My last blog explained the process of expanding and fictionalizing the true stories Herman told me. This imagining and expanding of Herman’s memories was great creative fun. Far more difficult, but equally important, was culling redundant or irrelevant sections so the novel maintained a momentum to keep the reader engaged.
Some interesting segments of family significance needed to be severely shortened or removed entirely. Several chunks of historical background exposition were also deleted or converted into conversation, mainly between Herman and his friend Goldschmitt. One tale told to me by Herman, a tale he loved to recount, stands out in my mind as the most difficult to remove. Here is the true story of General Patton’s new boots as it appeared in an earlier version of the Immigrant Soldier manuscript.
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A few weeks after the race horses had been delivered, Herman was summoned to Patton’s villa just before noon. He was greeted at the door by Meeks, the general’s longtime orderly, and they walked up the stairs to the master suite. The black sergeant ushered Herman into the dressing room where the general sat on an antique side-chair removing his riding boots. Willie, still dusty from the mornings outing, sprawled at his side. As the Proconsul of Bavaria pulled off his boots, Herman could see the start of a hole in one sole.
“Glad to see you, Captain Lang,” Patton said. He held both boots high in the air. “See these? They’re starting to wear thin. I can feel every rock under foot” He lifted the strap that crossed the instep. “And this buckle is about to fall off.” Patton passed the boots to his orderly, who stood ready with polish, rag, and brush. “The uppers are so scuffed that Meeks here has the devil of a time polishing them up. They’ve seen better days.”
Herman stood at ease in front of his commander. Their relationship was a comfortable one and he was used to the General thinking of him as the go to man to solve problems. “You’ve worn them a lot, but the quality of leather is fine,” he said. “That’s why they’ve held up so well. But we could get them fully reconditioned. Do you want me to find a good cobbler to mend them, sir?”
Patton stood in his stocking feet. “No, damn it. What I want is a brand new pair. Prussian design and the best leather. Better than those SS bastards wore in 1935. Do you know leather as well as you know horses, captain?”
Herman laughed out loud. “Sorry, sir, but I do actually. Maybe better. I grew up with leather. My father was a wholesaler and kept his stock in our basement.”
“I knew you were the man for this job.” Patton almost crowed. “Lang, I want you to find the best boot maker you can and bring him here so he can make a pattern of my feet. And I don’t care if he was a Nazi or a Socialist or a sewer digger during the war.” He looked Herman in the eye. “I want a man who can make me the best damn boots in all of Germany!” He looked up with a sly grin. “And while you’re at it, ask him to make a new collar for Willie. With his name tooled into it.” He scratched the dog under the chin, evoking a happy bark of thanks.
It took Herman less than a week to find the right man for the job. In two weeks, General Patton had a splendid pair of new boots made of supple brown leather and Willie had a dog collar to match.
That afternoon Herman proudly stowed an equally splendid pair of identical boots in his own footlocker. After all, it had been no harder for the cobbler to make two pairs of boots, than one. As instructed, the man had measured Herman’s feet the same day he had come to the villa to make patterns for Patton. It took little extra effort for him to cut and stitch a second pair of boots from the ample piece of prime leather Herman selected. Beyond the payment for his work, Herman happily offered the craftsman coffee, cigarettes and a slab of treasured American butter as a gift for his extra effort and his silence about the additional boots.
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Herman treasured these boots for the rest of his life, though he seldom wore them. For him, they represented his connection to General George Patton.
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