March 19th, 1965
Once Jürgen stopped biting his nails, he rummaged his pockets and pulled out a cigarette. His foot tapping on the Berlin Schönefeld airport tarmac, nervously awaiting for Louis Armstrong’s plane to taxi into place. Jürgen lit his cigarette and tightened up his blue crosshatch tie and readjusted his white shirt sleeves to peep out of his grey blazer just enough to appear correct. He was hesitant about who to greet first, Louis or his wife Lucille Armstrong.
The airplane turned from the strip with the wing lights blinking and made its way towards Jürgen. The Deutsche Künstler Agentur, or the German Artist Agency is where Jürgen was employed, and was asked by them to chaperone Louis Armstrong during his tour in Germany. Frenchy, Louis Armstrong’s road manager would have to meet Jürgen first, to approve of him. Jürgen was anxious about that.
Armstrong will tour 17 concerts in 9 days and will be the first American star to perform in the German Democratic Republic. His Berlin concerts sold out 18,000 tickets in a single day. Jürgen noticed a similar audience ready to welcome him, almost as if he was a politician. Photographers with flash in hand were ready to start shooting away and capture Armstrong’s famous bright smile.
Jürgen couldn’t wait to ask Louis some personal and political questions, but that would have to wait after gaining some trust. The plane stopped in front of the eager crowd ready to welcome Louis and his All Stars. The passenger door of the airplane opened. A bouquet came out of the plane, with the hands of a burly man gripping them. Short and balding hair with a big bright smile proved Louis Armstrong was holding the bouquet, and his wife was beside him with a black and white checkered coat and a thin veil over her hat.
The pung of flashes blitzed away as they slowly walked down the airplane step ladder. Frenchy zoomed in front of Louis and Lucille with a couple of others to make way and guide them into the airport with the band right behind. Jürgen tried to signal to Frenchy and got shoved to the side like everyone else. Their pace hastened to get inside the airport. Once they got in the crowd seemed to disperse because the door kept them shut out.
Jürgen quickly made his way around the airport to catch up with the touring musicians. He wanted to help them get to their hotel. It took a while to get to the other side of the airport. After thirty minutes of not finding them, he decided to hail a cab and make his way to the hotel.
Looking through his wallet he grabbed a few bills and chucked it at the cab driver. He hopped out of the taxi and rushed to the reception and painfully asked in German for a man named Frenchy. The receptionist gave him a smug look as if that information was none of his business. Jürgen backtracked and told him he was with the German Artist Agency and was to guide Louis Armstrong and Frenchy for their tour. Again, the receptionist pierced his eyebrows in doubt and replied by saying he couldn’t do anything for him. Jürgen tried to further prove he was responsible for guiding and keeping the whole band on time to perform at the Friedrichstadt-Palast theatre the next day. The receptionist was colder than the Cold War and didn’t budge.
Jürgen pleaded to give Frenchy or Louis a call and tell them he is waiting downstairs in the lobby. The receptionist caressed his moustache and slowly believed Jürgen because of his persistence and picked up the telephone receiver and dialed in. Jürgen heard the ringing and a muffled answer from the receiver.
The receptionist apologized for the disturbance and told whoever was on the line that a Jürgen — the receptionist paused and put his hand on the bottom of the phone to ask Jürgen his last name.
Jürgen quickly replied, “Hoffman” and said “ I’m with the German Artist Agency”
The receptionist smacked his lips and repeated what Jürgen said. A few more muffled sounds came from the phone and the receptionist said thank you and hung up.
Eyes wide and awaiting an answer Jürgen blurted, “So?”
The receptionist sighed and said that a man named Frenchy will come down shortly. Jürgen knocked on the reception desk twice as an ‘I told you so’, raised his eyebrows, and gave a puffed-up smile to the receptionist. He turned towards the lobby and sat down waiting on a plushy sofa.
The hotel was empty so Jürgen clearly heard steps on the hardwood floor down the hall. He saw a slick-looking man make his way to the receptionist who pointed towards Jürgen. The slick man walked towards Jürgen smiling with a good-sized gap between his two front teeth and his triangular eyebrows both went up. The man said, “Jürgen! There you are! We were expecting you at the airport.”
“Hallo, Frenchy. Yes, it’s me, Jürgen Hoffman. I was there in front of the airplane, but you walked so quickly inside the airport.”
“You should have waited inside, maybe we would have seen you better. Anyway, you’re here now so let’s grab a drink and talk about the tour.”
Jürgen’s heart was racing but felt at ease that he finally met Frenchy. He followed him to the bar and they both ordered whisky. Jürgen proposed a cigarette and both started drinking, puffing, and planning away.
After their second round of drinks, Frenchy said, “Well it looks like we’ve got a big job ahead to keep everyone on track and on time for all 17 concerts. I’m going to give Louis a call and ask if he’s hungry, you know of any good restaurants around here?”
Jürgen blurted, “Yes of course, down the street there is a typical traditional German restaurant.”
Frenchy gave him a thumbs up and walked out of the hotel bar towards the receptionist. Jürgen started to bite his nails and asked the bartender if there were any decent restaurants around the corner. The bartender snorted and mentioned one with sarcasm and that it was also ‘typical traditional’ German cuisine. Slightly embarrassed Jürgen went into his pockets to take out a cigarette and noticed he had none.
