A Time and Place, last chapter

AUTHOR’S NOTE

The sea could not shake us, neither could the challenges of the New World.

This portion of the book sets in motion the energies that epitomize the American spirit. The small, colorful tiles of life keep emerging as they continue to put together the mosaic that is called the immigrant. Though this segment of the book only spans a little more than two years, the pieces shall continue to reveal themselves until the Lord requires the soul.

The book ends with this story:

ONLY IN AMERICA

Given the opportunity, there is hardly a person in the world today who would not come to America. Why is that so? It may be that, world-wide, there is a deep down feeling that in America no one will squelch the drive and determination of its people. America is known to elevate not the lazy, but the honest man, a man striving toward a goal with a dogged zeal. People coming to America do not look for handouts. Most are on a mission to prove to themselves, and their new countrymen, that a goal set was not a goal set in vain.

A lot of good things had come to fruition during the first two years in our new homeland. About a year and one-half earlier, we were shown some disrespect for only having three hundred and sixty-two dollars toward the purchase of a new house. The sting from that experience was the impetus to keep us pushing. Mom consistently found ways to put a few dollars away. She always had been very aware that pennies make dollars. Ever since the war, she’d sewn and mended. In many other ways, she figured out not to waste. She saved the grease from roasts and gravies to use again in frying potatoes and baking cakes and cookies. I remember casually mentioning once that a cake she had baked tasted a bit too much like bacon. Every piece of soap that had gotten too small to use was saved. When a cup full of small chunks were collected, they were shredded on the hand-held vegetable grater, and then used to do a load of wash in Mom’s wringer washer.

All Dad did was work, then work some more. For many months, he worked two full time jobs. For eight hours, he loaded trucks, then jumped into his car to go to work at a bakery, making doughnuts for another eight hours. Mom cleaned houses six days a week. I worked full time and all the extra hours I could get at Van Vechten Press, including all day Saturdays. During the various harvest times, Mom and Dad went to a local farm to pick vegetables with the migrant workers, during the few hours they had left in the week.

This had nothing to do with being cheap or greedy. It had all to do with goals. You have heard me talk about whining and complaining. Well, you do not do that when something is achievable. Complaining is not part of getting there.

While taking a shortcut through a residential community, Dad spotted a new house under construction. The style of the house was called a front to back split level. It was constructed on a fifty-foot wide lot, between two larger homes. As it turned out, the owner of the new home was also the builder. We set a date to meet with him and talk about the possibility of buying the house. The finances, we knew, had to be worked out. After looking over the house, we all fell in love with it. It had three bedrooms and a bath upstairs. The elevated front of the house provided the living room, with cathedral ceiling, and a full kitchen with an eat-in area. The ground level in the rear had a recreation room, a sewing room, and a washroom with toilet. A cellar was under half of the house, with more usable space. The lot extended in the back for one hundred feet or more, enough for a good garden, flowers, and fruit trees. It was a dream home in a convenient location. We were ready to buy; but could we borrow enough money, that was the worry. With no credit and not much established work history, Mom and Dad found out that they could not borrow enough. All the pooling of our monies did not add up to enough to make the difference between the purchase price and what the bank would loan us. We needed almost four thousand dollars.

We took the sad news to the builder and his brother, who kept on working daily on the house to bring it to completion. Dad negotiated with the contractor for a two thousand dollar discount. For this we would have to paint the house, inside and out, as well as do the backfill of the excavated soil around the foundation. This was normally done by a bulldozer, but we had a shovel and were ready. It took a little longer, but it got done.

My parents also approached a German friend for a loan. The friend, who came to this country about the same time we did, offered to lend us one thousand dollars at ten percent interest. We took him up on it. I took the responsibility of paying back that loan with interest. In addition, the builder was kind enough to prolong the closing date until we had saved, or rounded up, enough to meet the bank’s required down payment.

We were so convinced that this house was going to be ours that we started to clean up and do other things to help the builder.

One day Dad and I were shoveling dirt to fill the gaping hole around the house, when a man, in his thirties, stopped his car in the front of the house. He climbed up on the dirt pile and introduced himself. He inquired if we were the owners. Mr. Davis said he was a storm-window salesman and asked if we would like him to measure for combination storm and screen windows for our new house. Dad explained that we were working toward becoming the owners. In his ever present naivete, he told Mr. Davis that we still lacked three hundred dollars before we could buy the house. Graciously acknowledging that we were probably not ready for storm windows, Mr. Davis got back in his car and drove off.

Within the hour, Mr. Davis reappeared at the construction site, walked up to Dad and me, and handed us three hundred dollars. He simply said, “My address is on that slip of paper, pay me back when you can.” With that he turned and got back in his car.

I saw an angel when I was six years old. I believe I also saw an angel that day in flesh and blood. –– He was an American. PRAISE GOD!