January 15, 1993, was a cold, pale, snowless winter day, typical for that time of year in the Rhineland around Cologne. It was my sixty-eighth birthday. Our two grandchildren Kirsten and Jens were having lunch with us as they did every weekday; both their parents were working. As so often, Kirsten brought a school friend with her; there was plenty of food. Juliana and James were expected for coffee, so Friedel was in a bit of a hurry. She wanted to drive Kirsten and Jens home and take some lunch to Roy's son, whose mother had died suddenly two years earlier. I waited at home, looking forward to seeing my brother and sister. I was glad to be on my own. Our young grandchildren were always a bit chaotic. And I also had a performance in the evening, which I could now prepare for in peace.

My brother and sister arrived as expected. I made coffee and we waited for Friedel. But she didn't come. Finally the police phoned. Friedel had had a serious accident and been taken to hospital in Cologne-Merheim. The three of us drove straight there. She was lying in a coma in intensive care, with several broken ribs and a broken thumb but apparently no serious internal injuries. The doctors said that they would have to examine her more closely to determine that. Time was pressing for me; I had to get to the Severins-Burgtheater to play Leander in A Midsummer Night's Dream, and I did. My fellow actors had been looking forward to toasting my birthday after the performance. But nothing came of it, because I rushed straight back to my wife's sickbed. The situation was unchanged. I went home and fell into bed exhausted.

On the next morning the doorbell rang. A young man was standing at the door and asked whether I knew that a private TV company had been filming after my wife's accident. They wanted to sell the footage for a report on the rescue work of the fire brigade. The program was going to be broadcast by WDR in the next few days, with names and details.