#1: The Grand Lady with the Torch

September 1951, on the USS General M.B. Stewart, an old Navy ship transporting refugees to the United States from Bremen, Germany

By RENIE BURGHARDT

I was 14 when I boarded the ship with my family on that September day in 1951. We were destitute Hungarian refugees of World War II on our way to a new life in America.

One morning before dawn, I was awakened. “The lights of America are visible in the distance!” We quickly headed out to the deck, where hundreds of people had already gathered.

I gazed sleepily at the trillions of lights out there on the dark horizon. America looked like a fairyland.

As dawn broke, someone shouted, “There is the famous Statue of Liberty!”

Mesmerized, I gazed upon the vision of the Grand Lady, with the torch seemingly rising out of the sea. From my vantage point on the ship, she seemed to hold her torch higher and higher on the New York skyline.

I was overcome with emotion and could almost hear her saying the words I had learned in English class at the refugee camp: “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.”

It seemed as if she was speaking directly to me.

That vision is etched indelibly in my memory. It was the epiphany of my young life.

Renie Burghardt, born in Hungary, is a freelance writer. Her work has been published in more than 50 anthologies and many magazines. You can view her blog here.

#2: Where is My Armband?

Winter of 1939, on the Queen Mary docked in New York harbor

By WERNER HAAS

It was barely dawn. It was drizzling and foggy. We were on the Queen Mary, on one of her last peacetime voyages.

I was 8, dressed in short pants like all 8-year-old German boys. My parents were packing for when the ship docked.

“Seh mal,” my mother said, pointing out of the porthole. Look. It was the Statue of Liberty. At the time, this symbol of freedom meant nothing to me. I nodded and sat down, wondering where we were going, and why and how.

It took several hours among a jumble of shouts and whistles for the giant ship to dock, and for us to get off and wait in line at Customs.

I wasn’t as scared as I was tired. Everything was strange. The dock workers, the officials, the other passengers, the babble of voices in a language I didn’t understand.

My mother finally recognized her old friend, who came to meet us. She had the task of preparing us for a long trip to my father’s sister’s family in Indianapolis.

I shook her hand, but I didn’t remember who she was. She and my mother cried, and my father looked the other way, not wanting to show his emotion.

I finally asked, “Wo ist mein Armband?” Where is my armband?

The strange lady smiled at me and told me something I will never forget: “No armbands in America. Jews are just like everyone else here.”

That was my introduction to my new homeland.

Werner Haas has been a freelance writer and business communications consultant for more than 50 years. In his 70s, he is still creatively active from his home in West Hollywood, California.

Posted by Common Ties on Monday, October 1st, 2007 | Email This Post

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