We had a small group of us that quite often went out on Saturday mornings to have a beer or two in some out of the way gasthaus. Trying to get a little local color rather than going to the NCO club or the usual haunts in and around Grenadier Kaserne or Robinson Barracks.
The group changed from time to time but the four original members were myself, MSGT Thomas McKiernan, SP4 Michael Callahan and SSGT Sean Webber. For a time McKiernan was either the manager or assistant manager of the NCO club at Robinson Barracks. McKiernan was a big barrel chested sort of fellow. Prior to arriving in Stuttgart he was assigned to a MAAG unit in Vietnam. He was NCOIC of a motor pool in Saigon. He had close to 30 years in the service.
Weber was assigned to the motor pool in Ludwigsburg. He had at least 20 years service and was always threatening to retire. SP4 Callahan had around 18 years in the service and worked in the dependent housing office at Robinson Barracks. I think Michael was about 40 years old. He was another “in waiting” soldier. If McKiernan was on the large size, Callahan was small, all of about 5’6” tall and weighed in at about 110 (Our little Elf). His wife, who was a delight, was about 22 years old, weighed in at about 180 Lbs. A regular Ma and Pa Kettle. I’m not sure what Michael’s highest rank was during his 18 years but by the time I left Germany I out ranked him.
Originally we were picking small towns like Calw, Marbach, Tubingen and such because not many GI’s went there and we could get to see a little local color. We also stopped at small hole-in-the-wall gasthaus’ in and around Stuttgart.
The beginning of the end of the Mafia came one Saturday morning early in 1962. We all hopped into McKiernan’s VW (1950’s Era) and headed out. Webber and I were in the back seat, McKiernan was driving (steering wheel between his knees)and Callahan is in the front passenger seat. We arrive at a gasthaus and Callahan jumps out and runs into the gasthaus. By the time we enter Callahan is in a fight with two younger men and they are winning. We waded in and the fight gets bigger! Finally we get things under control and the owner is yelling at us to leave.
Michael always said he didn’t do anything to provoke the folks and he promised faithfully to always mind his manners. This issue happened one more time but we were out so quick the Germans had no idea what had happened.
The next time Michael hopped out of the car Webber was right on his fanny as he entered the gasthaus. No sooner did he get through the gasthaus door when he clicked his heels and yelled, at the top of his lungs, “HEIL HITLER.” Needless to say Callahan road in the backseat from then on. Over time it didn’t get much better, he still wanted to pick a fight. He even tried to pick a fight with a Special Forces SFC when we were in Bad Toelz. After a while we no longer included him on our Saturday outings. Callahan was still there when I left Germany in 1963.
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