Archive: Der Burgermeister says "Auf Wiedersehen"

Editor's note: This story was originally published in The Virginian-Pilot in 2002

ROBERTA T. VOWELL

THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT

The Burgermeister has left the Festhaus.

After 27 years of leading the Oktoberfest sing-along at Busch Gardens, Bob Bauman hung up his lederhosen. More than 18,000 shows. Thousands of polkas. Millions of hoists of the beer stein and kazillions of winks to coax bashful smiles from cranky toddlers.

``I'm going to quote here from General MacArthur's speech to Congress,' Bauman said Thursday from his familiar spot on the Oktoberfest bandstand. ``Old burgermeisters never die. They just fade away.

``Auf Wiedersehen.'

Bauman is 87, and he wasn't a youngster when he started his second life as Burgermeister. He was 60 then, a retired Army man who learned his German - and accompanying German drinking songs - while stationed there after fighting Hitler's armies in World War II.

Still, he showed up for an audition at Busch Gardens in the fall of 1974.

``It was a sea of mud,' Bauman said. ``Paint, lumber. But I saw what a beautiful place this would be, with the sun peeking through the autumn leaves.'

Bauman quickly became a fixture at the park, singing ``Edelweiss' on request, smiling for pictures with sunburned tourists and living up to the title of burgermeister - German for a village mayor. At one time, he even had a fan club with 200 members.

Bauman sang through last season. ``I didn't think I'd make it through,' he confided. When he announced his retirement, the park decided to honor him on the anniversary of the day the park opened and the Burgermeister was born - May 16, 1975.

``I'd like to give you a financial report,' Bauman told his Festhaus audience, the twinkle in his blue eyes shining through the darkened room. ``I could fill a book with the comments guests have made about my pay. One man said, `You're worth a million bucks to Busch.' '

He paused for the expected laugh.

``Another said, `They must pay you $100,000 a year.' '

The Festhaus dancers and musicians cracked up.

``And my favorite . . .'

The Burgermeister stood silent for a long, long minute. ``Oh, I'll think of it in a minute.'

Another long pause, then he looked out to the audience, chin high.

``My favorite, `We don't know how much Busch pays you, but whatever it is, it's not enough.' '

To the Budweiser theme - with an oompah beat - the Burgermeister strode from the Festhaus.

Outside, he smiled as cameras rolled, a dapper figure in a Tyrolean-style suit of fine gray wool with velvet lapels, pewter buttons and a cherry-red tie. Not that he doesn't love the suede shorts that saw him through 27 summers.

``Proper lederhosen,' Bauman said, ``are always five sizes too big, so the air circulates around all the time. You're never warm. And you can grow into them.'

On his plans for the future:

``I'm going home,' he said. ``Back to Germany.'

But wait, isn't Bauman a native of Pennsylvania, and noted for decades of poker games at his Seaford home?

``We have a farm in Germany,' Bauman continued, straight-faced. ``We raise cattle, sheep and bulls. The best bulls in Germany.

``In fact, we are known as the biggest bullshippers in Germany.'

Rim-shot, please.

As the Oktoberfest show cranked into the first verse of ``Ein Prosit,' Bauman lingered behind the building for cake and wisecracks. He sobered for a moment with Linda Cuddihy. She was a choreographer back in '74, when she hired Bauman, and is now vice president for entertainment.

``I got tongue-tied up there,' he said sadly, holding her close. ``I really wanted to get that line out.'

Cuddihy brushed at her eyes.

``We'll continue the Festhaus, and Oktoberfest,' she said. ``But we are not hiring another Burgermeister. We couldn't replace Bob Bauman.'

Reach Roberta T. Vowell at 446-2327 or rvowell(AT)pilotonline.com