For many months before we left, I thought endlessly about our future in America. Ever since we made our final decision to leave the country of our birth and emigrate, I couldn’t stop thinking about our future.
What am I going to do?
How am I going to provide for the family?
How would we survive over there?
I didn’t want to be in the USSR anymore. I knew that. However, my reasoning was mostly ideological. I wanted to be free from the idiotic rules set by the Soviet government and its brainwashed servants. But how that freedom would pay me? Would it? How would my leaving be any good to support myself and my family in the new unknown place?
I knew the others who left before us. I read their letters. Most of them seemed to be very happy. But what if that wasn’t really true? What if the soviet propaganda was at least partially right and those letters from the west were all lies? What if the western world wasn’t that free and the capitalism was evil?
And so we left the country, but my questions were unanswered.
I met an interesting fellow Yuriy, while in Italy, where we lived during the emigration. He was the first russian-speaking American I have ever met.
Doctor of science and art historian from the prestigious Leningrad University he defected during some conference in France and afterwards came to live in New York City.
He worked two jobs. He was a file clerk in the Metropolitan Museum of Art and a security detective in Bloomingdale’s, the famous department store.
During the summer months, he had a side job in Italy as a russian-speaking historical tour-guide. He was the one I learned that the most essential in life is to work and to provide for yourself and the family.
“If you want to have a good living for yourself and your family, you should be ready to work, and work hard.”- said Yuriy.
He explained to me that the unemployed people looked upon with pity. Others were trying to help them to find work until they would be able to do so. He told me that all American newspapers have a special section, called Help Wanted.
P-1
In that section, everyone can find something he can do even without the English language. He told me that life in America will allow me to find work and the reward for that work will be more opportunities to find more work. That was enough for me to set aside some of my worries.
***
On our first days in America, I asked people around to show me that special section in the newspaper, called Help Wanted.
It was a bit irritating for me because other emigrants were laughing about it and told me not to worry.
“Look at him! He didn’t spend a day in the USA and already looking for a job!”- they giggled.
“Don’t worry about work. America will give you a welfare and the food stamps, and you will be taken care of for a while.”- they explained sarcastically.
They showed me white coupons with brown printed words and numbers on them.
Those were the food stamps given to the poor people and meant to be exchanged for groceries in any store.
“Being poor is an enormous privilege in this country” - they told me.
“So, if I will give these papers to the cashier in the store, the cashier would know I am poor and need help?” - I wondered.
“Yes, what is wrong with that?”- they asked.
“I am a young and strong man. I am able to work. I never would accept charity. I would rather die, then use food stamps. It is embarrassing.“- I declared. “This is totally beneath me. Call me naïve or stubborn. Whatever you want... But you better show me the Help Wanted, so I can go and earn the real money!”
My new friends giggled, but showed me the newspaper.
Help Wanted section of the Sunday edition of the Des Moines Register was humongous. It had countless columns of small print apparently advertising the limitless opportunities and possibilities to find work, but all of that was in English and my pocket Russian-English dictionary wasn’t the help I needed to read that. I dropped my hands down in frustration.
It was too complicated. I understood I need some, at least some elementary English language skills to communicate.
P-2
***
As a refugee, we could study English as the second language with the volunteer teachers in the local college.
There was a slight problem, however. There weren’t any other new Russian-speaking refugees, but us. Therefore, Lily and I were assigned to learn with the group of refugees from Laos. After a week of classes, I realized that doing that would give me neither English nor Malaysian language skills. I left school and started to learn on my own. I stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom and talked to myself memorizing more and more English words every day. Once a day I went to the grocery store that was across the street from our apartment building and tried to converse with other customers.
“I am lookin for milk.” - I would approach somebody.
“It would be over there at the end of the third row,”- someone would reply.
A conversation like that would give me a few extra words every day.
After one week of self-study, I was ready to work, or so I thought.
***
Lily and I went looking for a job together. I was the one who was looking, actually. Lily went with me to help because her English was much better than mine.
People told me the easiest job to get would be to wash the dishes in the restaurant. That was what I decided to look for.
