Paradise…
2002
An American
experience
Karl R.
Lechten 2002
Born during WWII, and raised
in postwar Germany, I remember only too well the hardships we endured.
Scrounging food, walking railroad tracks with a shopping bag in hope of finding
coal that may afford us to
cook on a stove, as well as getting through another winter day in
reasonable comfort.
We were lucky, compared to
some kids who during freezing cold weather and snow rummaged through our trash
containers for anything useful. I remember clearly standing by the window
and observing a young boy working his
way to the bottom of one.
Even from a second floor
window the kid's skin appeared blue from the cold, and my mother went outside to
take him into the house.
She told him to sit on the
kitchen chair and take off his shoes and socks while heating a bucket of water to defrost his
feet.
She also also
managed to find some edibles in a near-empty cupboard to fix a
sandwich covered with GRIEBENSCHMALZ (lard from tallow or cracklings, enriched with onions
and apples),
and I later gave him my sweater because this kid needed it more than
I did.
Yes, we did get by,
though I can't remember just how.
It was also a time
-growing up in a seaport city where my fantasies invariably would wander,
stimulated by huge black and white freighters with
red smoke stacks and large - clearly visible- white letters such as: LYKES LINES
along the hull. Yes, those letters meant something, PARADISE
America!!! Land
where streets are paved with gold.
It was understood
that in America it was possible for a dishwasher to become a
millionaire.
To me it was clear,
I had to get there, the sooner, the better… even if I was only 8
years old.
I studied an old
map of the world, and at night -under the sheets- I planned my
escape. I would walk due west across the Weser River, just keep on
going, always straight ahead. The path would take me to the Dutch
coast, from where it should be easy to cross the English Channel and
make my way to the West of England.
Why the West of
England?
I would be able to
walk as near to the Atlantic Coast as
possible.
The Atlantic,
almost halfway there, the closest I could walk on my way to
America.
From there, I could
stow away on a freighter.
A kid's fantasy to
be sure, yet it came
true…eventually.
After schooling and
completing an apprenticeship in Germany, I was on my way.
First to South
Wales, the United Kingdom's West Coast, where a job was waiting for
me.
My # 1
priority?
Master
the English language by studying daily newspapers along with a dictionary, one
word at a time, spelling it out...over and over again. Going to sleep with, and
waking next morning, spelling it out again.. first thing!
Eventually,
America
Not as a stow-away of course,
but rather by PAN AMERICAN AIRWAYS.
In any case, little was I
prepared for what paradise holds in store for me
then.
Only six months in the New World, I received a draft notice, eventually serving
with the U. S. ARMY in Vietnam.
Ironically,
it was comprehension of the English language that enabled me to re-enlist,
joining Army-Aviation and the vanguard, the first 'Cobra' Attack Helicopter Gun-ships
company in Vietnam) which demanded I have a U.S. Government Security Clearance;
yet my application for U.S. Citizenship was denied.
Here is a
German citizen in the UNITED STATES ARMY, serving in Viet Nam.
Marrying a teacher from Wales,
UK six weeks prior to overseas duty (she originally attended the University of
Wisconsin) did little to enhance
the situation since neither of us had family or other ties to the United States;
yet it was plenty of reason for me to return to the 'WORLD' alive.
Yes, we got through
it all….
After separation from military
service I finally got a chance to live and
experience America.
What a
trip!!!
It was a time when gas prices were
disgustingly low and a pack of cigarettes cost only $.27 cents. Cadillac's
and Chevy's still had fins, and postage to Europe was embarrassingly
affordable. McDonalds had just introduced the Big Mac and one didn't have
to be politically correct, but took time to
know the neighbors.
We opened a very
successful business, eventually two, then three, and finally
four.
Raised three
American born kids, college and all, but after more than two decades,
micro-managing and employee stress was the reason to quit, sell out,
and move on.
I wrote,
photographed and published a multi-lingual, hardcover, coffee-table
type book as one can do only in America….
Successfully!
Thereafter I developed electronics, then turned my attention to a
profession many individuals only dream of, that of a
Plattner.
Here was a skill so
rare, its been said that no one in 500 years has been able to
duplicate the quality and craftsmanship of the original masters, this
alone was reason enough to try it.
This is America,
and it 'can' be done. After all, Old Masters worked under far
more primitive circumstances.
Finally, after more
than a dozen years, I've done it, there is no place else to go. I've
reached my personal best, inspired by that typical American 'CAN DO'
attitude. I have become an internationally appreciated plattner -
artist and etcher.
Along the way I
acquired several other professions and skills with help from the G.I.
Bill and a reminder of my military
service.
Hitting age 59, one
should think I haven't done too bad for myself, especially since
retirement lurks on the horizon, though I'm far too young to even
consider it.
The fact is, I
haven't even decided just what I want to be when I grow up.
Then, suddenly it happened.
I don't have a
choice, because the country I thought of as paradise has made that
decision for me.
Oh sure, it's
against the law…but it happens every day and so flagrantly, it's
been written about in daily newspapers and featured on Network
Television News, even practiced by city governments I have come into
contact with.
Yet it prevails and
is rampant.
Its called: AGE
DISCRIMINATION.
Then again, its
funny really, I already came across it when I was 50, I just didn't
pay much attention then, trusting it was just a rough spot along the
'Road of Life'.
Of course, I know
better now, because that experience was only the beginning. It
compares much with traveling an Interstate Highway, then being
diverted onto a county road, and finally ending up
at 'Three Sisters' in Monument Valley
(Arizona/Utah-
for anyone not familiar with it).
All indications
show that I have reached the 'Three Sisters' destination without ever
considering a shortcut on my way to the
Coast.
I'm stuck not
unlike a ship run aground on a sandbank, and in spite of my calls, no
one throws a tow to pull me free.
The ocean's surface
is calm and gives every impression of paradise, yet below the
surface…nobody knows what's
lurking.
Going down in a
blaze of glory is what I would have wanted,
but even
my wildest dreams
could not have imagined getting buried
alive,
gradually,
surely...on a sandbank.
It's waiting for
you too…and be assured, if you ever get there, some day,
gradually, slowly…
The most profound
experience ?
After returning home from Viet Nam at the Madison airport
(1969),
I couldn't get a taxi cab because I was in uniform,
...today ???
I can't even get
a work permit for my European business partners / part-owners of this
American company
(www.rattan-galleryusa.com),
to apply their much needed expertise in Madison and built a company
that benefits the American workforce, unless they hold a NOBEL PRICE
or invest a MILLION $$$ - 9/11..HOME SECURITY ACT
...but this government does
convey legal status upon
'Illegals' from south
of the border
(Re: Dallas Morning
News)
WELCOME home
(click)
1968 Gunrunners - First with AH-1G 'COBRA' Gunships
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