“I’ll tell you what. Go home, rehearse a few more times, and then come back.”

I did not go home to rehearse. Instead, I drove out to Highway 1 and stopped at the first diner. I thought if I ever tried a cup of coffee that would have to be now. I needed to sharpen my brain. After I gave my order to the waitress, a well-dressed man seated himself at my table.

“If you don’t mind,” he said. “I heard you talking and I hear your accent. So you are a foreigner just like me.”

I thought the man had a much heavier accent than I did.

“I am the owner of this diner,” he continued, “and I like to greet new guests. Are you a salesman or something?”

“Yeah, I am a salesman,” I said.

“What do you sell?”

“I sell sealers for leaking roofs.”

“No kidding. What kind of sealers?”

“Absolutely the best. It’s a revolutionary product made in Texas.” I was glad I remembered all this from my studies. “You pour it out, spread it, and let it dry. It forms a seamless one piece coating, covering all damaged areas. Guaranteed for five years.”

“No kidding. How much does it costs?”

I quickly pulled out a brochure and showed him pictures of shiny roofs before spreading out the price sheet in front of him.

“Guess what, my friend. I need this stuff. Send me two 55-gallon drums.”

I was not so calm anymore. I nervously looked for an order form and when I started writing my hand was shaking from the excitement.

“Just take it easy,” he said, “I am not going anywhere.”

This is how my sales career started. I made $175 with a few minutes of chatting. This Greek fellow referred me to his friends, other Greek diner owners along Highway 1, and once I saw those commission checks arriving about a week after I mailed the orders, I knew this was the perfect job for me.

I worked very hard all day, five days a week. Occasionally, I worked on the weekends as well, usually when I had to meet board members at churches. I knocked on every door where I saw a flat roof or a parking lot. Often, people were more interested in me than in the products which resulted in lengthy conversations without any business. I was never upset about this. I enjoyed talking about my escapes, about my younger years in communist Hungary. I knew this was exactly what I needed to improve my English.

I drove a lot, especially when the maintenance season was in full swing in the middle of spring. When I focused on car dealerships, I often drove into Pennsylvania, and even as far as the south part of Connecticut.

By the beginning of summer, I had a few thousand dollars in my savings account. My photograph was published in the monthly magazine of the company along with other successful newcomers.

Since I was conducting a hit-and-run operation, - not paying attention to building long term relationships that could have resulted in repeat business after the repair season was over -, my business declined sharply in June. I was kind of burnt out so I should have just taken a break. Instead, I was disappointed. I wanted the money to continue coming. I think this was what led me to the casino in Atlantic City.

The first time I sat down at the Black Jack table, I won a few hundred. The second time, I lost all my winnings plus a few hundred. I thought winning was quite possible, so I continued pressing my luck. I became a full time gambler. Instead of driving to find more selling opportunities, I drove almost every day to Atlantic City. During the first days, I thought I was having a good time. I thought I had plenty of money so loosing some of it did not matter. I felt confident I would recover my losses. I would then quit, I promised myself. Unfortunately, I kept losing more and more. I began to feel very upset and frustrated when the balance in my savings account dropped by more than fifty percent.

No doubt, I was hooked. And when I lost even more, my mind got knocked out of balance. I could not think straight anymore.

I do not remember exactly how it happened, but when I was down to my last thousand dollars, I decided that I needed to move to Europe. I just had to run away from my miserable reality.

August just began. I put an ad in the local newspaper and sold my car in a couple of days. I made no money on the sale; it just paid off what I still owed to the bank.

I purchased a one-way ticket from New York to London through Freddie Laker for something like $150 and said good bye to my friend and landlord, John, who had no idea of what got into me because I never told him about my gambling habit.

I guess part of my problem was that I never had anyone to confide in, to talk things over with. I was already 30 years old and still without a loving wife, without a loving family. Going home every evening after long days of work was not really going home. I did not have a home. Of course, I was not alone with this problem. We lived in an alienated society. Many people could handle this alienation well. I was not one of these people. I only pretended I was. I could show a face to the world that reflected none of the storms going on inside me, but then from time to time I could no longer control my emotions and then I flipped.

I took the bus to New York City and boarded the plane at JFK. I collected my luggage at the airport in London and headed for the train station.

I rode the train to Harwich where I bought a ticket for the night Ferry to Hook van Holland. There, I was on the train again. My final destination was Marl, a German town not far from Dusseldorf.

I was going to see Janos.

Janos was another Hungarian friend. I met him in New Brunswick during my first year in America. He was a professional musician, a graduate of a Transylvanian University. He defected while on a trip with his orchestra in Italy because he could not take any more abuse from Ceausescu’s regime. He emigrated to the USA where he was unable to find suitable work. The couple of years he spent on the East Coast doing all kinds of odd jobs made him bitter about America and at the first opportunity he returned to Europe. First he settled in Koblenz, West Germany, where he became a member of the City Orchestra. That is where I visited him, and stayed in his apartment for a couple of weeks in December of 1976, on my way back to Hungary. He also lent me money – sent it to Trieste by post – after I was able to escape the second time in the fall of 1977. I repaid him a few months later when he was in New York City with his band. After a couple of years in Koblenz, Janos received an offer from the Philharmonia Hungarica and moved to Marl.

