Mr. Write's Page

The Army takes care of its own.

In the late 1950s, when I was a teenager, we lived in Stuttgart, Germany. My dad was the Air Force liaison officer to Seventh Army Headquarters at Patch Barracks.

In those days, the U.S. Army had seven or eight bases around Stuttgart. Each was a small, self-contained American town.

Well, almost self-contained. For practical reasons, some resources were shared. Not every base, for example, had a theater, bowling alley, or golf course. One high school and a couple of elementary schools served the area, and we had a very efficient bus system.

But each base had the essential facilities: commissary (grocery store), Post Exchange (retail store), housing, gas station, Officers and NCO Clubs — and the good old AYA.

The American Youth Association was quite an elaborate operation. It was the overseas equivalent of a city recreation department. Its mission was to provide enough activities for military dependent kids to keep them busy, entertained, and out of trouble. We were, after all, enclaves of foreigners in a foreign country.

The Army had reason for concern. Generally, the little kids weren’t a problem. But less than two decades after World War II, allowing cheeky American teens to aggravate the Germans, many of them sullen veterans of the Wehrmacht, was not a good idea.

The AYA was staffed by Army enlisted men who specialized in the field of recreation and activities for children.

And they provided activities aplenty. They organized intramural sports for all age levels. They took the kids on swimming trips and sightseeing tours. They bussed the older ones to football and basketball games at other bases around Germany.

The Patch Barracks AYA, a sprawling, hangar-like structure, was typical. Inside were two basketball courts and a large activity room for arts and crafts, instructional classes, and playing pool, chess, checkers, and fussball.

The building also housed offices for the staff, sports equipment we could check out, vending machines, a separate activity room for the younger kids, and a Teen Club.

The Teen Club was our sanctuary, off-limits to the younger ones. At any given time, 10 to 20 teenagers would be there, hanging out, listening to music. On special occasions, we might have a dance or a pizza party.

I told you the AYA was elaborate.

Before long, I got myself elected Vice President of the Teen Club. It was a position I had coveted mightily — hungered for, salivated over, yearned longingly for — since we arrived at the base.

The reason was simple. Among the duties of the Vice President was keeping the jukebox in the Teen Club stocked with the coolest music.

Nowadays, of course, jukeboxes are digital, and they hold enough tunes to last the rest of your life.

But in 1958, a jukebox was a quaint mechanical device that played 7-inch 45 rpm records. Its capacity was about 50 records and 100 songs.

As Vice President, I was given a monthly allowance with which to purchase new 45s. What I bought was entirely up to me.

Naturally, my peers lobbied me constantly to purchase their own favorites. I was everyone’s pal.

I have to admit, I allowed some tunes on the jukebox that I didn’t really like. That was necessary if I wanted to continue being the VP. But mostly, I bought the records — all of them rock and roll, mind you — that satisfied my personal taste.

Which, when I think about it, was about the same as everyone else’s.

Best of all, for every record added to the jukebox, another one had to be retired. Retired to Rocky’s personal collection.

No other AYA officer had perks like that.

More about my collection of 45 rpm records in a future post.

On an AYA bus trip to Munich, 1959. The busses were Army ambulances converted to carry passengers. Note the flat-top haircuts.

Pool party -- Taken on an AYA trip to a public swimming pool in Stuttgart.

A state-of-the-art Wurlitzer loaded with 45 RPM vinyl, circa 1958.