At sunset, we took off from Frankfurt and flew into the long night. After a brief stop in Iceland, we entered by midmorning the frozen lakes and ice capped summits of Newfoundland, crossed the wide open mouth of St. Laurence Bay, and swayed through the wind-whipped northern states of the U.S.A.. Strains of rain clouded the picture over New York which was not delightful anyway for the spoiled eyes of a European newcomer. At least the swamps and rundown houses we flew over were not, and in particular, the ugly emergency ladders outside the apartments shattered the high expectations regarding the metropolis. The first impression thus was disturbing and did not become better when Fritz, our sponsor, picked us up at the airport in a dirty car with splintered windows. He drove us to his shabby cabin in Middletown, Connecticut, and I will never forget the disappointment as we entered the shack which was filthy beyond belief. What a beginning on the sacred soil of America, God’s own land. Our feelings were not unlike those of many pioneers before us who had to start on level zero. Fritz was a hard-boiled bachelor not much concerned with dirt, but had a caring soul and was trying to be helpful in any possible way. He gave us good advice, showed us the neighborhood, and acquainted us with the pretty countryside of the state. It was wonderful, no doubt. However, we did not come over here for a vacation. Our funds were exhausted and we could not afford to sit around and wait for a miracle. Thus, I asked Fritz after the first week to bring us down to New York, where I felt we had better job opportunities and public transportation also. The housing agency I contacted rented us a four-room flat apartment in the Bronx. There were no inside doors nor heating facilities except a small kerosene stove in the kitchen. The place was terribly noisy and just 20 feet from the subway, which every 10 minutes shook the whole house with thunderous rumbling. For that uncomfortable habitat, I had to shell out 2 monthly payments in advance and sign an affidavit to stay in that cave for 2 years. A depressing situation. In Germany, we had a neat suite, a car, and elegant furniture of the best Indian wood which had to be given away for pennies. Here in New York, we had nothing, not even a bed. We slept on the floor and huddled together in the kitchen closed with a bed sheet to keep the heat in.
“Finally, Felix had an excellent idea. “Our life is so dull. Let’s go out and buy a radio,”
The Society of German Friends procured a job for us in a furniture factory. The workforce consisted exclusively of Puerto Ricans and other poor emigrants. Every morning Moock, Felix, and I rushed downtown, through the Holland Tunnel to Hoboken, and worked all day long for a combined weekly pay of not more than $120.00. Our only friends during those miserable days were the sisters of St. Joseph Home nearby. They also arranged Ekkehart’s admittance to the Cardinal Hayes High School where he had a place to stay during our absence and became acquainted with the English language. Two weeks later we celebrated my 50th birthday in our smelly kitchen. I guess it was a Saturday. There was not much fun as we were sitting around brooding and in a dreary mood. Finally, Felix had an excellent idea. “Our life is so dull. Let’s go out and buy a radio,” he suggested. We went immediately and coming back the first sound we heard was from Mozart’s opera “The Magic Flute.” The room suddenly became filled with light, with an electrifying joy, which let us forget the dire circumstances.
Soon after that episode, Moock met a friendly woman, Mrs. Burghart. She and her husband really cared for us and as a first step secured a new apartment one floor below theirs. “Hans, I have signed a 2-year warranty,” I said shyly. “You still think like a European,” he retorted. “Throw the keys into the mailbox and leave.” We followed his advice and moved 2 blocks over. The new apartment had warm water, a well-functioning heating system, and a consoling outlook of the backyard of a Polish church. The first silver lining on the horizon. In spite of some doubts, I never heard anything from the housing agent of our first apartment. As a matter of fact, he was legally not even allowed to rent that apartment at all. But he got the money and was apparently satisfied. Later I saw him once in a while in the church. One of those “good Catholics,” who know exactly how to distinguish between God and business without being bothered inwardly. Not a new phenomenon.
Six weeks had passed since our arrival, and I was still polishing furniture and driving nails into sofas. Glancing once in a while through the window over the Hudson River, great sadness overwhelmed me, and I wondered how I could become entangled with an environment so totally alien. Unskilled and uninterested as I was, I figured the company would not terribly suffer if I quit. And I did just that. On the last day, a heavy piece of steel fell upon my big toe. The factory had its revenge and limping I left the old place. Moock and Felix continued their work, but I started work on 5th Avenue dressed in a black costume with a bow tie as an elevator man. For 8 hours I pushed buttons and traveled up and down in multi-story buildings chatting in a friendly way with the apartment owners, nice families, rich bachelors, and extravagant widows. This work was not exhausting and I had plenty of time to dream of a more intellectually oriented business and better pay, of course. With time progressing the hazy dreams gave gradually way to a clear, energy-loaded vision. And suddenly the vision became reality 3 months later in March 1959. Coming home I found a telegram in the mailbox containing only these few but moving words: “Call me, Anita.” Moock and I ran to the next telephone booth and dialed the indicated number. Anita, Moock’s niece, had quietly and without our knowledge searched for our whereabouts. As the wife of a high school principal she had connections and was determined to pave the way for us. “Come to an interview with Brown Engineering Company,” she said. “Everything is arranged.” My God, what a relief! What a miracle! The first great leap toward a decent life. As mentioned previously, I did not accept blind fate, but rather trusted the stem law of cause and effect which determines through the force of every thought and action the paths of our lives. On each crossroad I noticed a man or woman standing there to lead me into a new turn. That way, I believe, life is woven knot by knot for the purpose of unfolding a picture that we hardly recognize prior to its completion on the last day.
Employed by Brown Engineering Company in Huntsville, Alabama, I was surprised by the confidence my bosses invested in me. Right from the first day on they confronted me with the most difficult stress problems like for instance the Saturn Test Tower or the huge Saturn Rocket Transporter, tasks which made me sweat. On weekends I studied mathematics and engineering in order to grasp the required and so sorely needed craftsmanship. All my efforts, however, would have been fruitless without proper support. At the right time, there was the right man again. His name was Troy Smith, an exceptionally fine person with a master’s degree and many years of engineering experience. He helped me along whenever I got stuck. He instructed me on how to use the tools in solving analytical problems and he proved to be not only a loyal colleague but also a good friend with whom I was professionally and personally in close contact and I still am to this date.
The affiliation with Brown Engineering Company lasted nine months. Due to a lack of contracts, 500 people were laid off by the end of 1959. Shortly before Christmas, I received the pink slip too. A big blow for us. In a frantic search for work, I rushed from company to company torn between hope and despair. The opportunities were so limited that we already considered returning to New York, although we loved Huntsville and its surroundings. In addition, too, I had deep roots already in the cultural life, conducted a church choir that I had founded, and played the violin in the Huntsville Civic Symphony, activities taken up in order to have a forum where I could express my musical aspirations which were not yet completely dormant. The vigorous participation in these activities had now a significant and far-reaching effect. Influential people, I became acquainted with, heard of my plight, and worked behind the scene to guide me into the Civil Service, which incidentally had a lot of openings due to the imminent separation of the Army and NASA. On February 1, 1960, I happily joined the Army Ballistic Missile Agency at Redstone Arsenal as Aeronautical Engineer, a position I was able to hold for the next 13 years. In spite of several reductions in force, my job seemed to have been untouchable. The Army treated me generously with promotions and rewards until I concluded my career in a position that 20 years earlier I could hardly have dreamed of.