He was a few years older than me. I knew, if anyone, he would understand me trying to escape the harsh reality of life in America. Of course, I was not planning to tell him about my real problem.

I had some vague ideas. I thought if I can stay at his place for a while, I would look for a job in Germany, rent a furnished room or a small apartment, and continue my life there. What I did not think about was the formalities such as getting a work permit and a permission to stay longer than 90 days. I probably just figured that if Janos was able to work things out, I should be able to do it, too.

Janos had no idea I was coming. I was taking a chance.

When I arrived at the train station in Marl in the evening, it was already dark. I went inside the station restaurant where I asked the waiter in my poor German to give me Deutsch Marks for a few dollars because I needed to make a phone call.

I do not remember being nervous or worried when I made the call. Somehow I expected Janos to be home. And he was.

“Wow, you have never called me before from America. You always write letters. Is it not too expensive for you to call?”

“I am calling from the train station… here in Marl.”

“In Marl?!” He was definitely surprised. There was a couple of seconds of silence. “You just arrived… by train?”

“Yes.”

“Where exactly are you?”

“In the station restaurant.”

“All right,” he said, “I’ll get into my car and see you in about ten minutes.”

He arrived with his German girlfriend. They put my luggage in the trunk and drove me home.

“Fortunately, we have a bigger apartment here than we had in Koblenz,” Janos said when we arrived. “We even have a guest room for you.”

We had dinner and later in the evening, after his girlfriend went to sleep, Janos and I had a chat in the living room. I told him I was fed up with America and wanted to find a way to stay in Germany. He was very supportive of my plans.

I stayed at Janos’ place for an entire month. I never felt unwelcome and I was never asked how long I would stay in that guest room.

Today, I am not sure I can find the right words to express my gratitude.

Janos was like a brother to me. However, I did not dare opening up and telling him about my real problem. I was afraid that would ruin the image he had of me as a friend. Although, I am certain he still would not have kicked me out. In fact, it is entirely possible he suspected I was hiding something.

I tried to stay away from the apartment as much as possible during the days. Janos went to practice with the band almost every evening and I was often in bed already when he arrived home. I usually had breakfast with the two of them. One day I returned home with a huge bag of groceries.

“Now, this is what you can’t do again,” Janos said laughing. “You are my guest. Let me know if anything you want is not in the fridge and I’ll take care of it.”

Of course, he wanted to know whether I was making progress finding work. I told him I already had an interview at a local chemical company but they were still looking at other applicants.

“I might be away for some time beginning mid September,” Janos told me one weekend. “Our band will perform abroad for a couple of weeks. Of course, this should not bother you a bit. You know you can stay with us as long as you like.”

When I went back to the chemical company, I was told someone else was hired. This made me depressed. Other places did not even want to talk to me because I had no work permit. I was not a US citizen yet, I was traveling with an American Re-entry Permit and that seemed to be part of the problem.

I did not want to be too much of a burden so most days I ate lunch and dinner in restaurants. My money was going fast.

Restaurants and bars were all gambling places in Germany. There were a few wall-mounted playing machines in every restaurant. After the negative news from the chemical company I could no longer resist the temptation.

There I was again, gambling and losing money.

This was definitely a very low point in my life.

By the time Janos was getting ready for their trip, I only had a couple of hundred dollars left. I knew I could not stay any longer.

Janos was somewhat surprised when I told him I had to go back to America. He drove me to the train station and made me promise I would write.

After I paid for the train to Hook van Holland and then for the Ferry to Harwich and the train to London, I had just enough money left to buy the discounted stand-by ticket to New York on Freddie Laker.

When I got off the subway at the 53rd Street and 3rd Avenue station in Manhattan, I had money for one more subway ride.

I sat down inside the coffee shop in the Citibank building and began to wonder what I could do next. I thought of Charlie, the superintendent at the luxury apartment building a couple of blocks away where I used to work as a doorman. However, I had to ask myself: even if he offered me a job, where would I live?

When the waiter came back to my table the second time to take my order, I stood up and left. It was a hot afternoon. I was thirsty, hungry and tired. When the traffic light turned green, I walked over to the other side of the street. There, I stood at the corner for a while watching the people on the sidewalk.

Suddenly, I had an idea. I thought of Erik, the guy I met in the refugee camp in 1973. I remembered that Erik was also admitted to the US in 1974, that he got a job in New York City, and that he rented a small apartment on the upper East Side. I met him a couple of times when I lived in Queens in 1976.

I quickly pulled out my address book. I thought I had his phone number there. When I saw I also had his address, I changed my mind about calling. I got on the subway instead and went to see him. I was lucky. He and his girlfriend were at home.

