Helen Livingstone

My attention to the CNN channel was interrupted by the distant, but persistant crying of a young child. After three sustained cries, I went out to check. Probably, a child was crying as a mother fumbled with the door key. But, since it was continuing, I thought it better to play it safe. It is never desirable to meddle in the business of others - but I may regret the day I don't do the minimum.

Two doors down, in the middle of the hallway was a three-year old boy. T-shirt. Plastic diapers. The door was oepn and he had the look of a frightened child that has woken in a strange room without mother or father. By all appearances, mom and dad were elsewhere supremely confident in the knowledge that Junior was deep asleep and would not waken. To some parents this might seem an odd conclusion to make since the child was in a strange bed, in a strange room under strange circumstances. When he woke and did not find mother's comfort, he opened the door and entered the hotel hallway.

I am bothered now by my restrained response. In the litiguous world of the US, we are hesitant to reach out - even to children - lest we violate someone's little world. I stood close doing my best with gentle voice and awkward German, "Wo ist deine Mutti?" He was still crying ferociously when Helen Livingstone stepped from the elevator fifteen meters away. I looked and asked if she was the mother. Above the crying I didn't understand the exact words but she communicated 'No' and something about 'American'. She approached and took over the comforting task - in the way that women do when they assume that all men are uncomfortable with crying children. I am not uncomfortable with a crying child and consider myself quite skilled at calming them down when frightened. But, she was determined and I left to call the front desk to explain that 'they' had a problem.

Helen is from Kentucky and a bit abrupt when she has been drinking. Soon a hotel staff member arrived prepared to take over. She knew where the mother was (which struck me as odd) and reached for the child. But, Helen had taken over as defender of this child and was prepared to do battle with the inattentive parent. She demanded to deliver the child herself. They left and I thought it was over.

I was still suffering from jet lag and my body was unwilling to fall asleep. I did my best by snuggling up in bed with all lights out - again watching CNN. Sleep didn't arrive before I heard heavy knocking at the door. Was it the mother? now angry at my meddling? Or, the father ready to "read me the riot act". Peering through the peep hole, I could see it was Helen in an aggressive stance. "Just a minute. I must get dressed." "Oh, I've seen men in their underwear." That may be true but I was in the buff and thought pants and a shirt would be better. "Hold on, I'm coming." More heavy knocking. Finally, I opend the door and their was Helen, silent in her rage. It didn't take long before she was venting her anger at the mother. What I did next is not, generally, a good idea but I thought I'd save the neighbors from a second scene. With a calm voice, I explained that she, in her emotion, was a bit loud and invited her in. With expletives pronounced with a determined Kentucky accent, she communicated that she didn't much care. Finally, to my uneasy relief, she stepped and closed the door.

Normally, I would be uncomfortable with an attractive, drunk, forward stranger in my hotel room at well-past midnight. But, this night, I was not concerned. She walked about the room talking nonstop about this women - treating herself to water, opening the window, laying on my bed, looking over my reading material - as if she was not a visitor but at home. She was, it turned out, at home. She was a resident at the hotel doing some kind of work in Heidelberg.

According the Helen, the parents were in the ballroom with some type of conference when she confronted them publically...loudly, I presume.