California 1966 E-Book

Irene Schloer

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 195

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

When the author gets invited to attend the 50th anniversary of her American high school, she doesn't even consider going. After all, there would be more than 8,000 miles to travel - each way. But as coicidence wants it, around this time she is busy discluttering her mother's apartment and finds a bunch of letters in her own handwriting. Her mother had saved each and every letter she had writtten home while an exchange student in California back in 1966. When she starts reading, memories come back fast and powerful. The things which have meanwhile changed,not only in the US, are amazing, intriguing and funny to read.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Through the eyes of a 17-year-old exchange student

Chapter 2

You are in Los Angeles now

Chapter 3

Parties

Chapter 4

High School

Chapter 5

Aztecs and other Mexicans

Chapter 6

School is our life

Chapter 7

Family

Chapter 8

Satellite Telephoning

Chapter 9

All the tricks a young dog can learn

Chapter 10

Midterm grades

Chapter 11

War in Paradise

Chapter 12

California is liberal

Chapter 13

Useful for life

Chapter 14

Six or sex

Chapter 15

AFS

Chapter 16

Informal society

Chapter 17

Life goes on

Chapter 18

A rolling stone gathers no moss

Chapter 19

Call of the wild

Chapter 20

That's the way the cookie crumbles

Chapter 21

Somewhere, my love

Chapter 22

Differences

Chapter 23

Art or kitsch?

Chapter 24

Young and adventurous

Chapter 25

Change is everywhere

Chapter 26

That was it, Class of '66

Chapter 27

From coast to coast

Chapter 28

I travelled the world on MS Seven Seas

Chapter 1

Through the eyes of a 17-year-old exchange student

This will be my first flight. The internationally mixed group of exchange students is boarding a plane to New York in Frankfurt. My first impression is of some grinning boys from all over the world reaching out to shake hands with everyone, looking thrilled that even girls extend their hands as well. Aside, a red-haired boy with horn-rimmed glasses, in a suit with a coat of arms on the pocket of his jacket, is demonstrating bored indifference. A few of the girls are made up.

It is left up to us to make acquaintances. Everyone speaks English. The most common opening heard is: "And where do you come from?"

All of a sudden, we become aware of the presence of a young blonde chaperone, looking happily thrilled and yelling excitedly at the top of her voice:

"Hi, everyone! (Hay?) I am Linda and I will be your guide on this flight to New York. Glad everybody is here! If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask me at any time! You are a great group!" (How does she know?)

There is air mail paper sticking out of little plastic display boxes on the walls of the airplane. From my seat, I can see what is printed on them:

"An Bord des Lufthansafluges von … nach …"

After having stared at it for a few moments, I decide to take a sheet from there and write my first letter back home to my family in Heilbronn. The nice stewardess who had escorted me to my place and helped me to fasten my seat belt is passing again now and very politely asks me whether I wouldn’t like to take off my overcoat. She would gladly store it in the compartment above my row. And, by the way, did I need a ball-point-pen?

In spite of her professional concern, in her uniform she reminds me rather of a policewoman or female soldier than a hostess. There are many of her kind busily rushing up and down the aisle. No man is among them. The announcements of the board loudspeakers now go on from greetings and niceties to instructions how to behave during the flight. “Remain seated” is being repeated almost obnoxiously.

I thought the plane would take off and fly right away. So I am quite surprised when it starts to juggle like a damaged car. For quite some time, we are riding on what must be a damaged plastered road. Then, all of a sudden, we stop abruptly and the engines start to roar impressively. The aircraft starts rolling much faster now, but is apparently not airborne yet.

When did we take off then? Through my loophole, I now notice in a quick sequence how the airport buildings under me are losing size, at first framed by parking lots, then disappearing altogether. Lawns, rows of houses and woods and fields are fading out of sight.

Like in the movies! But, oh no, very soon after, nothing is visible but fog. Even the sky is hidden behind it.

But when we finally are flying over sunlit clouds, I think how nice it should be to ride on one of these now. I know they would hold tight; I can tell by their solidly packed shapes. And if not, there are countless others floating under them that would catch me, if I dropped down.

I hear my fellow passengers cheer with pleasure as the swinging begins. Some have unfastened their seat belts and have got up, running back and forth in the center aisle. A strict announcement in German and English makes them dart back. The stewardesses serve tea. But why are there still ice cubes in it, even though it is quite cold?