There were several restaurants within a few blocks from our apartment.
One of those was the famous McDonald’s. I had all the English words I needed written on a piece of paper and decided that I would start from the best. Bravely I opened the door, and we stepped into the yet unknown to us the world of an American fast-food marketplace. I felt some special meaty smell and soft music was playing in the background. A few customers were at the tables, but the place wasn’t crowded.
“ My name is Aleksander. I am lookin for job.“ - I said loudly in the best way I could. “ Can I see manager. I want fill aplikashen. Dish wash with hand.“ - I was very impressed with my language skills.
The manager was an older lady (as it looked to me at the time), in her 40s. She glanced over at me with obvious curiosity and said something too fast and too complicated for me to understand. I only cut one word she repeated several times, ‘the disposable’.
P-3
“What can it be?” - I thought.
I had a dictionary with me but didn’t have time to look. Lily didn’t know that word either.
“Ken ay feel ze aplikashen?” - I repeated a very well memorized phrase.
“You sure can” - lady manager replied and smiled. Her smile was as big as one on the large clown’s face that was in front of the restaurant.
“Why do they smile all the time, the Americans? Is theirs life is always so happy?” - I thought, picking up a three-page long application form from the counter.
We sat down at the table and started the application process.
The first part was straightforward, the name, the address, the day of birth. Then the hard part began.
The race. Why do they need to know my race? And what is my race? I am a Jew, but it’s not a race.
I didn’t know what to choose. White or Others. White sounded kinda racist to me. Any description of the person by the color of his skin I understood as racist, so I marked ‘Other’ and noted ‘Jewish’ on the side.
Then it was a part to list my education and experience. I was proud of it and listed all of my educational art, acting, scientific, and engineering credentials. That took some time, a long time, about 45 minutes, I think.
Finally, the application was completed, and I proudly put it on the counter in front of the manager.
She smiled again, put glasses on, and read,
“Industrial applications of the theoretical study of the equilibrium and non-equilibrium thermodynamics in the process of a continuous flux of energy from one state of systematic matter to another.”- What the hell is it?- she asked.
“It’s my engineering degree, but my diploma project specialty was totally different. It was involved in computer modeling of the loop chain network of...”,
- “You stop right now!”- She interrupted me. - I am sorry to tell you, but you are overqualified."- and she handed me back all my paperwork.
P-4
- “Thant you,” I said politely and turn to Lily asking, “Do you know what overqualified means?”
- “I do not,”- she replied...
And we quietly left the restaurant. I knew that something went wrong, but I couldn’t tell what it was.
“You know the first pancake is always dud, the second one will be much better,” - I said optimistically. “ I’ve seen another restaurant two blocks from here. Let’s do that one.
Lily was tired and disappointed.
-“All people told us it would be too early for us. We can continue going to school, study English and get food-stamps like everybody else. Why you always wanted to be so different!”- she said with frustration.
-“Okay, maybe you are right. I will not argue. But let me check that one place. I really got a very good feeling about it. From the street it looked so friendly,” - I asked her almost beggingly.
“Okay, just one and that would be all,” she agreed.
The place I noticed the other day, was very shiny and sparkled with lights. The name of the place was “Showbiz Pizza Place”.
It was a popular 1970s and 80s family restaurant and arcade. It was famous for an animatronic stage show performed every 15 minutes in different rooms. Atari controlled animatronic figurines were life size creatures dressed like favorite cartoon characters and famous musicians. We of course didn’t know all of that. I just noticed a shiny sign, and it attracted me.
It was really hot outside. We walked for a couple of blocks and got tired. We decided I would go inside by myself. It was enough worries for Lily for the first day. She sat at the bench outside and I bravely opened another door to the unknown. That place wasn’t a McDonald’s, not at all.
It was noisy, crowded with children running around everywhere. It took a little while for me to find the manager. He was really busy, but gave me the paperwork and showed me to the big empty room on the side of the crowded center hall. I sat at the table and started to write. The room had a very dim light, and it was really difficult for me even to see the lines.
