Coming to Colorado: A Young Immigrantâ??s Journey to Become an American Flyer

CHAPTER 10. A Distant Goal

A Distant Goal CHAPTER 10 { 120 } A DISTANT GOAL The air was soft and gentle, the days mostly comfortably warm, even though it was already October. Late at night though when I got off the bus coming home from work, I felt a chill in the air, reminding me that close to a year had passed since I arrived in Colorado, and winter was not far off. Winter, the season I dreaded most in Germany, was just another season in Colorado. I had no idea if Colorado had winter storms like I experienced in the Lüneburg Heath, but if it did I had no reason to fear the icy winds and drifting snow. Although our home on Jones Street was tiny, its roof didn’t leak like our barracks had in Germany. We had running hot and cold water inside the house and did not have to rely on a single community pump out in the open. The walls and windows of our house were sturdy and tight, and when the wind blew, it found no way to enter and cover me with a fine dusting of snow as it had frequently in the barracks. I was hoping for a mighty storm to blow up so I could experience the comfort and safety of our home while the elements raged outside. That Colorado winter storm never came. Snow, yes. But no howling winds. One December morning, a Sunday, I decided to take the bus into town. Denver was my hometown now, and I had seen very little of it so far. I wanted to wander around, following no schedule, no predetermined route. I thought I might visit the bookstore on the corner of Colfax and Broadway, then go up to the capitol building with its gold-leaf-covered dome, walk up the granite steps, and face west to see what the town and mountains looked like from up there. I wanted to touch the magnificent bronze statues scattered about the capitol grounds. Maybe I would visit the city library if it was open and there was still time to do so. I carefully counted my change to make sure that I had enough bus fare, and put the twenty-six cents into one trousers pocket to make certain I didn’t accidentally spend it. The rest of my coins I put in my other pocket. I didn’t have any dollar bills to call my own. Hedy and Leo were still asleep. I moved quietly around the house, not wanting to disturb them, and made sure the screen door didn’t slam as I stepped outside. I felt good walking down Jones street. The neighborhood was quiet, the sky a sparkling blue, the morning sun surprisingly warm. For some { 121 } A DISTANT GOAL reason the crisp morning air reminded me of how young I was, sixteen, and that I had most of my life ahead of me. My grandfather Samuel came to mind, and I wondered how one got to be as old as he was, live that many years, survive two wars. I couldn’t picture myself ever being that old. I liked being young, liked the feeling of strength and the belief that whatever lay ahead I could shape and fashion. When I reached East Colfax, I headed for the bus stop next to the Safeway store, a former streetcar stop with a small shelter. The tracks were still there. The streetcars had been taken out of service the year before I arrived, in 1950, and been replaced with trolley buses. The city sold the streetcar bodies to anyone who could cart them away, Hank Sonnleitner told me, their yellow bodies scattered throughout the mountains as makeshift cabins. I sat on a bench in the shelter. Buses only ran once an hour on Sundays. I was early. It wasn’t nine o’clock yet. Looking west on Colfax I could clearly see the snow capped mountains in the distance, their peaks glistening in the early morning sun. I took off my jacket; it was going to be a warm day. There was hardly any traffic at this hour of morning, and I saw no one walking. Few people walked anywhere in America, I had noted, only kids rode bicycles, and their bikes looked cumbersome with big fat tires. Most Americans drove wherever they went, even if it was only a short distance. So...