C-54 plane landing at Berlin Tempelhof 1948
USAF, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:C-54_landing_at_Tempelhof_1948.jpg
After WWII, Berlin was divided between the four victorious powers (UK, US, Russia and France), but the city itself lay deep inside the Soviet zone. In June 1948, the Western allies introduced a new currency — the Deutsch Mark — in their Western zones to stabilise the collapsing economy.
When the currency reform reached West Berlin, the Soviets saw it as a challenge and sealed every road, rail line and canal. More than two million people in West Berlin were suddenly cut off from food, fuel, and medical supplies.
The Allies now faced a stark choice. Abandon Berlin or try the impossible by attempting to supply a whole city by air.
And so, the Berlin Airlift began.
https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/6/67/BerlinerBlockadeLuftwege.png
The airbridge was organised with almost impossible precision. Day and night, a plane landed every three minutes with food, medicine, coal, and other essentials. Remarkably, more than 275,000 flights kept the West Berliners alive during the fifteen-month blockade.
To achieve this feat, the US and UK armies needed a huge number of pilots. One of them was Gail Halvorsen. Born in October 1920 and raised in rural Utah, he had always wanted to fly. After earning his private pilot’s licence in 1941, he joined the United States Army Air Forces the following year. In July 1948, he was assigned to Germany to participate in the Airlift.
After one of his flights, Gail noticed a small group of German children standing quietly behind the fence at Tempelhof airfield, some in thin summer shoes, all watching the endless stream of planes with a mixture of curiosity and hope. He walked over and asked if they wanted some sweets.
The children didn’t answer … probably too shy to speak to a soldier from a former enemy nation. But when he handed them two sticks of Wrigley’s chewing gum, he watched as they carefully divided them into many tiny pieces to share among themselves. The smiles that appeared on their chewing faces made something in Gail shift.
He told the children he would return the next day and drop candy and chocolate for them. One boy asked, “How will we know which plane is yours?” Gail replied instantly. “I’ll wiggle my wings.” That made the children laugh. A small, unexpected friendship had begun.
Back at the base, Gail and a few friends started tying small pieces of chocolate to little parachutes they sewed from handkerchiefs and napkins (see following picture):
Gail Halvorsen
See page for author, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Gail-halvorsen-wiggly-wings.jpg
The next day, as he approached Tempelhof, he wiggled his wings, opened a small hatch and dropped the bundles. They floated gently down into the hands of the waiting children.
You might wonder why he didn’t simply hand the sweets to the children on the ground. The answer is simple. The airlift was a precisely timed operation. Planes landed and took off almost constantly, with barely a minute to spare. Stopping to hand out candy was impossible. The tiny parachutes were his solution, a simple idea with a surprisingly big impact.
Other pilots joined in, but Gail stood out and soon became known affectionately as “Uncle Wiggly Wings.” Eventually newspapers discovered the story, and the articles spread quickly. Halvorsen’s superiors realised what he was doing and the wonderful PR opportunity it offered.
Chocolate and candy donations soon poured in from across the United States. What began as a small, private gesture quickly grew into an international effort to bring joy to the children of West Berlin. It is estimated that around 23 tons of sweets floated down on tiny parachutes into the hands — and bellies — of Berlin’s children.
Historians later wrote that Halvorsen gave the airlift a human face. In the early days of the Cold War, his simple gesture showed that kindness could travel further than politics — inspiring Americans to send chocolate to children who, only a few years earlier, had been seen as the enemy.
One man’s small act of kindness did not end the Cold War, but it softened hearts on both sides. It built a bridge of its own, one made not of steel or concrete but of handkerchiefs, chocolate and hope.
Photo by Jamie Street on Unsplash
As we approach the Christmas season, I wonder what small gestures we all might make in our own lives. We don’t need to sew chocolate bars to little parachutes. Maybe it’s simply spending real time with our families, letting go of old grudges, or offering a kind word where it is least expected. Perhaps we can all wiggle our wings a little in our own way.
I wish you and your loved ones a wonderful festive season with quiet moments, warm conversations and, of course, some chocolate. And when you unwrap a piece, you might remember the Candy Bomber Gail Halvorsen and consider which bridges you want to build this and next year.
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year,
Joerg
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