Arrival JFK
In July 1967, I arrived at JFK; I was overwhelmed by my initial experiences in America. Recently, I came across a long letter that I wrote, two months later, to my parents about those first impressions. I have based the following on those recollections. . Please note that this was written in 1967; Britain was still recovering from wartime and food rationing. Obviously, I was staggered by the abundance of food and fresh fruit. I put on over 20 lbs in the first six months but I was skin and bones when I arrived; no more! Moreover, the differences between the UK and USA were a real surprise. I thought we spoke the same language, even that wasn’t true?! (RS 11/18/08)
Eero Saarinen CBS HQ NYC 1960/5
The smell of cigar smoke; the cop with revolver in holster belt; the noise, bustle and sheer size of the terminal were among those first impressions of Kennedy Airport Terminal NYC. I arrived with the crowds and confusion of international travel. I added to the confusion as I was carrying with me a chest x ray; I had been told that was necessary to enter the USA. Of course, all I needed was written proof but there I was with the actual x ray, which I took out of the large envelope and waived in the air! The immigration officer looked in amazement and gestured me through; as did the customs official. I was in America.
Nan and Dick Hirschmann were there to greet me; their daughter Gail and son in law Paul Becker had taught at Leeds. Nan and Dick had been to one of my lectures there. When they knew I was coming to USA, they insisted that I should stay with them on Long Island. I was going to for a few days; my stay lasted two weeks. I am eternally grateful to them, not only for their hospitality but their everlasting friendship. I became part of the family. On that arrival day, I needed to pick up some of my paintings and we drove over to the Customs office. The abstract paintings, about four canvases 18” x 18’’ needed to be inspected; the customs officer did so. Chewing a cigar, he drawled, “You ain’t no Rembrandt”!
The drive from JFK was in itself an experience, never forgotten. Stepping outside, I felt heat and humidity; smells of diesel and cigars. Dick drove a Cadillac; in England, I had driven a Mini Minor. I had never been in a car this huge; so big and vast inside that I was lost in the blue interior, cool and air conditioned. Dick was smoking a cigar; in those days, I smoked a cigarette and did light up. I couldn’t find the ashtray, touched something and the window opened automatically. Never been in a car with A/C and electrically operated widows and automatic drive; for me, everything was a new experience. Then there was the radio and wrap round speakers; commentary from the traffic helicopters overhead filled the car interior. “Midtown moving. 59 blocked. Take left on Brooklyn. Snagged on Van Wyck. Try Grand Central. LIE slow.” The Long Island Expressway is known as “the big lie” and it is that; for nothing moves fast on that expressway. The traffic was bumper to bumper; automobiles of every size, shape, style and color; slowly moving with radios blaring and horns sounding. Mixed with the cars were huge vans and trucks, enormous vehicles belching diesel fumes; there were a few buses. We were to realize that cars and freeways are a necessity in this vast country; road signs were numerous and a confusion of many numbers and unknown places. I was going to Great Neck.
Dick drove up to a ranch house, pressed a button on his visor and the garage door opened automatically; never seen that before. Nan’s car was parked in the double garage; a Thunderbird with everything automatic from top to trunk. More language differences as the bonnet became the hood and the bungalow is a ranch house and more and more! The interiors were large and spacious rooms, air conditioned and airy; cool in everyway. Outside was the swimming pool, large and turquoise, surrounded by lush greenery. Everything seemed strange and unfamiliar; the kitchen with all its gadgets and huge refrigerator was a novelty, only seen before in the movies. In the Old Country, there was never need for refrigerators; there were houses with outside toilets in sheds; nothing was automated. Much of what I was seeing was novel and new; even the simplest of things, like an electric can opener. All too much for me, I went for a swim in the pool.
That evening, my first in the States, we drove to Manhattan. As Dick drives past La Guardia, I catch my first glimpse of distant skyscrapers. Across Queensborough Bridge, the skyscrapers get closer and taller; I am in awe. Down a broad avenue, at the United Nations, I catch a glimpse of a sculpture by Barbara Hepworth; but the tall and towering buildings are what I see. The restaurant was dark, red plush and candlelight; on occasion, Frank Sinatra visits to dine, wine and play piano. This night, I meet friends of Nan and Dick; Jean is brash, blonde, loud and absolutely wonderful. She likes the Brits but hates “those frogs”, proclaiming that de Gaulle is “a bastard”. Jean is celebrating her birthday; we drink and eat too much. I have my first NY steak; bigger than the weekend joint back home! As the pianist plays, we sing “Happy Birthday” loudly and badly; then, naturally, “New York, New York”!
