Christmas 1945

We should have been in Argentina by then; instead, we were stranded in New York City, awaiting our ship, the José Menéndez.­­­

Saturday, September 1, the crates, built and filled over the summer months, were shipped to New York. Mother and Dad also went ahead while my grandparents kept me, as they had on previous occasions. Grandma recorded each time in her diary, “I kept Rita” adding little notes such as “Surely are enjoying the baby. She is so sweet.” Or, on another day, “Rita was no trouble at all.”

Tuesday, September 4, my grandparents and I traveled in the old Ford on the turnpike to Dunnellen, New Jersey, and spent the night with Aunt Joyce’s in-laws. The next morning they took us by train and ferry into the city. Grandma’s record states, “Met Solons at 10 at appointed place. Saw some of NYC. Had my first subway ride and ate in an automat.”

I was not the only one having new experiences, but at sixteen-months-old these were not as memorable as for my fifty-seven-year'old grandparent. I do not remember, nor even know, what an “automat” was. Wikipedia tells me it was commonly referred to as “a wall . . . a fast'food restaurant where simple foods and drinks are served by coin-operated and bill-operated vending machines.” “At one time there were forty Horn & Hardart automats in New York City alone.” When in the 1950’s, inserting too many nickels became impractical and drive-through restaurants became popular, the automat declined and eventually closed.

Schrocks and Hoyts

September 7, a Friday, was the first big farewell. Grandma wrote: “We all went into New York City on the 8 o’clock train. Met Schrocks . . . and went to the pier to see the boat got to go on the Jose Menendez, cabins small . . . Said goodbye after eating in a rushed automat.”

It was not to be, however. Visa applications for both families had been mailed off at the same time, but ours had not cleared. Our trunks had been loaded on the ship, but customs officials could not allow us to leave the country. The ship did not sail right away so the two missionary couples spent the weekend together sight-seeing.

In Times Square they met professors from their alma mater who led them on a tour of the Rockefeller Center and Radio City and to the top of the R.C.A. building for a view of the big city. “It’s all very nice,” Mother wrote later, “but the sooner we get away from here the better. Too much noise and filth.”

“Saturday night we got on a double deck bus and rode out to Fosdick’s church [Riverside Church] and also saw Columbia University which is right next door to it. The people in the bus were telling us about the church. They said it’s practically a city in itself. Has about five cafeterias, bowling alleys, club rooms and everything. All the first floor seats of the church are reserved for members only.”

Monday, September 10, Mother wrote to her folks, “Here we are still at the Institute . . . Some things have been happening around here but not what we’d like to see happen.”

In his note to Mom and Pop, his in-laws, Dad explained, “. . . you left us about Friday afternoon. (Can I ever forget that hectic scramble for a few morsels of food?) I called the consul that afternoon asking him if he had received any information from Argentina. He had a cable from our Superintendent stating that our visas would be sent to Chicago Friday the 7^th. We called Chicago and they hadn’t received anything. We called again today and still no visas.”

The José Menéndez was delayed because “In order to carry passengers to and from U.S. they must have certain safety devices which this boat does not have.” To complicate matters, these were not available in the US.

A cargo ship was allowed to carry twelve passengers. However, this time she was scheduled to carry one hundred thirty four! Now, on her first time to dock in an American port, she must comply with US safety regulations. Perhaps there was still hope of the visas arriving in time.
            Tuesday Dad learned that the José Menéndez was finally set to sail the next day, September 12^th, at 12:00. “We haven’t our visas, but our travel agent seems to have something up her sleeve. I don’t know whether we’ll sail or not, but it looks like it. The Lord is able.”

             The next day our belongings were unloaded, we were left behind and wondered what next. My little family was stranded, in limbo, for over three months. I wonder now what they must have felt. Did they ever doubt their calling?

             Seventeen days later, a telegram from the South American Consul announced the arrival of the missing documents. It was time to reschedule the voyage.

The archived letters and diaries are mostly silent about the initial weeks. One telling entry in Grandma’s 5-year diary portrays my father as I always knew him, very industrious, not wasting a moment, occupying with his hands. “Solon is busy making a high chair.” This tells me we spent a few days at my grandparents in Western Pennsylvania.

A telegram arrived December 13: “the José Menéndez will sail the 18^th from pier 29.” Grandma spent the next day baking cookies, making lunches, preparing for our departure on the Pennsylvania Railroad. Winter had set in. Grandpa and Grandma did not go with us this time. They drove us to the train in Pittsburg. Saturday’s entry says, “They were fortunate to get an upper and lower in same compartment. The station master was good to us and let us go on train with Solon & Kathryn. I carried Rita. It is hard to say goodbye.”

             Only now, as a grandmother myself, I begin to comprehend the significance of these last words and the extent of the sacrifice involved in letting loved ones go so far away and for such a long time. An earlier entry reveals this very struggle, “This was the last prayer service Kathryn and Sam are with us for a long time.”

Hoyts with another missionary staying at the Institute

Christmas Day, 1945, was a lonely and quiet one for all. Our ship did not sail till the next day. Grandma wrote on the 26^th of the one bright moment that lifted her spirit, “Called Kathryn this forenoon and heard Rita say so plainly—‘Hi Grandma.’ They were sailing this afternoon. Was good to hear all their voices again.”

             December 26, 1945, the José Menéndez set out on her very last voyage and my first time at sea.