“Oh, I haven’t seen you for ages,” he greeted me at the door.

“I know,” I replied. “I did not bother you a whole lot… but today I am here because I need your help.”

“What kind of help?” he asked after inviting me in.

“I’m broke. I’d like to borrow some money from you.”

“Really?” he said and then he walked to the fridge to fetch a bottle of orange juice. He filled three glasses, put them on the kitchen table and pulled a chair for me. “My lady is in the restroom, she should be out soon.”

“Orange juice never tasted this good,” I said after I emptied the glass.

“Have another one,” Erik said and filled up my glass again.

After he put down the bottle, he looked at me from the corner of his eyes for some time.

“And why me?” he said finally.

“Well,” I started somewhat hesitantly, “I am broke in New York and you are the one I know here.”

“I see,” he said, “and how much would you need?”

“Not much. I need it for the bus to New Brunswick… and to rent a room for a week.”

“The most I can lend you is fifty. Would that be enough?”

“It would be. I’ll bring it back in a month or two.”

I had already put the fifty dollars in my pocket when Erik’s girlfriend joined us. We chatted for about ten minutes remembering all the fun we had in the refugee camp in Trieste and then I left.

I arrived in New Brunswick late in the afternoon. I walked over to John’s house from the bus stop and rang his bell. John was not home yet so I sat down on his porch. I did not have to wait too long.

“I went to the grocery store,” he said getting out of his car. “Do you mind grabbing a couple of these bags?”

I jumped to help him.

“Are you bringing your luggage in, too?” he asked while opening the door. “I wouldn’t leave it out here unattended.” He winked. “You’re probably moving back anyway. No?”

“Depends,” I replied.

“On what?”

“Right now I could pay you only a week in advance.”

“Don’t worry about the money. You can pay me later if that suits you better.”

A couple of days later, I found a job nearby as a Quality Controller. The company, Procedyne, was only a few minutes walk from John’s house.

That hot afternoon in New York City, standing at the corner with only some change remaining in my pocket, lives vividly in my memory. I often think, being so irresponsible with the money I was able to make selling those tar products, I would have deserved biting the dust. Of course, I also see now that Destiny had plans for me. Did this have anything to do with one summer evening in 1976, I do not know. That evening, driving back from the seaside on Long Island, I fell asleep and almost ran off the road. I woke up in the last split second to save myself from a potentially deadly crash. I pulled over and wondered what really had happened. This was the very first time I said something like “thank you God for saving me”. This was the first time I began to realize that my own life was not necessarily in my own hands only, and as I felt some sort of a sensation, probably the beginning of the awakening of the Spirit in me, I timidly whispered: God, if you are really out there, I surrender my life to you… Please, take me in your hands.

Whether there is a God, I still can not say I know for sure. However, as a result of my experience, I can draw but one conclusion: there must be a Higher Power. It is not the Bible or any kind of religion that makes me believe this.

Life put me on a ride that has been often rough and dangerous but also adventurous and enjoyable from time to time.

Without a car, I was in no danger of visiting Atlantic City and losing my earnings.

When I got my second paycheck from Procedyne, I took the bus to New York City to visit Erik and repaid the fifty dollars he lent me.

“I thought I would never see you again,” Erik said when I handed him the money.

I was not offended. After all, he was one of the Angels sent to my rescue.

I thanked him and promptly left. I have not seen him since. I hope he has had a happy life.

I was not the only one of my generation who could not accept the lack of freedom forced upon us by the communist system. Many of us who were able to escape ended up living in the United States. Some came as husbands and wives and some were even able to bring their children. Those of us who came as singles had it much harder. Loneliness in a foreign land is not easy to cope with, and it was definitely not easy for my generation to start a new life in America. Trying to find relief from reality, many of us became addicts. I knew some well educated ones who totally destroyed themselves by abusing alcohol and drugs. Fortunately, I did not get addicted to chemical substances. I had a glass of wine or a beer once in a blue moon but drugs of any kind have always been and absolute no-no for me.

As I look at it now, gambling was always only a question of money. It was also part of the adventure, the excitement, the challenge of the unknown. When I escaped to Germany and called Janos from the train station, I was also testing my faith. I think life had already programmed my subconscious not to worry. What if Janos was on a trip with his band somewhere in Australia? Well, he was not. And if he was, life probably had a back up plan for me.

Procedyne did not pay too well. There were a couple of months when the company had more orders from customers and I could work overtime. I did not spend much so I was able to save some of the money I earned.

1980 was a relatively peaceful year for me. The only real excitement was the ceremony at the New Brunswick City Hall where I received my US citizenship.

In January of the following year, I called my friends Brian and Sofia in Ventura, California. I briefly told them why my relationship with Camila ended.

“You did not have to move back to the East Coast just because of that,” Brian said.

“I did not like Los Angeles anyway.”

“I don’t blame you for that. I don’t like it, either. You should have just moved up here to Ventura. This is real California.”

...  

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