I was about to go to a different place with the better light, but suddenly one of the walls opened up, the round stage rolled forward and in the shine lights of the stage projectors I saw the miracle. There was The Beatles in front of me. John, Paul, George, and Ringo. The music and lights blasted into my face. “Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you...”,
It sounded so real!
P-5
I was astounded. I was ready to see miracles in America, but that was over and above all of my expectations!
I ran outside to share my sudden discovery with Lily. I felt so, so lucky! I couldn't believe it. Here in the middle of the country and with no special announcements were the Beatles!
Wow, I was the luckiest man on earth.
Lily wasn’t at the bench I left her. She wandered out, looking at the store windows. I cut up with her quickly.
“Let’s go, let’s go now. You not going to believe me! I have seen the Beatles!” - I was giggling and slurping from excitement, trying to catch the gulp of air, like a fish that jumped out of the water not realizing that it's not for it to do.
"Are you okay?” - Lily asked me with the obvious concern in her voice. – “It was a very long day for us. You look kinda strange. Maybe it is the time for us just to go home."
“You just don’t understand. These were the Beatles! It’s been fantastic, but I left to get you. Please, let’s come together and I’ll show you. They are standing there, whoa..., and my heart went “boom” and I crossed the room and I ran to get you... You just don’t understand..." - I didn’t even realize that I was talking with the English words from the songs of the Beatles. Words the meaning of which I only could have guessed.
“Are you alright?”- Lily looked at me with fear." I’ll go with you, but please afterwords, let’s go home."
And so we went.
The big room on the side of the crowded center hall was empty. No stage, no music, no lights. All of my application paperwork was at the very table that I sat before. I looked lost. I felt like I’ve just seen a UFO and nobody wanted to believe me.
“So, where are your Beatles?”- Lily asked, smiling.
“I am ready to go home now.” - I replied and went toward the exit.
P-6
But suddenly the music and lights burst the air. The wall opened up. The rounded stage rolled out of the wall. There were four musicians on the stage. Billy Bob, dog, gorilla, and cat. The music was there, but the Beatles was not.
“That what you called the Beatles,”- Lily asked laughing. “You are exhausted, are you?.."
I didn’t reply. I understood it wasn’t for me, and we went home silently.
On the street corner next to our apartment building was a service station with the big black and white sign “Fix Flats”. I noticed the piece of paper at the window. Help Wanted, was handwritten on it.
“I’m going to ask”,- I whispered,
“ I’m going home.” - she replied.
“Ken ay feel ze aplikashen?” - I bravely approached a huge, heavy-built man who was working inside the garage.
He looked at me, wondering, - what the heck that guy wants?
“I vant halp vanted ,” - I said boldly and added- “Aplikashen to feel.”
“Do you know what this is?” - The man showed me a lug wrench.
I actually knew what it was. Bask in Riga, a neighbor of mine had a car called Zaporozhec. ( You can read about it in my story About the car-part one) I helped him to change a flat tire, and he had a very similar wrench.
“I nov vot zis is”- I replied.
“Can you start tomorrow? I’ll pay you ten bucks a day and no application needed,”- Man smiled and offered me a friendly handshake.
I was on top of the world.
I ran home as fast as I could to share the wonderful news with everyone.
“I don’t need food stamps! I have a job! Didn’t I tell you, that I can do that!”
I worked really hard every day. I was taking tires down from the upcoming cars and the man-manager was fixing the flats. A few days later somebody told Lily’s father that the County hospital needs a housekeeper.
P-7
I remembered what my first American friend in Italy told me: “In America, the major reward for work will be more opportunities to find a better work.”
I was inspired and went to the interview.
The interview this time was professionally organized. They arranged it in a nice business-like office in a huge hospital building in downtown. They asked me for an American driver’s license, social security card, and a government-issued form of permission to work in the USA.
I understood that if quality, I would become a floor operator and get $3,35 per hour. That was 25 cents more than the minimum wage at the time. That would be fantastic!
All I needed to do is to get through the interview with my future boss.
