(Page 3 of 3 Pages): I calculated that I signed my name 5,000 times a year on military police incidents reports, counting the multiple copies, ranging from parking infractions to murder. . I never agreed to a stamp of my signature, as I believed that someone in charge should see where his name is used. At times, I would borrow a CID sedan and check on my patrols at night. I can't remember them misbehaving, and I can recall learning a great deal about the metropolitan area after dark. A wonderful part of the experience was being in Europe for the first time. In that regard, the station?s German interpreters were very special for me. Hermann Boepple was senior. He would take me to meet my counterparts in the Deutsch Polizei. They insisted on serving a libation, and a sharp Schnaps was a good trick to play on a novice American. I soon learned to ask for wine. The translations often took a long time. In one lengthy repetition, I nodded off and awoke hearing Boepple exhorting, "Captain Kundahl!. Captain Kundahl" to bring me back into the conversation. I never will forget sitting in Boepple?s office in September 1968, when Russian tanks came rolling back into Czechoslovakia after the Prague Spring, freed from Soviet domination for a year or so under President Alexander Dubcek. My wife and I had visited Prague the previous fall, and I felt a closeness to the people there. Listening to reports on shortwave radio of Czechs escaping across the border into West Germany was a moving time for me. Otto and Hermann Brand were the interpreters in the operations shop. I was particularly close to Brand and his wife, who kindly cared for our children when my wife and I took off on trips to other countries. I had trouble understanding why the German people so willingly accepted American forces, and I repeatedly queried my friends. One time, I asked Frau Renee Schlagel, the colonel's secretary. I said our tanks run over your agricultural areas, our soldiers get drunk and f