German POWs Laughed at U.S.
Cafeterias — Until They Lined Up for Seconds
They walked into the messaul and started laughing.
The Americans had set up a cafeteria line like this was a restaurant, like they were customers, not prisoners.
Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri, September 1944.
200 German PS, mostly captured in France after D-Day, arrived at an American camp.
Young men, soldiers.
They’d been told Americans were soft, undisiplined.
Now they were about to see proof.
His name was Hans.
He was 22, a corporal from Munich.
He’d fought for 2 years before getting captured.
In that time, he’d eaten from field kitchens where officers ate first and enlisted men got what was left.
Sometimes nothing.
That was order.
That was discipline.
Now he stood in a line with a tray watching American soldiers guards serve food.
Not to officers first, to everyone in order.
First come, first served.
A private got the same portions as a sergeant.
His friend Carl standing behind him whispered in German, “Look at this.
No order, no hierarchy.
They serve prisoners the same as their own soldiers.
This is why they’re weak.
Hans nodded, smirking.
The other Germans were laughing, too.
This cafeteria system, this American democracy, even in a prison camp, it was proof.
Proof that America had no discipline, no structure, no strength.
But they had no idea what they were about to learn.
Because in about 20 minutes, Hans was going to go back through that line.
Not because he was ordered to, but because he wanted more.
And that simple act would crack something open in him that he couldn’t close again.
Hans moved through the line.
An American private couldn’t be older than 19, served him, scooped mashed potatoes onto his plate, added a piece of chicken, vegetables, bread, then asked in broken German, “Hungry? Want more chicken?” Hans stared at him.
Was this a trick? In the Vermacht, you took what you were given and said, “Thank you.
You never asked for more.
That was greed.
That showed weakness.” “Nine,” Hans said automatically.
“No.” The American shrugged and added another piece anyway.
“You’re skinny, man.
Eat.” Hans sat down with Carl and the others.
They examined their plates like scientists studying specimens.
They waste so much food.
One prisoner said, “Look at these portions.
Decadent.” Another added, “This is why they’ll lose the war.
No discipline, no sacrifice.
They feed prisoners like kings.” But then they started eating and the laughter stopped.
The chicken was seasoned.
Actually, seasoned.
The potatoes were creamy.
Real butter mixed in.
The bread was fresh, still warm.
Hans took a bite and something happened in his brain, a memory.
His mother’s kitchen before the war when food tasted like this.
He looked down at his plate at the food he’d been mocking seconds ago, and he realized he was still hungry.
Not starving, just he wanted more, and there was more available.
Carl noticed Hans staring at the line.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said.
“Have some pride.” But Hans was thinking about it.
Then the most unexpected thing happened.
An older German prisoner, a sergeant named Otto, who’d been at the camp for 3 months already, walked past their table with a second tray.
A full tray.
He wasn’t sneaking, wasn’t hiding.
He just walked back through the line like it was normal.
Hans watched him.
Did he just get seconds? Another longerterm prisoner overheard and laughed.
You’re new.
Yeah, you can go back as many times as you want until the food runs out.
Americans are crazy like that.
Carl shook his head.
It’s a trap.
They’re testing us, seeing who lacks discipline.
But Hans noticed that Otto wasn’t the only one.
Other German prisoners, ones who’d been there longer, were casually getting second helpings, and the American servers just gave it to them.
No judgment, no marking them down as weak.
Hans made a decision.
He stood up.
Sit down, Carl hissed.
You’re embarrassing us.
Hans walked to the line.
His heart was pounding like he was going into battle.
the shame of wanting more, of admitting the food was good, of doing something so undisiplined.
The same American private saw him coming and smiled.
Back already? Good.
What do you want? Hans pointed at the chicken.
The private loaded up his plate, added more potatoes without asking.
Hans took his tray back to the table in silence.
Carl wouldn’t look at him.
But Hans didn’t care.
He ate.
And it was even better the second time because he wasn’t fighting it anymore.
He wasn’t trying to prove it was bad.
He was just hungry.
And the food was good.
And more was available.
That night in the barracks, the Germans, who’d gone back for seconds, and there were more than Carl wanted to admit, didn’t talk about it, but they thought about it.
Hans lay on his bunk staring at the ceiling.
“It’s not about discipline,” he said aloud.
Carl in the bunk above didn’t respond.
But Hans continued anyway.
“They have plenty, so they give plenty.
That’s not weakness.
That’s something else.” Over the next weeks, Hans watched the cafeteria system.
He realized it wasn’t chaos.
It was a different kind of order.
Everyone got the same.
Everyone could have more if they wanted.
No one went hungry while others got fat.
It was the opposite of what he’d been taught.
But it worked.
More than that, it did something to the prisoners.
They started to relax, to remember they were human.
Men who’d been hardened soldiers started talking about their families during meals, sharing food, laughing.
By October, even Carl was going back for seconds.
He didn’t mention it, just did it quietly.
Hans didn’t say anything, just nodded when he saw him in line.
One day, Hans ended up next to an American guard in the cafeteria line, the same private who’d served him that first day.
They stood side by side, both getting food from the same place.
“Why do you do this?” Hans asked in his limited English.
feed us same as you?” The American thought about it because being hungry sucks, man.
War is bad enough.
Why make it worse? Hans had no response to that.
In the Vermacht, suffering was the point.
Sometimes it built character.
It maintained hierarchy.
But maybe, he thought, maybe there’s a different way.
In December, Hans’s camp got new prisoners fresh from Europe.
They walked into the cafeteria and laughed just like Hans had.
“Look at this American nonsense,” they said.
“Cafeteria for prisoners, no discipline.” Hans didn’t laugh with them.
He just ate his food.
And when he finished, he got up for seconds in front of them all.
No shame anymore.
One of the new prisoners.
