Before and After the Wall: My Life in Berlin
Associate Professor of Journalism
University of Florida College of Journalism and Communications
Twenty five years ago this week, TV images flashed on screen of people singing and dancing atop the Berlin Wall.
It seemed almost impossible. I gulped, smiled and felt all tingly.
The fall of the Berlin Wall on Nov. 9, 1989, was emotional and personal for me. Years earlier, I had lived on the free side of the divided city at the height of the Cold War as an American military high school student. Were our neighbors trapped in the East now free after nearly three decades of Soviet control?
To stem the flow of East Berliners who wanted to escape, a jagged 27-mile wall cut the city into two halves, and 100 miles of barbed wire encircled the back half of West Berlin, making it an island city. But as American military dependents, we enjoyed a good life and freedom in a cosmopolitan half protected by American, British and French soldiers.
Those in East Berlin experienced a daily existence that was dreary and drab behind a 13-foot-tall concrete barrier. Although all roads in West Berlin ended at the wall, we couldn’t help but see the oppression on the other side. “This wall is an illusion,” read graffiti painted on the free side. “You stand like a scab, an unhealing wound,” were scrawled words I still remember today.
With my father’s U.S. Air Force status we were allowed to venture into the East. We occasionally drove through the famous Checkpoint Charlie border crossing in our gigantic1962 Pontiac Star Chief. During day trips, we would purchase camera gear, crystal glassware and wall clocks in shops intended for visiting communist dignitaries.
We avoided the regular markets with no fresh fruit, and shoe stores with only one size, style and color.
On one outing my family returned to our car to find people standing by the trunk, which was large enough to hold three people. They asked us to take them over to the West.
My father just shook his head “no” and told us to get in the car. He had heard of other GI’s who had smuggled East Berliners back to the West and were caught by the American military police. U.S. officials would immediately transfer those soldiers who risked an international incident. They would be sent from West Berlin (a plum assignment) to a desolate outpost in South Korea as punishment the next day, or so the rumor went.
On my 16th birthday, my father took me over to the East for dinner at the Moscow Haus, a high-end restaurant frequented by communist officials. Within minutes, a man in a Russian uniform joined us at the table. In decent English, he asked about the stripes on my father’s uniform and what they meant.
I remember great awkwardness and a racing heartbeat as the soldier continued to sit with us as we remained silent. Finally the Soviet officer returned to his own table. Who was he? Where did he come from? Could we have disappeared that night, deep in the heart of East Berlin?
Another time we tried to buy a motorcycle in a showroom full of choices, or so we thought. The clerk pulled a big book from behind the counter and asked us to write in our name and address. “Three years,” he told us. “What about these in the store?” we asked. No, those were just for display, he said. We would need to get on a list and wait, so we declined.
While the Soviet east sat basically untouched and neglected for 28 years, the fall of the Wall led to massive, but slow, renovations.
The former districts of East Berlin today are festive places, full of upscale townhouses, offbeat art galleries and ethnic restaurants. Playhouses host performances that rival those of New York and Las Vegas, and American celebrities like Matt Damon and Tom Cruise turn up weekly for vacations or movie premieres.
The former swath that cut through the center of city has provided prime real estate for development again, especially along the Spree River. The city’s subway systems are united and provide seamless and efficient transportation for Berlin’s 3.5 million people.
Everything happens on a grand scale, whether it’s a massive fireworks display at the Brandenburg Gate on New Year’s Eve or the opening of Europe’s largest train station days before the 2006 World Cup soccer tournament began. The main government building, Der Reichstag, is a contrast of visions — with old style below and a futurist glass dome above that allows visitors to peer into the legislative chamber below.
By guiding University of Florida student journalists the past 10 years on study-abroad trips, I have been privileged to help tell the story of a reborn Berlin. Armed with digital cameras, voice recorders and laptops, UF students have spent two weeks every May since 2005 reporting on a cross-section of Berliners. From the city where I discovered my interest in photojournalism, we document some of the people and places that exemplify Berlin’s ongoing spirit of freedom. It’s a subtle revelation as the students come to understand the significance of what they are seeing and feeling.
Many return to Florida saying they’ve been changed; they have felt the underlying spirit of survival, transformation, creativity and openness. Most are surprised and enthralled that the city lives up its reputation of “anything goes.” Some students feel more patriotic after learning and seeing first-hand how American forces kept the city alive following World War II. Some say they want to return to Berlin and open a coffee shop – or work for the Fat Tire Bike Tour company. Most have heard the expression first-hand from Berliners that “you can be who you want to be in Berlin.”
All remember Dr. Pong — a virtually unmarked club where the only entertainment is a single ping-pong table and loud music. Holding a beverage in one hand and a paddle in the other, up to 30 partiers circle the table in a counter-clockwise motion, enjoying a group game that shrinks in size as players miss and have to sit out. After the final two players battle for the championship, the winner bangs the table three times with his paddle, and everyone starts up again. It’s a happy mix – a free-for-all of ages, styles, religions and politics.
Dr. Pong is only a hole-in-the-wall pub, a relic in the former East. It’s poorly lit, has unadorned concrete walls and is full of choking smoke. Yet it speaks volumes about the edginess of Berlin, the acceptance of others and the freedom that the united city now enjoys.
Twenty-five years after the fall of the Berlin Wall, Germany’s capital continues to reinvent itself, balancing between an historic past and an optimistic future to remain one of the world’s leading cities. I’m proud to be a part of that transformation every year.
John has been teaching photojournalism at the University of Florida since 1991. Each summer, he organizes a trip to Berlin for students interested in documentary journalism.