What an evening, what a meal; the bill more than I earn in a month of Sundays! Dick and Nan were generous beyond belief; I was never allowed to pay for anything; probably could not have afforded to anyway? Their hospitality and kindness, like many of their fellow countrymen, was unbelievable. They were proud of their country and, as New Yorkers, wanted to show off Manhattan. My first evening, after dinner, they drove downtown; along Fifth Avenue, stopping to admire Rockefeller Center. I remember stepping out of the car, looking upward; the shimmering lights of skyscrapers thrust upward into the heavens. Below, were the crowds of people, jostling and walking, window shopping and gawking. The traffic was noisy; yellow cabs and taxis abound; raucous and rambunctious. Then we drive on downtown; through the neon lights of Time Square and another stop to gawk at the floodlight Empire State Building. We park and walk around Greenwich Village; narrow streets of old brick buildings, crowds and hippies, barefoot and begging. Already, I realize that this is a city of contrasts: rich and poor, small and big, old and new. Later, this kaleidoscope of contrasts was to be confirmed throughout my travels. Our drive took us through the colorful streets of Chinatown; then we cross the river, homeward bound. I look backward from the bridge and see the shimmering sights and skyscrapers; I fall asleep in the back of the Cadillac. Only twenty four hours ago, I left my house in a small village in the grey mists of Yorkshire; now I was in America; what color and contrasts, unreal and unbelievable!
During those two weeks, I went in many mornings with Dick to his office in Manhattan. We get up early; Dick would navigate his way through the traffic, listening to the radio traffic reports, using every known short cut and back street. Dick could steer that huge Cadillac better than any taxi driver; we were always at his building by 7.30AM; whatever the traffic. His office was situated in the Toy Fair Building oFifth Avenueand Twenty Third Street; the Flatiron area is named after the Flatiron Building on Broadway. Dick and I would have a bagel and coffee in the downstairs deli; he would go to work and I was on my own until late afternoon. I roamed the streets; visited museums and galleries; gawked at the skyscrapers and sights; I was captivated and remain so to this day by Manhattan. I learned that Manhattan, an island thirteen miles by two, was one of five boroughs that constitute the city of New York. Some of the wide avenues can be seven miles straight; at intersections streets go from one river to the other, again straight. Distances stretch to infinity; perspectives are endless. Then there are the groupings of skyscrapers, going upward into infinite skies. The sun light and shadows add to the downtown diorama and drama; in every direction, up and down, much to see and gawk at, a never ending wonderment. Then there are the streets and shop fronts: endless signs, architectural detail, old and new, colorful and gaudy, refined and elegant. The contrasts are dramatic; from Madison Avenue to the Bowery; from Times Square to Central Park; from Harlem to Wall Street. The island is best seen from the water; the Circle Line Tours give a great cruise. The Staten Island Ferry is free and, on the return, the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island are reminders of how immigrants used to arrive.
In those first weeks, getting around was difficult; I could never understand the bus routes or the bus drivers! Many a time, I stood apprehensively at a bus stop and the door would open. I looked upward to the driver and timidly asked where the bus was going; the driver did not understand my question and I never could get his answer. I gave up on buses and walked. Occasionally, I would try the subway but was put off by the labyrinth of corridors and escalators, nonsensical signs, numbers and arrows, crowds of fast moving people, the darkness and dirt. I covered much of Manhattan by foot; sometimes Dick would drop me off and other times I would get a taxi back to his office. I saw a lot and now know Manhattan well; particularly the museums. I was not merely sightseeing; I visited as many art museums and art galleries that I could. I spent time at all the major museums: the Met; MOMA; Whitney; and Guggenheim. I was in awe and admiration of the great collections and exhibitions that I saw that summer.
The language is a problem: “Tigers nip Senators as Twins bow” was a newspaper headline; I had no idea what that meant. The language is different and there are real underlying differences and values. Difficulties occur, such as when looking for a post office or public convenience; both are well hidden, if they exist at all? In fact, the public convenience does not seem to exist; I did discover one in a Manhattan park and wish I hadn’t. Unlike England, where public restrooms are often grand Victorian edifices, not so in America for there are none? When I asked my American friends, they ignored the question or muttered that they do not have the time? I learned to find restrooms in museums and cafes. Once, I went into a café to find no restroom; I drank my large coke in great discomfort. Bars are even worse; I was used to pubs where people crowded into chat, socialize, play darts and have a few beers. In the first bar that I went to by myself, I found a long dingy counter with men sitting, staring at their drink, not saying a word; not a friendly place. I was uncomfortable and left.
Discomfort there may be but far more delights: drugstores with soda fountain counter and many ice cream flavors, such as butter pecan, mint chocolate chip, lime sherbet, maple nut, burgundy cherry, strawberry fudge, pineapple vanilla and peach fudge. The drugstore seems to provide most needs. Other than food and drink, there is the chemist counter; hardware and household goods; anything from saucepans to stationary. The counter menu offers beef hamburger, cheeseburger, clam chowder, club sandwich, Cole slaw, milk shake, root beer.
The letter to my parents goes on to describe my visit to relatives in Syracuse. I was fortunate as my aunt and uncle drove me to see the Albright Knox in Buffalo and visit Niagara Falls; I am not sure which impressed me the most?! I also was fortunate in that I saw EXPO in Montreal; I took a greyhound bus by myself to Canada; an experience in itself. A week was spent in Ohio with Gail and Paul Becker; they lived in Shaker Heights, outside Cleveland. I was seeing an America far different than Manhattan but I returned there for a Fulbright Scholars orientation at Columbia University. I spent another few days out in Great Neck, family and football and fun; then off to Washington DC. I ended that letter with a long list of words and phrases
summing up those first weeks.
