- Bastiaan M. Drees, Dec. 28, 2016
In the late 1950’s, my dad had quit his company in Holland that designed and built the ram jet helicopter, The Kolibrie, due to disagreements with the Dutch government. He searched for other jobs and had opportunities in somewhere in Italy; Buffalo, New York; and Dallas, Texas. When my parents went to Paris for the World’s Fair, they saw a mock up home from Texas with a refrigerator and other modern appliances. That decided it: we were going to move to Dallas, Texas!
My family had lived in the Netherlands forever. Our lineage goes back centuries. So emigrating was a pretty big deal. My Mom had grown up with her family in Indonesia (Dutch East Indies) and had moved frequently. Soon after World War II, both of her parents died, so I suppose she had less to leave behind and was a willing partner to follow Dad to his new job with Bell Helicopter Company. For us kids, major changes were ahead: we had to learn a new language, and change our names. My sister, Froukje, was to be called by her English nickname, “Frieda.” I was told that in America, no one could pronounce the name, “Bastiaan”, so my parents suggested I go by the nickname, “Bart”, inspired by Dad’s new boss, “Bart” (Bartrum) Kelly.
So, there was great fanfare when, late in 1958, we boarded the Westerdam of the Holland American Line. After lengthy final farewells, the ship left the harbor. I remember so vividly stretching both my arms up in the air as far as I could stretch, waving as big as I could at my grandmother and grandfather (Opa and Oma) and aunt and uncle (Tante Zus and Om Rein). I would only see my grandparents again about a half dozen more times in my life, and my aunt and uncle even less. I had the realization standing on the ship’s deck that perhaps when we reached our new destination, I could look up at the clouds and that my grandparents could see those same clouds from their country. It gave me a sense that I had not lost them entirely. Kids who grow up with their grandparents probably know themselves a lot better because they learn what their ancestors were like and where their traits probably originated.
The voyage to America lasted 9 days in the dead of winter. Most days the waves exceeded 9 meters (18 feet), and we also passed through some serious storms. The deck was roped off to help passengers cling onto the deck when waves breeched the hull. A lot of passengers got sick. I remember being in the cafeteria which had a unique, sickly food smell. I saw one passenger walk in and quickly bring his hand to his mouth to hold down vomit before pivoting and leaving in great haste.
I was no exception for getting sea sick; no one was. However, I managed to make the situation a whole lot worse for my family. We were in a two room cabin below deck with round porthole windows. My brother Herman, sister Frieda and I slept in bunk beds in one room. I threw an apple core in the toilet and stopped it up!
Finally, the journey reached its end. The sight of the Manhattan skyline and the Statue of Liberty greeted us, and we disembarked in the New York City harbor. Welcome to the U.S.A.!
It was just after Christmas in New York. It was wet and somewhat snowy. Our family got into one of those yellow cabs and did a little sight-seeing, going to Times Square in the evening. I remember the lights, and a lot of people congregated there. I also had to pee really badly, so my first contribution to the New World was pissing on a tree in Times Square. Things got more interesting on the way to the train station: our taxi was in an accident. However, we still managed to board the train to Dallas for a two day journey with stops along the way. Living on the train was a learning experience. The beds and sink folded up in the Pullman sleeper car we lived in. We basically hung around and looked out the windows at the winter landscape flowing by the windows. My brother, sister and I were introduced to Cracker Jacks and the prizes in every box!
Finally, we arrived at our destination. The first order of business was for my parents to buy a car so that Dad could get to work and back (a 45 minute trip one way from Dallas to the Bell Helicopter plant in Arlington). We got a blue 1959 Cheverolet Impala station wagon and moved into an apartment near Preston Center. There, we shopped at Sears Department Store to purchase Ked’s high top tennis shoes and blue jeans so long the cuffs needed to be rolled up for me and my brother. Almost immediately, we were Americans!
My brother, sister and I were enrolled in Preston Hollow Elementary School in January 1959 not knowing a word of English. I had a difficult time learning how to read and write well, barely passing English all the way through high school. Then I spent a career writing scientific journal articles, a book and now these personal narratives. I still miss growing up closer to my grandparents and family that we left behind when we boarded the Westerdam.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Acknowledgments: I thank my lovely wife, Carol, and my 7-8th grade English teacher daughter, Erin Lien Snyder, for their editorial and constructive comments, most of which I have incorporated.