Four Meetings, One Lifelong Friendship: A Tribute to Arnold

When I was sixteen, I boarded a plane as a student ambassador with People to People, bound for seven countries in Europe. I had no idea that a twist of fate in Austria would introduce me to someone who would become one of my dearest lifelong friends.

Austria was the sixth stop on our journey. Each student was assigned a homestay family, but due to a death in the family, my original hosts had to leave town. I was reassigned to the Dunst family—a warm, welcoming household with three children and parents who spoke virtually no English. The kids spoke some English, and I spoke no German. My trusty Berlitz English-German dictionary became my lifeline. (This was 1988—no cell phones, no Google Translate.)

Enter Arnold. (Yes, introduced like Arnold Schwarzenegger.) He was a friend of the oldest Dunst son—adorable, funny, and instantly easy to be around. We clicked. We rode bikes along the river, hung out with his friends, practiced each other’s languages, and maybe even flirted a little, as awkward teenagers do. He was my touchstone that week, but he became so much more.

When it came time to say goodbye, I didn’t know if I’d ever see him again. But when I returned home, there was an airmail letter waiting for me—from Arnold. I was overjoyed. Thus began a beautiful penpalship that would span decades.

In college, I studied German (inspired, of course, by Arnold), while he completed his mandatory military service. My German professor, Dr. Griffith was a wonderful man with an irreverent sense of humor, who would knock his glasses off his head and fall to the ground whenever I tossed an old high school Spanish word into my German with my thick east Tennessee accent. I was a good student, but he suggested that if I truly wanted to master the language, I needed to immerse myself in the culture and become a local. Taking his advice to heart, I set off for Salzburg, ready to trade textbooks for cobblestone streets, cafe conversations, and the rhythm of everyday life in Mozart's city, where learning German meant living it.

When I arrived at the University of Salzburg in the summer of 1992, a faxed letter from Arnold was waiting for me. That summer, we reunited. I studied during the week, and on weekends, Arnold and I explored castles, toured Vienna, ate Sachertorte, and visited his family. We travelled by train and roamed the countryside and toured the cities, eager to take in every sight and sound. In the brief time we had, we soaked up as much as two young adults possible could, immersing ourselves in the rhythm of the landscapes, the energy of the streets and the fleeting magic of discovery. Arnold drove me to the Munich airport at summer’s end and he gave me a necklace I still treasure. And I remember the airport clerk who check me in complimenting me on my German when I was answering her questions upon check-in. However, much to Dr. Griffith's dismay, even though I returned home with of a greater grasp of German I had picked up a local dialect along the way.

Life moved on. I went to law school, became a lawyer, got married, had a daughter, got divorced. Arnold got a great job in Vienna that allowed him to travel. And still, we wrote.

Years later, I took my mom and ten-year-old daughter on a trip to Italy and Austria. We had only a short time in Vienna, but Arnold made time for us—taking us out for Viennese desserts and meeting the two most important women in my life. It meant the world to me.

As technology evolved, our letters turned into emails. Life continued. Arnold found love. My father passed away. My daughter grew into an extraordinary young woman. And in 2023, she and I finally visited Austria at Christmas—a dream of mine. The Christmas markets were pure magic: twinkling lights, glistening stalls, the scent of roasted chestnuts and glühwein in the air. But what made it unforgettable was having Arnold as our personal tour guide. He gave us his time, his heart, and his joy—helping us heal after the loss of my dad, her Poppa.

Now, in November 2025, I’ve just turned 54. And what made my birthday complete? A message from Arnold. After all these years, and only four in-person meetings, he remains one of my oldest and dearest friends. Our friendship has weathered decades, distance, and change. He helped shape my love of Austria and my passion for travel. He is stitched into the fabric of my life.

I hope he knows how much I treasure our friendship. I hope he feels the same. And I hope—someday—he’ll make the journey to the U.S., so I can return the generosity he’s shown me time and again.

Here’s to Arnold. And to visit number five.