Richard Keegan and other friends

Richard Keegan and other friends.

“You have hives” he says “and you carry your right arm as if it were hurt”

“What is hives?” I ask. Every day I hear new words.

He points to the right side of my neck. “These are hives” he repeats. “What’s wrong with your arm?”

“I fell from a horse and hurt my shoulder” I say. “But our doctor thinks I just hurt it a little, and it’ll go away”

He examines my hives again. Then he asks: “May I touch your shoulder?”

“Who are you?” I ask. Just a little suspicious.

“My name is Richard Keegan, and I am a medical specialist”

There is another new phrase: Medical specialist. “You are a Doctor?” I ask.

“Not quite” he replies. “But almost. I am similar to a doctor and I would like to look at your shoulder.”

He seems alright so I say: “OK but it hurts, so please touch carefully”

He is in uniform and carries the insignia of a lieutenant. He probes my shoulder. He pushes a little, then he pulls a little.

Then he says: “You have a dislocated shoulder. That’s why you have hives and that’s why you have pain.”

“Can you fix it?” I ask.

“Yes, I can, but I need two of my friends.”

We walk over to the Café Post, which is now a recreational area for the American troops, along with the Café Graf. He asks an MP at the entrance: “Have you seen Hank and Bobby?”

                     The former "Cafe Post" has become a favourite hang out for American soldiers.

“Yeah” says the MP who must be about 2 meters tall, “they’re inside. They just got here.”

Richard bids me to wait in the hall way. He is back in a minute, followed by two other soldiers. He points to them in turn: “This is Hank, and that’s Bob.” He says and asks: “What’s your name?” I tell him.

“That’s an unusual name” he says.

His two helpers have obviously done this before. They hold me, one around my chest, the other around my hips.

Richard tests my shoulder again.

“This is going to hurt a little” he says. In my mind I call him Dr.Keegan.

He takes my right arm; just above my elbow and just below my right shoulder. He yanks and twists a little and shoves a bit. For an instant it hurts like hell. I hold my right arm at the wrist with my left.

We walk to a red cross truck and Richard gets a green coloured cloth, which he folds into a sling. He fastens it atop my left shoulder.

My arm is at a right angle at the elbow. The sling covers my elbow and my hand, and diagonally rises from the tip of my fingers to my shoulder.

I am telling you this in such detail, so that you can understand how much space there was inside this sling, which Richard fills up with chocolate bars, chewing gum, Candies wrapped in silver and gold paper and more chocolate bars.

I could have opened a Konditorei.

“Come back tomorrow” he says. “I will look at your shoulder once more then.”

Richard Keegan and I became good friends. I gave him my Hitler Youth knife with the diamond shaped insert and the Swastika in the middle and on the blade it said: “Blut und Ehre”. He thought it was too valuable, but I insisted.

Some months later he was transferred to the Japanese theatre of war. I never heard from him again. He had given me his home address, so I wrote to his parents. But I never heard from them either.

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