Another announcement tells us that the topping on the appetizers is veal, not pork. Who cares! However, there are audible approving grunts coming from some of the seats. I am busy enjoying my snack: besides the veal roll there is also an asparagus sandwich with mayonnaise. As a desert, we are served an appetizing-looking strawberry pie with cream and then coffee. The metal cutlery is wrapped up in a napkin; sugar, salt, pepper and milk are placed in small packages on the serving tray. I put the pepper in my handbag and decide to include it in my first letter home.

After a short stopover in Shannon, Ireland, the aircraft leaves the continent. Although the wing under my window is impairing my view, I can still see a lot. And there are constant announcements telling us where we are and what there is to see. I can’t believe how narrow the Channel is! I recognize the chalky rocks on the coast of Dover, I have been there before. From above, they look so unspectacular. Gradually, looking outside becomes boing. And isn’t it quite late? It just doesn’t get dark. For hours, there is nothing to see but heaps of whipped cream outside. The next announcement, though, wakes all of us up. The skyline of New York is coming into sight! Not yet, not yet, but then…Tension is released among cries of joy.

“Do you carry any food? Salami?” a customs officer asks me putting his hand into my carry-on bag without being bashful about it. Outside, Gerdie is waiting.

“Hi, I’m your chaperone!”

She gets on a bus together with all the girls. We are heading for our hotel, where I will share a large room with four other girls. We see two high-rising king-size beds with an extra portable bed at the foot-end of one of them. The four other girls turn out to be Turkish, all of them speaking fluent English, except when talking to each other, of course.

"Where do you want to sleep?" Shermin asks me politely.

I take the extra bed which is quite all right for one person, as I find. What a luxury! Our room has a bathroom all for itself. The shower head is mounted firmly into the tile wall instead of hanging over the tabs. My roommates have already turned on the TV set and heated water in a cooker on the side table. Now they are scrutinizing the manual of the telephone in order to find out how much an external call would cost. Two of the girls smoke. We are expected to come to dinner at a place which is described elaborately in our instructions. They speak about a 15-minutes’ walk through the skyscraper world of Manhattan. It turns out to be a scary experience. Not that the streets are as narrow as it seems at first glance, but the buildings are so high that the impression they make is almost threatening.

We lose our way. Instead of walking straight ahead crossing six streets and then turning left into one of the avenues, we miss the correct turn. To our great relief, there is another group of AFSers at the crossing, also looking for the cafeteria.

Back in the hotel room, I start to wash myself over the wash basin with my wash-rag I brought with me. Like I am used to, I am rubbing my armpits, when I notice one of my Turkish roommates looking on with an expression of disgust on her face.

"You are not going to see your host family like this, are you? Do you want to borrow my razor?"

Feeling offended, I answer back snottily. Pulling up her diligently plucked eyebrows, she leaves the bathroom.

We stay at The Shelburne for three nights. In the first one, there is already trouble. The Turkish girls are fighting loudly about something which must have to do with the climate, because I only understand the word “Klima” being repeated.

Slowly, it is getting warmer in the room. The rubber curtains aren’t helping the flow of fresh air, either. I throw off my covers and still can’t sleep all night.

Chapter 2

You are in LA now

At Los Angeles airport, a stocky woman with kind of a cauliflower hairstyle and red nail polish on is storming towards me and loudly informs me:

"Ayriin, I'm your mom!"

I look at her with relief and happiness and I stammer: "Glad to meet you!"

Behind her at a reasonable distance comes a lanky man with glasses on, at least one foot taller than her. A curly-haired teenager in a floral cotton dress is hiding behind him, holding a short, straw-blonde girl of preschool-age by the hand.

"Don. Kim. Steph. "

We are heading towards a big car. We youngsters have more than enough space in the back seat. The car has fenders that look like the sleeves of an angel. It is of blue and white color.

Yes, they had sent me photos of their family and I recognize them now. A cold can of Coke is put into my hand and I watch Kim opening hers and then skillfully sipping it. While driving, mind you.

We quickly get to Azusa via broad highways and I watch my new dad lift my heavy suitcase out of the trunk and drag it into Kimberly's room. There are two beds and a breached plastic folding screen camouflaging them. On one wall of the room there is a large sliding door that opens a closet.

Through the vertically arranged window, which is being closed by a sliding upper part and a window catch, I can see a large swimming pool in the backyard. I involuntarily take a deep breath, impressed. Yes, there is a palm tree there too. Around it there is a concrete wall with an orange tree and a hibiscus hedge hiding it. The grass is yellow, but the hedge is bursting out in bloom.

