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Emerging from the Dresden railroad station, the visitor is confronted by a half-mile panorama of weeds and rubble, a skyline of twisted girders and the rusting frames of church spires. As a transportation nexus, Dresden was the most heavily damaged city in Germany in World War II. The center of the city, the historic Altstadt, was all but leveled by Allied bombers. The Communists have made little effort to rebuild it after 15 years.
Most of Dresden's 492,000 people live in the relatively unbombed suburbs or in cheap, monotonous rows of Communist prefab houses. Most of the men wear cardigan jackets and cuffless cotton pants, since East German suits are both shoddy and expensive. In contrast, the women are relatively well dressed. They make their own clothes, closely follow West Berlin's latest fashions.
A Souvenir. To Dresdeners, Americans are people from another planet. The mother of a young boy asked if she could have an empty U.S. cigarette pack "as a remembrance." Surprisingly, most were fearlessly outspoken about their dislike of Communist Boss Walter Ulbricht's regime. "Why did you come here?" asked a salesgirl wonderingly. "Why does anyone come here?" Quipped a bitter bartender: "Have a socialist drink: crush one potato in a glass, drink it fast and try to think of vodka." "Shall I describe how it is to live here?" sneered a girl government clerk. "It stinks."
There was no evidence of a critical food shortage in Dresden, but prices were high, and distribution problems were evident everywhere. One store would have an oversupply of bread, another none. Eggs were practically nonexistent, butter rationed and scarce. "We have a joke here," said a farmer. "Do you know the difference between an atom bomb and a collective farm? None. Both completely lay waste to the earth."
Block Commandos. The economy of Dresden, as of all of East Germany, has been hard hit by the refugee flow west. A precision mechanic said that eight of 30 workers in his factory section had left in the last three years. The Dresden Communist paper carries a daily appeal to women to join work brigades to alleviate the manpower shortage.
In the drastic new efforts to curb the refugee exodus from Dresden, the authorities have set up "block commandos," made up of civilian party members, who make nightly neighborhood checks, knocking on every door. When nobody answers, they alert the railroad police to watch for the resident. Banks are now required to report the name of anyone who draws a suspiciously large amount of cash from his account. As a result, would-be refugees now leave on weekends to thwart the commandos (since many Dresdeners take vacation weekends in the summer anyway), never draw more than $50 in cash to take with them.
When I boarded the train in Dresden for my return to Berlin, some 20 jack-booted railway police were busy checking everybody's passports and papers. Passports were checked six times between Dresden and Berlin.