . Continue Reading