The next morning already, we are on the road again - heading for a cottage by a lake in the mountains. The lake is crystal clear, dark blue and proves not to be too cold. Around it there are fir trees, tall and slim, not standing very close. The soil looks dry. There are funny signs with pictures everywhere: Smokey the Bear helps to prevent forest fires.

As good as it feels paddling and swimming all day, in the evening I have a terrible sunburn, blistered feet and, on top of it all, diarrhea. Feeling miserable, I let myself fall down in a rocking chair on the porch and start crying.

The family tactfully overlooks it. I am trying to make them out; Mom is always at ease; Kimberly is very conscientious and Stephanie is spoiled. Dad is an artist; I have already noticed his pictures hanging everywhere in the house in Azusa. The garage is his studio.

Kim now carefully sets out to sprinkle flour on my back and thighs and Mom gives me two aspirins. I sink into my bed and decide to watch out better what I am doing from now on.

The next morning I'm actually much better, but the sunburn still hurts terribly. I am not supposed to go outside on this day and instead I take notice of my surroundings for the first time. We are in a log cabin, even the beds are made of tree trunks. But there is electricity, running water, a stove and a fridge in the kitchen as well as a TV in the family room and a washing machine and dryer in a sort of crate in the back the house. The bathroom, where there is a shower, sink and toilet, is equipped with laminated walls and floor. Above all, comfort is taken care of.

We are in a “share cabin”, a holiday home for many families, who are all entitled to a certain number of days of stay per year. Because I am not allowed to go out, I come up with the craziest ideas, for example I looking for a vacuum cleaner and starting cleaning.

In the kitchen there is delicious food, brought by mom. The Americans heat up cooked ham as thick as a steak, while in Europe we would eat it in thin slices on a sandwich. There are boiled corn cobs, which are eaten with butter spread on and sprinkled with salt. They just taste delicious. Chopped-up sweet and sour cucumbers ("relish") complete the meal. For dessert, we eat rich ice cream with chocolate sauce on top, which is poured hot onto the scoops and immediately freezes solid. In addition, we have unbelievably delicious tasting watermelon, which can also be eaten as a snack, and at any time people of the day, we can have potato chips and coke.

Life can be so wonderful! Meanwhile, Kimberly is familiarizing me with the local dangers. Rattlesnakes should be avoided, if possible, you can hear them from a distance. It is more like the sound of a children's rattle than that of a clatter and also in no way comparable to the insisting chirping of the crickets that I heard in the garden of our Azusa house.

The mosquitos are very annoying, though, and hardly anyone is being spared. At night you can lower the mosquito nets from the ceiling if things become unbearable. I look up and wave my thanks when I see the dust.

Chapter 3

Pool Parties

My mother has written me a letter. A message from home!

After having read it over and over, a selfish though occurs to me: If her letters arrived, parcels would do the same, wouldn’t they. So, I write to her, I need my bathing cap and special soap and a few nice presents for Steph.

The party which Kim throws for our classmates shortly before school starts, is really stunning. I had never experienced anything like that before.

The music is loud and inviting. For a while I watch the girls in bikinis with floral patterns move rhythmically and the boys hanging around, wearing knee-length pants, which they also leave on when swimming (!).

Very soon, everyone begins to dance. Arms are thrown up one by one. Their legs seem either to jump from front to back or from right to left. They sometimes also just stand still and only their hips move while the head keeps nodding up and down.

I ask Kim: "What is the name of that dance?"

She gives me a wide grin: "They call it The Monkey. But really everybody does what they want."

There is a queue at a grill on the lawn. On a small table next to it there are paper plates, napkins and two giant bottles with a pumping device: ketchup and mustard. Everyone is getting themselves sausages, hamburgers and kind of rubbery bread rolls. Countless cans of cola are spread out on ice cubes in a giant open beach bag.

Could Dad please toast my strange bun on the grill?

"Sure. Here you go! "

I slowly start to relax, increasingly enjoying the ambiance.

The girls are all made up and their legs and armpits are shaved. They are obviously trying to stay away from the water. I quickly find out where this aversion is coming from. Again and again, two or three boys grab a girl and throw her into the pool with a howling, cheered by the whole crowd.

Everyone looks tanned and seems to be in a good mood. The most common word I hear is "fun".

"Isn't it fun?!" - "I'm having so much fun! "-" Yeah! " - "Yeah bow!"

Clothing, I soon notice, is an important issue in people’s lives. A woman or a young girl at school or at work needs to wear something different and freshly cleaned every day. Men wear a kind of uniform which they change every day, though. I am amazed by the many identical shirts, T-shirts, sneakers etc. that are part of a man's outfit. A man often buys himself the same items over and over again or in multiple numbers. An absolute must-have seems to be button-down shirts in white or light blue with high neck undershirts with short sleeves underneath. Even their sweaters and suits are very much alike. Ties usually have diagonal stripes in three subdued colors on them.