Jürgen hopped off the bar stool and made his way to the cigarette machine at the end of the bar. That’s when Frenchy was making his way back and said, “Louis got an appetite and he’ll be coming down in a second, but Lucille ain’t hungry so she’ll stay in.” Frenchy got his wallet out to buy himself a pack from the machine, “They got beers at this restaurant? I would love to try some German beer.”
“Oh, plenty!” while he side-eyed the bartender and motioned to Frenchy to go outside for another cigarette.
“Your English is pretty good Jürgen, you mind if I call you Yogi? Jüregn doesn’t roll off the tongue so well.”
A signature gravelly voice erupted as the hotel door opened with Louis walking out saying, “All right, let’s get some food!”
Frenchy smiled and introduced Jürgen to Louis. They shook hands and Jürgen was smiling up to his eyebrows, “Hello Mr. Armstrong, what an honor to meet a legendary cool c-cat like yourself!” Jürgen felt awkward and started getting rosy in his cheeks, embarrassed he quickly changed subjects, “Are you sure your wife Lucille isn’t hungry? Should we bring her some food back?”
Louis smirked, “No worries Jürgen, let’s grab a bite and feed this cool cat first.” Jürgen felt relieved by Armstrong’s charm and started making his way toward the restaurant with Louis and Frenchy talking a few steps behind.
Jürgen opened the door to the restaurant and the aroma of warm wood mixed with cigarette smoke puffed onto them. They waited by the door and Jürgen asked a server for a table for 3. As the waiter asked them to wait a small minute, Louis saw a plate being served with what seemed like an excessively juicy piece of pork on the bone sitting on top of plenty of sauerkraut. “Ooooh, I want that!” howled Louis.
Jürgen smiled proudly and said, “So do I, what about you Frenchy?”
“I’ll check out the menu first”, slightly cold and uncomfortable as he noticed some staring faces.
The waiter pointed them towards a table by the window, with the crispy 2 degrees Celsius scraping on the glass. They sat down and Jürgen warmed his hands together and said, “It would be my absolute pleasure and honor to invite us all, on behalf of the German Artist Agency.” Louis smiled alongside Frenchy and said, “That’s mighty kind, so what was that dish that flew by and stole my nose?”
Jürgen was so proud to explain what an eisbein was. As he started to explain he got interrupted by Louis saying, “Let’s order first, I’m gettin’ that eisbein. Come on, Frenchy don’t be shy. Whatchu want?”
Jürgen signaled to the waiter and ordered three beers, two eisbeins and Frenchy ordered a schnitzel.
“Louis, you couldn’t have ordered a more Berliner dish than eisbein. In Germany they call it schweinshaxe because it’s usually roasted with crispy skin, but that isn’t how it is served in Berlin.” Jürgen explained exuberantly.
“Y’all don’t like crispy? Maybe I should have gone with the crispy one. No, I’ll try the Berlin version. We here after all, right?” said Louis.
Jürgen accepted Louis’s remark as final and continued with his explanation, “Yes. Eisbein translates to ‘ice leg’, it is also a reference to the practice of using pig leg bones for ice skating. It is heavily salted, or how do you say — cured? Also boiled for hours with some pork fat. Simple cooking really, goes very nice with beer.”
“Ain’t that some shit, pig bone for ice skating” laughed Frenchy.
Jürgen didn’t understand, “What is shit?”
Frenchy didn’t mean to offend and explained the saying as the beers came. In unison, all three cheered and took big gulps.
The eisbeins came right next along with Frenchy’s schnitzel. Louis recognized what was on his plate, and while they were all digging in he said, “Oh yeah, this a ham hock! Lucille throws this in my favorite dish. She makes the best red beans and rice. She cleans up the hock and then boils it for a long while. Then she puts in the beans and cooks it all up for what seems like half a day. Her trick in the last few hours is tomato sauce, but don’t tell her I told you! I don’t want no trouble.”
Frenchy and Jürgen laughed and shook their head as if they promised not to tell.
Jürgen was aching to ask more serious questions, political and personal ones. He felt it would ruin the good mood they were having, so he refrained with, “17 concerts in 9 days is a lot. Almost two a day which sounds tiring.”
Louis replied, “I got this, and so do my All Stars, but yeah it’s a lot.”
Jürgen was hinting more towards the aftermath of the concerts, “There will be quite a few press conferences, and I wanted to warn you that there might be some uncomfortable political questions. A mix of recognition and racism. You should speak freely.”
“I know all about that. I speak freely with my music, and that’s what I’m here for Jürgen. I’m a musician, not a politician. And I understand that can be mistaken. We got enough civil strife at home, not starting to look to create some more out here.” said Louis.
Jürgen seemed disappointed with that answer and at the same time respected it. He was hoping for a stronger social stance on politics but didn’t want to push him further to find out. He settled for the communal bond between their eisbein and Louis’s ham hocks even with the cultural distinctions.
Frenchy felt the tense conversation rise and forced a long yawn. Jürgen sensed the situation and wanted to show them that he was true to his German stereotype; a master of organisation and timing. He told them he would get the bill and their coats. They all stood up together leaving behind empty glasses and plates.
As they were walking back to the hotel Jürgen asked, “So what time do we meet up tomorrow at the Friedrichstadt-Palast theatre, 8 or 9 in the morning?”
Frenchy and Louis chuckled, “Oh no no Yogi, we’ll be there by noon. You too German. Don’t you know? We need to digest, and rest so we can perform our best!”
Yogi couldn’t help but smile as he shook their hands and wished them a good night. Walking home he loosened his tie and nearly dropped his cigarette out of excitement.
Eisbein-ly yours,
The Greasy Pen.