***
My future boss’s appearance reminded me of the image of Angela Davis, instantly. He had her hairstyle and built kinda like her.(Angela Davis was very popular in the USSR. She was an American communist and because of that was presented to soviet people as a hero)
“We’ll definitely work together well,” - I thought immediately to myself. I was instantly attracted to people of color. I felt closer to them than to the whites.
We met in the great hall, and he showed me an electric device standing in the corner.
Frankly, I’ve never seen one like it. The base of this unit was like a motorcycle wheel lying on the floor, but without spokes. That wheel had two pedals at the bottom and a long stick ending up in a bicycle handlebar. My brain worked fast trying to realize what that thing was designed to do.
“Can you work with that?” - The boss asked me and pointed his finger to that incomprehensible device.
“Of course,”- I replied in the best of my English, and I smiled broadly. That was my best American-style smile because I knew Americans are all smiling all the time.
“Show me,” - the boss said, and I began to doubt the prospect of my professional future as a floor operator.
I hesitated, to myself, but did not want to show that. Therefore I confidently stepped toward the device, boldly took it by the handlebar, and pressed the pedal. The device growled, shook, and suddenly leaped to the side, taking me with it.
P-8
- I’m flying! Almost Tarkovsky-like flying, I thought to myself again. (Tarkovsky was a Soviet film director known for his surrealistic images. His work was suppressed and forbidden in USSR)
I don’t know how that happened, but I did a very graceful pirouette and stopped right in front of the boss.
***
The boss very quickly pronounced many incomprehensible words in English, among which I caught similarity to possibly my mother and his God, but I could not connect those meanings.
“Ai joke,”- I said, balancing my weight from one foot to the other and smiling broadly in the hope of a positive outcome.
The boss was silent, and I couldn’t read anything in his eyes.
“He is probably thinking what to do with me,”- I thought to myself.
“Ai joke,” - I said again, and in my now very confident English, I added,-
“Russian like driving fast...”
That time, it was the boss’s turn to understand only one word of everything I had so confidently said: “Russian.”
Now it was he who smiled broadly, shook his head, mentioned something about mother again, and explained that he would absolutely and definitely hire the Russian to work.
“Actually, I’m not really Russian...,”- I began to explain, but fortunately my vocabulary was not large enough for a full explanation and I was hired to work in the night housekeeping brigade.
There were four of us in the brigade - the foreman, the Chinese refugee, the flirtatious American woman, and me.
In the brigade, everything was in balance. The foreman and the flirtatious woman spoke English, but the Chinese refugee and I did not. The foreman treated me well. Every night he called me aside. Then the two of us would go to the dining room. He would present me with ice cream from the vending machine, to which he had a special key in a secret place. He called me “my favorite russki” and then we went for a smoke. I realized at once that he was very poor. In my opinion, he did not have enough money to purchase real cigarettes and so he deftly twisted his personal smokes, squatting in the corner. These hand-made cigarettes he smoked to the very end, delicately, so as not to lose a single crumb of precious tobacco.He called it the weed. I didn’t know what it was.
P-9
“ He is extremely thrifty!”- I thought foolishly,- “Yes thrifty, poor and kind.” - after all, several times he offered me to smoke with him from the same cigarette.
I refused, as it was awkward for me. I wasn’t accustomed to that type of share. In response, I gave him my cigarettes from an old package of the Riga’s “Elite”.
A flirtatious woman worked with us for half the work time only. By midnight, she was getting ready for her second job. For that, she wore a lot of makeups and a red leather mini-skirt, a T-shirt with stripes, and shiny red shoes on a high platform. She looked awesome! I understood that she did some work with the people ... probably in some hotel. Maybe she was performing some administrative work. I wasn’t sure about the details and actually, I wasn’t interested.
The Chinese fellow wasn’t saying anything, just worked in silence and grumbled under his breath as he performed the next task of our foreman. Therefore, it was not interesting talking to him.
Time passed quickly. I perfectly mastered the handlebar control of the floor buffer machine. It began to obey my hand and stopped throwing me around the room unwittingly as before. My vocabulary has grown tremendously and has finally given me some minimal opportunity to explain myself and understand other people’s conversations. I started to talk with the nurses sometimes, and even with the doctors if they didn’t mind.
