Immigration

A part of my French passport, showing my picture and description. It was issued in Switzerland just before I returned to France and then went on to Le Havre with my father to board the ship to the United States.



There are pictures, which were never taken, which live only in our mind’s eye. For me, the most memorable of those imaginary films is the one of a ship, the SS Uruguay sailing into New York harbor on a June day in 1946. My father points out the Statue of Liberty, welcoming us to the United States, as our tugs maneuver us toward our pier along the East River. From very early in the morning, we, along with many of the other 350 displaced persons coming to America, have been stationed at the ship’s rail to catch the very first sight of our “new world.” My father then explains to me that the Statue of Liberty was a gift from the people of France, and I immediately feel assured that this ally of France will welcome me, a French citizen. Soon the ship docks at our pier. From our spot at the rail, we can see a crowd down below. People are waving and shouting as they recognize family members. All of a sudden, my father spots his two brothers, Otto and Hugo, who have come to meet us. He waves frantically, all the while trying to explain to me where they are standing in that huge crowd of people. Since I have never seen either of these uncles before, I am of course unable to pick them out. Eventually it is our turn to descend the steeply sloping gangplank. When we reach the end we finally step onto American concrete. We are immediately herded between rows of tall white wooden barricades. The people who have come to meet the ship crowd along the other side of the barrier. Eventually my father spots Otto and Hugo and they clasp hands across the wooden rail. Then we are pushed along with the crowd to pass through customs. There is a long, heart-stopping moment while our customs inspector carefully looks over our papers, our passports and visas. Then we have to open our luggage so that they can inspect it. Finally, they decide that we may really enter the United States, and we continue on to meet my father’s brothers. The usually reserved and unemotional adults hug and kiss each other and speak excitedly in German and English. There is so much they have to say to each other after a nine-year separation and a world war. Meantime, I stand beside my father not understanding anything. Finally they turn to me and try to speak French for my benefit, but neither uncle speaks it very well. All of a sudden, I realize that I am in a country where no one can understand me, abandoned with a group of strangers I don’t know. At that moment, I want to run back to the ship and return to France where the language makes sense and where I have loving relatives.

Setting Up the Totem Pole

A few weeks ago, Perry decided that he wanted to “plant” a hefty tree trunk. He had cut down a large dead tree about a year ago, had salvaged most of it for firewood, burned the slash and then had a lovely thirty foot long trunk left. After skinning off the bark, he had the inspiration to carve it into a totem pole. When our son Andy visited us in March, Perry challenged him to chainsaw a face on the trunk. Actually, Andy carved two faces. Perry then added another. When our son Mike’s family arrived at the end of June, Perry was ready to set the heavy tree trunk upright. With his backhoe he dug a hole for it. Then he and Mike chained the top of the totem pole to the backhoe bucket. We sent the two children to sit in chairs some distance away. Tami and Mely stationed themselves at a distance with their digital movie cameras ready to record the historic event. We even convinced Mike to back away from the tree so that it would not crush him if it fell.

Perry started the backhoe, and Tami and I began to film. Slowly the bucket started to rise, pulling the top of the totem pole up with it. Everything seemed to be going all right, until suddenly the little backhoe was overpowered by the weight of the tree. The smaller front wheels came off the ground. We all gasped in horror! For a moment it seemed that the whole backhoe would flip over its large front wheels and crush Perry under it. Somehow, Perry managed to put down the stabilizers and the loader bucket on the other end. Then he was able to lower the tree trunk slowly to the ground. Whew!

Nine Young Men - 2

As I said in my previous entry, my father’s family placed great importance on the family name. When these nine young men were assembled for a family gathering it was entirely fitting that their picture would be taken. They were the hope for the continuation of that name. Girls would marry and lose their name, but boys would marry and have sons. It is interesting to see what actually happened. In the group of three brothers, one died unmarried in World War I. The second married and had a son who died unmarried in World War II. The third moved to Brazil and was disinherited by his father. He died in 1944, leaving two sons who eventually came to the United States. My father had two daughters and his youngest brother had one. His next older brother never had any children, while the fourth brother had two sons. One of those sons has three sons in turn who presently carry on the name. The female descendents meanwhile have children, grandchildren, and even great-grandchildren. Perhaps the women in the family should carry the famous family name!