Looking Through The Window-Pane Of My Heart

AMERICA, HERE I COME!

Jeremiah 29:11, “For I know the plans I have for you declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

Adventure was in my blood! After graduation from gymnasium I wanted to take a trip to America. I had read about this country to where the pilgrims fled for religious freedom. The immigrants had bragged about it for a century.

I had an uncle who left Valdres when he was 17 years old and he came back for a visit during my last year in high school. He invited me to visit him and his family. My plans were to stay, for at least the summer, but I did not think that I could ask anyone for such a favor, so I went to the newspaper again. This time I found an ad that read, “Young people wanted to live and work among evacuated negroes in the slums of Chicago.” I had thought of becoming a missionary, so I could probably handle it. It would in any case be a great experience!

I went for an interview, but as the departure time approached and I was the only person from Scandinavia who had signed up, my mother begged me to cancel. She had nightmares of black men chasing me. We had very few black people in Norway at that time, in 1962. We had not even seen black people, at least not close up. She wanted me to go see her brother and his family in South Dakota. She was sure they would let me stay for the summer, since I would be the first relative to visit them from Norway.

I complied, but it was already June and only one week left before the ship to America was scheduled to sail. My plan was to return to Norway before the fall semester started. I sent a letter to my uncle in Worthing, South Dakota, since telephoning was out of the question. No one ever called. We did not have his telephone number, nor did we know how to go about getting it.

If I was to go, I had to have faith that my relatives would receive me once I arrived, and that my letter would get there before I did.

My promise to my dad was that I would be back to start teacher's college in the fall, and that I would work for him during my vacations until the ticket was paid for. The cost of the ticket was about 900 crowns round trip, but I also received a Greyhound bus ticket, which cost $99 for 99 days. In addition I had $100 in traveler's checks, which was a lot of money for my father to come up with.

Finally the day arrived. My small, white suitcase was packed, and I had one carry on bag. My dad was to send me off at the docks and he ran late as usual. The last thing he did was to stop by the market place where he threw 5 crowns at the lady selling flowers. The bouquet landed in my lap. I reached the boat as the gangplank was being hoisted up. I made it! The Stavangerfjord gave a loud blast, and the great ship was off for America.

As we sailed out of Oslofjord, with tears rolling down my cheeks, I hid behind a barrel of emergency boats and life preservers. I had the feeling that this was the end of my life in Norway, as I had known it.

Soon I found my berth and became acquainted with the Swedish girl who was to be my roommate for the duration of the journey. There were several Norwegian young people on board who, for various reasons, were crossing the “dam,” as we used to call it. I made friends and we had fun!

It was comparable to the old show “Love Boat.” I could have gotten in trouble, but the Lord was with me. My morals were set before I went. Jesus was number one in my life. However, I did many ridiculously, scary things. For example the only swimming pool was outside, and my girl friend and I went swimming when the waves were so high that we were riding the water from one end of the pool to the other. We could have gotten smashed against the side, but we were not hurt. We did receive a lot of attention, however, which was part of the fun.

After ten days at sea, we approached New York Harbor. “Wow,” was all I could say! We sailed by Ellis Island and then the Statute of Liberty. I was in America! It was time to close my suitcase and pack my bag.

There was one thing I needed to pick up from the cooler. You see, I had a fenalaar along for my uncle in Worthing, South Dakota. It was a gift from my dad and mom. My dad had cured this leg of lamb. It was salted and dried, and was a Norwegian delicacy.

I was told on the ship that you could not take meat into the USA and people often had to throw the meat into the sea. I prayed, however, and was told by the crew not to hide it, so I had the skinny part of the leg of lamb sticking up out of my bag. When I came to the custom officer he asked me what it was, and I told him that it was a gift from my family in Norway to my uncle in South Dakota, and that it was a leg of lamb that was salted and cured. The man just looked at me and waved me by. I think he had a smile on his face.

My next challenge was to get to the Greyhound Bus Station. A young man I had become acquainted with on the ship was taking the bus to San Francisco, so we were starting out together. We jumped into a taxi and said where we wanted to go. He took us for quite a ride.

I later found out that the bus depot was only a few blocks away. The charge was $10 a piece. One of my traveler's checks was already gone and I had barely stepped off the boat. I needed to hang on tightly to the nine that were left. They had to last the rest of the summer and even beyond.

We rode together to Chicago. After a day of not eating I was so hungry that I ordered “hot cakes.” I did not know what hot cakes were, but they were the cheapest item on the menu, and I figured I liked cake. I had never seen or eaten anything like what I received. I was told that they were pancakes, but they did not resemble the Norwegian pancakes I was used to. Then to top it off, they were served with syrup. When you are hungry you will eat anything and I did.

After three days and nights on the bus I arrived in Sioux Falls at midnight, after the terminal was closed. I had not dared to sleep much on the way, so from exhaustion I was now fast asleep. The voice of someone talking alerted me and I heard, “Is there a young lady from Norway on the bus?” I was overjoyed when I heard my mother's first cousin whom I had never seen say, “Yes, that is her. She looks like her mother.” Elida and Raymond had been meeting all the busses for a couple of days, since they did not want to miss my arrival.

I liked America! I liked my relatives. I liked the people. I liked their openness to God. I liked their churches. In short, I fell in love with America. The people were so open, so free, so non-prejudiced. What a difference my experience here was, compared to that of England, the last English speaking country I had an encounter with.

I met cousins and lots of “shirt tail” relatives. They all received me like I was royalty. I wanted to work. I needed to make some money, so I would do whatever needed doing. I pulled weeds in bean fields. I threw hay bales. For a few weeks I took care of a strange, old lady in Worthing, South Dakota. I knew something about her was not as it should be. My notion was confirmed one morning when she greeted me with a raised butcher knife. I headed back to my uncle Engwalds' place as fast as I could run. With nobody to care for her, she ended up in the mental hospital.