***
One day, one of the nurses became interested in me.
Of course, my personality stood up among the usual night time housekeepers of the hospital. I was distinguished by the complete absence of any tan and a huge bush of black hair. That hair from time to time was falling over my face, already covered with a horseshoe of a thick black mustache. Especially from a distance, I did not fit any well-known stereotype of a non-English speaking nationalities.
The nurse who got interested in me worked in the department for mentally disturbed patients and therefore was professionally prepared for any trick of fate concerning the communication with me.
She greeted me politely, and to my undisguised delight, we had a real, lively conversation.
P-10
“What is your native language?” - she asked
“Russian,”- I replied.
“So you’re Russian?”
“Oh, no. No, I’m a Jew.”
“How wonderful, then you must be from Israel.”
“No, I’m from Latvia.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of that place. Is that where Lithuania is?”
“Yes, almost. It is near.”
“So you were born there, in Latvia?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then you’re Latvian.”
“No, I’m Jewish.”
“So you speak Hebrew?”
“No, I speak Russian.”
“... and Latvian? You do speak Latvian, right?”
“I understand well, but I don’t speak very well. My native language is Russian.”
“Then you are Russian.”
“No,” I said, with obvious displeasure.
My interviewer went silent for a couple of seconds. It seemed as she turned over in her mind all the possible options for my nationality. Then suddenly she exclaimed.
As if for herself she did not expect the conclusion that so unexpectedly appeared in her head, -
“So you are..., so you are a real American! This is your real nationality!”, she said.
P-11
She looked at me smiling and continued, “We are all like you together in our country. We all, or our ancestors, came to this country at one time or another.” She spoke slowly, trying to be sure that I understood, and to my surprise I did.
“ Let me show you something,” she said and got the little coin out of her purse. It was a dime.
“Can you read this little writing,” she asked.
“E Pluribus Unum...’ I read slowly.
“Do you know what it means in Latin?” she questioned.
“Not really...”
“This is our American motto: Out of many to one. Out of many to one...”
“Out of many to one”, - I repeated slowly and suddenly I understood.
***
I stared at her with my widely opened eyes. The eyes that no longer saw that her entire silhouette clearly. It was blurring because of the unknown phlegm that hung on my eyelashes. I was crying. It made me feel somewhat uncomfortable. But a rush of joy brought me out of it. I grabbed my companion’s hand and shook it with an expression of indescribable gratitude.
I suddenly realized what America was. I realized what am I was doing in this country. Of course, I just guessed that back then. The real understanding came later, much later...
The nurse was also delighted, but her delight was somewhat more restrained. She couldn’t even imagine that at that moment she was my personal Columbus and George Washington all rolled into one, let alone Abraham Lincoln.
That night, my work was unusually easy. I joked boldly with the flirtatious woman, sparing no compliments for her red leather skirt. I winked at the silent Chinaman. And even the ice cream stolen by the foreman for me (and I already knew that it was stolen) was sweeter and tastier than usual.
P-12
And then, I treated the foreman to a cigarette from the pack of my Elite from Riga. And I told him that he always can count on me and doesn’t need to roll his cigarettes. And we smoked together, taking equally deep drags of the thick tobacco smoke of my Latvian cigarettes. I taught him how to make tobacco rings and he liked it. We looked at each other with the same smile. We were the same, linked by the same name.
We were Americans.
I got home, as usual, about two in the morning. Lily and Mark had been asleep for a long time, not even knowing about the revelation that had suddenly opened up to me. Of course, I decided not to disturb them, and laid in bed for a long time, almost until dawn, thinking about our upcoming life in this amazing country.
Time has passed, I got a new job. I was hired as a drafting technician to a large and well-known company. Despite the new job, I did not leave the hospital and continued to work in both places. We had big plans, for the implementation of which, we needed more money and more opportunities.
Over 40 years passed from the time that story happened. I had many jobs, many positions. I work for many different companies including my own. We were up and we were down, but I always remembered the simple American motto: E Pluribus Unum. The motto was revealed to me by the friendly nurse who wasn’t afraid to get an interest in my so unusual personality.
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