CPT Timothy Ford, U.S. Army (1982-1999)

How a Disco, a Sergeant, and a Misaddressed Letter Got Me Married

I met my wife, Gerda, in the fall of 1985 while serving my first duty assignment with Delta Company, 2‑36 Infantry, 3rd Armored Division. I was a young private, still figuring out Army life, when I tagged along with my squad leader, Sergeant Dave, and a squad mate, Mike, to a Disco Tek in Wetzlar, Germany. I thought I was escaping the barracks for a night. What I didn’t know was that I had walked straight into what was meant to be a double date: Mike with Julie, and Dave with a young woman named Gerda.

But life has a way of rearranging plans when it wants to.

Somewhere between the flashing lights and the thundering music, I found myself drawn to Gerda. We stepped outside to talk, away from the noise that drowned out everything but our own thoughts. Under the cool night air, we talked for hours—long enough for my squad leader’s patience to evaporate. By the end of the night, Dave was so irritated he took a taxi back to base, leaving the rest of us to continue the evening at Julie’s house. Morning arrived quietly, and before I left, Gerda and I exchanged information. I had known her for one night, yet something in me already knew she was the woman I would marry.

I wrote her letters—careful, hopeful letters—but heard nothing back. I assumed I’d imagined the connection. Then I learned my handwriting had turned a German “7” into a “1,” and all my letters had been delivered to the wrong house. When her reply finally reached me during field maneuvers, it was drenched in her perfume. My entire rucksack smelled like her for days. After that, we kept writing and called when we could, though dumping five‑Deutsch‑Mark coins into a payphone got expensive fast. Gerda, being German, thought it was wildly impractical. Germans are resourceful and a little frugal by nature, so she preferred letters—neatly written, carefully folded, and far cheaper.

Six months later, I asked her to marry me. She said yes. We were engaged on June 10th, 1986, and married that Thanksgiving Day. I joked that she picked the date so I’d never forget our anniversary. The night before the wedding, we stayed at a small hotel, and I helped her sew buttons onto the wedding dress she had hand‑crafted herself. It was one of the first moments I realized how much heart she put into everything she touched.

Adjusting to married life in the military came with its own challenges. After the wedding, we moved into a small apartment in Nieder‑Weisel. It was a three‑story house, but the only way to reach the upper floors was through our living room. Our living room wasn’t really a living room—it was a hallway with no furniture. At any moment, a neighbor might stroll through on their way upstairs.

Our neighbors on the second floor were from Texas, and Gerda became close with the wife, Darlene, whose slow southern drawl was so thick Gerda understood maybe every third word. One afternoon, I came home to find Darlene giving Gerda a perm in our entryway. When Gerda wrinkled her nose and said, “This stuff tastes terrible,” Darlene nearly panicked, thinking she’d actually tasted the chemicals. It took a moment before we realized she had simply mixed up taste and smell.

It wasn’t a grand beginning. It was small apartments, shared stairwells, cultural mix‑ups, and hand‑sewn buttons. But it was ours. And it all began with a disco, a sergeant, and a misaddressed letter. On November 27th, 2025, we celebrated our 39th anniversary, still laughing about how unlikely—and how perfect—our beginning really was.

Read the Military Memories of our Runner-Ups.