Uncle Sam wants you

Fifteen months earlier … It was a breathtaking feeling, soaring high above the clouds in this enormous metallic bird, flying from one continent to another. As we descended, looking out the window I could see the Statue of Liberty, the symbol for the promised land.

How did that old song go? New York, New York—if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere! In this country, anyone could go from rags to riches. Surely it was worth a try, at least!

Just a couple of hours after we landed, I found myself overwhelmed by the Big Apple. I wandered a few blocks eastward from Times Square to the Empire State Building, up to Rockefeller Center, back to Times Square, and all the way up Broadway. Then I walked eastward again along 54th Street, doubling back to Seventh Avenue, and continued north until I reached Central Park. After intensively comparing the rates at the numerous currency exchange booths on Broadway, I finally chose one and traded my hard-earned 200 Deutschmarks for the princely sum of $57.25.

People here were different than Germans. Friendlier, more talkative, and, above all, more outgoing! People I had never seen before in my life simply asked me—right on the street, or while waiting in line at the currency exchange booth, or even in the middle of Times Square — how my day was, how I was doing, where I was from, or where I was headed.

The sun was setting in the horizon as I began getting tired and sat down on a bench in Central Park. Hendrix, who resembled Bob Marley, joined me. He offered me a joint and gave me a couple of tips for surviving the concrete jungle—in which, he was absolutely convinced, I wouldn’t survive very long without him. He said he was now my brother, I could tell him everything, and he would personally protect me for the next few days. It sounded as though the Godfather of Upper Manhattan was extending a protective hand over me—a most reassuring feeling!

Hendrix advised me to distribute my money by putting $20 into each shoe—that, he said, was the most secure hiding place—while keeping the rest in my left and right jeans pockets. Then he showed me the safest place to sleep in Central Park, one that had a “built-in alarm system.” This consisted of birds that were nesting in a nearby bush and would start shrieking if anyone approached at night. Oh, man, was I glad to have met Hendrix. He was a true pro who was familiar with every angle and really knew his way around.

The next morning, my shoes had disappeared. With all the money, naturally. Two huge globs of bird shit had landed on my jacket. Luckily, there were enough water fountains in the park for me to clean the jacket and freshen myself up a bit. I resolved to apply for a job in a restaurant, more precisely, as a busboy and dishwasher—since in German, we use the expression “from dishwasher to millionaire” to describe the journey from rags to riches.

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