Meyer's Malarkey
Bullingen, Belgium, is a place dear to my heart, I helped preserve freedom in that Ardennes town back in '44. I've returned 30 times, and hope to go again before the roll is called up yonder.
Paul Greeven operated a popular restaurant. Paris trained, Paul had prepared gourmet sustenance as head chef on Belgium's official tall-masted ship. He had cooked for the king and queen, thousands of us common folk, and his meals were (and are) a gastronomical delight.
Marion pharmacist Jerry Higgins accompanied me on one of those trips back to the place where a teenage kid from Kansas "grew up" one night in December.
I wanted Jerry to meet Paul. We went to his Dahmen restaurant and after a round of shaking hands, he suggested there might be "one more bottle" of the red wine his mother corked before the Germans invaded. They had hid it in the "keller."
Down those shaky cob-web infested stairs we went, Paul in the lead holding a flickering candle, my hand was on Paul's shoulder, and Jerry had his hand on my shoulder. We proceeded slowly, through webs and dust.
Paul reached up on a high shelf and retrieved one dusty bottle in the dim light. He blew hard and wiped the excess dust and webs on his pants.
We consumed the highly significant treat under an umbrella of patriotism between trusted friends of two nations.
Jerry and I agreed, it was the best red wine ever tasted.
Over the years I've visited with many others who also took that shaky trip to Paul's keller. That's what tradition is all about.
— BILL MEYER