In their free time, men wear Bermuda shorts with belts and colored T-shirts. These signal their belonging to a sports or other club, the same is true for their jackets. Zipped “lettermen” jackets have sewn-on symbols that immediately signal to the knowing where these young people belong to. Sweaters are dark blue or mottled brown and often sport a cable pattern. A lot of men and boys wear baseball caps in their free time. Shoes to match are moccasins or sneakers. At work everyone has on the same type of leather shoes with an edging displaying perforated patterns.

During all my year in the United States, I have never seen an unshaven man.

These well-groomed young people at my first pool party are behaving in a compliant manner, as they usually do, I found out. Long conversations between two persons are almost a no-go.

Party talk is done in rapid succession and rather superficially about common things like school, which is going to start in a few days. Who are you supposed to be taking math from? Certainly, there will be new teachers. But as a "Senior" you can choose almost all courses yourself.

The focus seems to be on the "extra-curricular activities". Most of the boys want to be part of a "varsity team" in sports, meaning two hours of extra training in the afternoon – every day.

From what I catch, they are now talking about me.

"Her English is good, but her accent is so funny!"

"Are you kidding? I love it. It is so European!"

"She is from Europe, you blockhead!"

"She is pretty, except for her face ..."

"You think so? She reminds me a little of Kim Novak."

"Shhh-ure. She is a brunette!"

Slowly I begin to get irritated when someone in my presence speaks of me in the third person. I decide to respond and that proves successful. I start talking to Kathy, Peggy and Cherie. Kim looks on, apparently pleased. “Good show”! she seems to think, encouragingly.

I hear two boys whispering behind us.

"Why don’t you call her up and ask her for a dee ay tee ee?" Triumphant giggle is following: " I knew she wouldn't get it if I spelt it! "

After everyone has gone, Kimberly explains to me everything about dating customs in a long monologue. Everything looks informal, but it really has a strict framework.

If a boy is interested in a girl, he calls her up and asks her out to the cinema or even just for a coke. Invitations from person to person are taboo. If he walks with the same girl a couple of times, they "go" together. If they are then seen together frequently, they "go steady". High school students then often swap their school rings, he wears hers on his little finger, she wraps a string around the narrow end of his ring and proudly presents it on the ring finger of her right hand. This may result in a marriage proposal or else in a tragic end, which must then be made clear to everyone.

I'm confused. And if you don't go to the beach with one person but with several, for example?

Kim gives me a broad smile:

"That's very nice! No sex. We call it group dating."

I also need to know a few important facts, she explains to me patiently and clearly. She would make a good teacher.

So there seem to be various dance events at school, which often take place in the gym, but you have to dress up properly, the boys wear black trousers and a white jacket, the girls long evening dresses. The girl goes to these events with the boy who calls and asks her first. Even if she was invited shortly afterwards by someone else she liked better (could happen, couldn’t it?), a decent girl unfortunately had to refuse. However, she was allowed to drop a hint like she had already been asked.

My foster sister looks at me as if she has read my thoughts, because she hurries to explain that cheating and lying were not allowed at all, because in no time the whole school would know who had invited whom.

I am almost overwhelmed by this amount of information, but it gets even better. When you kiss, especially when you say goodbye, it's accepted, Kimberly states with a wink of her eye. And if you smooch in the car, which no decent girl will do on her first date, you call it “necking”.

Automobile? Do 16- or 17-year-olds drive a car? Apparently, they do, and the police are chasing parked cars at night. They only fine people who have taken off something, even their shoes. It is immoral, against the ruling customs and is therefore prohibited. This is why many young people smooch in the open-air cinema, where the police don't look and everyone is busy with themselves.

So, where were we? Necking? The next step is the "making out". That would lead to pregnancy and you would have to get married or give the baby away for adoption.

I feet exhausted and taken aback. Gosh! I have a favor to ask.

"If it is convenient, could we some time go swimming to the beach together with a few others?"

We are not going to the sea for some time to come, but Kim has a great surprise waiting for me before school starts.

It is the Beatles America concert in the Rose Bowl, which I am privileged to watch live on August 30, 1965, two weeks after my arrival in California. Kim and some of her friends are taking me with them.

Three of us are in the back seat, giggling, Kim is at the wheel. Seat belts are not yet widely used.