Chapter 4 Escape from Europe
On July 4, 1940, at 6.30 p.m., the first bus that went through France left the American
Express office.
Though we arrived long before the appointed time, Lena Lyser and Tiny, our housekeeper,
were there to see us off.
We never saw them again.
There was a big crowd in the street and great excitement among all the passengers who were
about to leave.
Many were crying.
No seat remained empty and the passengers very soon became acquainted with each other.
Everyone had a story to tell and soon we were like one big unhappy family with one wish
in common, to avoid the Germans.
Our destination was Cerberus, France, a tiny town on the shores of the Mediterranean at
the Spanish border.
To get there without encountering the Germans, the driver had to change his route frequently
after seeking information from the French peasants and soldiers.
We had to make a great circle going via Grenoble and Neon to Orange, which was to be our stop
for the night. The German troops had advanced very far and they were everywhere, more than
once our driver had to backtrack to escape them.
Finally, late at night, we arrived at Orange. We left the next morning at six. At Neames
we stopped for breakfast. The roads were empty. We saw fewer peasants and more and more French
German soldiers. Some soldiers were walking alone, trying to get home to their families. Others were in groups, but all of them looked beaten, humiliated and unhappy, exhausted and hopeless. There were no waves, no greetings, no jokes, no smiles. Once we had to stop suddenly and turn back, some soldiers warned us that the Germans were right behind them. But the driver knew the country well. Never, not for a moment, did he lose his nerve.
We arrived at Cerberus, beautifully located on the sea. But we had no eyes for beauty or landscape. We had only one thought, would it be possible to cross the border today? We tried and were sent back. On this day only French, American and English citizens were allowed by the custom officers to cross into Spain. Come back tomorrow, we were told.
As calm and composed as Lew seemed, he was in a terrible state of mind. He was not made for adventures and uncertainties of this kind. I needed all my courage to help him overcome his desolation.
For the night we found quarters in the railroad hotel at Cerberus. You cannot really call it a hotel. Above the office and restaurant of the station a few dark rooms were reserved for transient passengers.
Dinner in the hotel, more than anything else, showed the straits the French were in.
As hors d'oeuvres we got a single lonely sardine served on a large plate, and as a main course they gave us some spaghetti.
There was no meat, no bread, no vegetable.
But as a consolation we were given a bottle of good red wine.
The room we stayed in overnight had one window which opened to the railroad platform.
Though there were few trains running, just when we tried to get some sleep, a freight train rattled into the station.
People shouted, strange red lights flared up, and then again came darkness and silence until another train passed through.
We woke up in the morning without really having slept.
There was no bath, one small gray worn-out towel had to suffice for both of us.
After we had a cup of coffee, we tried again at the border.
The day before, the officers had not even opened our passports. This time, after they examined them, we were told that our Spanish visa was not good anymore, and the Portuguese visa also had to be renewed, since it had been issued in June, and only those written in July were valid for this month.
We were ordered to get new visas from the Spanish consulate in Toulouse.
Very early the next day, four o'clock a.m., Lew boarded a train to Toulouse. He took with him the passports of all the passengers on the bus, including those of seven Portuguese. Late that night, Lew came back, totally exhausted. He had managed to get visas for all the passengers except the Portuguese. They were turned back for the third time.
The next day, finally, we crossed the border, immediately got a train for Barcelona and
caught a plane for Lisbon. It was a rather small plane and my first flight. I cannot
say that I enjoyed it.
When we arrived in Lisbon, we took a deep breath. Our first days there were fully occupied
with visits to the police, every foreigner had to register, and to the various transportation
Lisbon was the most picturesque city I had ever seen. The houses were painted either a brilliant white, a delicate light pink, or, sometimes, a soft green or bright yellow. Some of them were decorated with a variety of colors.
The city is divided into an upper part and a lower part. The streets run up and down, completely hilly. I hear now they have some elevators to the upper and lower parts. In 1940 they only had a sort of tramway and comfortable paths for pedestrians.
There was great poverty in Lisbon, and, as a consequence, there were many, many children selling newspapers, polishing shoes, and often begging for money.
Once in a while a policeman would chase them, but more often he kept his eyes shut.
The little boys liked to hang out to the boards of the tram, a favorite game of theirs.
They were too poor to pay, and the conductors chose not to see them.
The poor women were either pregnant or carried their latest baby in their arms or hidden
in their shoulder scarves. They did not have perambulators. Often they carried a basket
of fish upon their heads. These female fish vendors and the smell of fish were characteristic
of the city. Everything smelled of fish, the tramway, the streets, the harbor, the little
cars. Early in the morning the women moved in long lines from the harbor to the markets
with tiny pillows on their heads, on which they carried large flat baskets full of fish.
These women, though mostly short and stout, carried themselves erectly and proudly. Only
when they had to cross a street, one of their hands held onto the basket, otherwise they
walked without touching it. They were unbelievably modest, and their needs were few. The tramways
as well as the tiny taxis moved very fast, and often the conductor rang the bell before
for the last passenger could jump on board, forcing the would-be passenger to run, catch
hold of the handle and pull himself aboard while the tram was moving. People were friendly
in Lisbon and the policeman treated foreigners very well. Once, Lew and I wanted to visit
a friend of his and the street where the man lived was rather far from the hotel. We asked
the policeman how to get there, but as we did not know the language we had difficulty
The Theory of Money and Credit
We had to wait for 13 days in Lisbon before we were able to get passage to America. Originally the export line had given us tickets for August 15th, but this meant waiting more than 4 weeks, and I could not imagine how Lew would stand it. So I went to the shipping office every day. Lew got so tired of this begging and asking that he refused to go anymore, so I had to take over. I was lucky enough one morning to get a ticket to Lisbon.
I was going to get hold of the manager, a Mr. Hart, who was very, very friendly, and
promised to do for us whatever he could. But, he said, you will have to call the office
every morning and tell us exactly where you are during the day and what you will be doing.
This was not easy, for Lew was seeing many people, among them Professor M. Bencebat Amselek,
the Portuguese Minister of Finance. Lew had various meetings with him, and Amselek had
also arranged a meeting for Lew with Professor Salazar and a seminar, which Lew held at the
Statistical Office. He was busy all the time and I had to report all this to the American
Export Line. When we went out sightseeing, Lew did what he always did in a new city.
He took a tramway or a bus and criss-crossed the town with me. The only way, he said, to
really get to know a place. I generally spent half a day on the telephone, calling the Export
Line Office. Lew made no further move. He could neither relax nor enjoy what he was
doing. He was uprooted. For the first time I noted what I so often had the opportunity
to see later. He could fight for a cause, but never for himself. And when he could not
work, he was listless. He once told me, a writer who has something to tell only needs
a pencil and a sheet of paper. That's all.
Looking back, I think he forgot something more important. A writer also needs peace
of mind.
Just as between 1938 and 1940 every political refugee at one time or another came through
Geneva or stayed there for a while, now Lisbon had become a haven for people without a home,
without a country. All sorts of nationalities were gathered here, and every day we met more
We frequently met Count Kuderhaven, a fighter for Pan Europe who also had a Japanese mother and was rather exotic and good looking. He was married to a famous Viennese actress, Ida Rowland, who was much older than he and had a daughter already in her thirties, whom the Count has always spoke of as the child. It really sounded more tragic than funny.
30s, whom the Countess always spoke of as the child. It really sounded more tragic than
funny.
On July 24th I once again returned to the export line and got the message that Mr. Hart
was waiting for a cancellation, but so far nothing had turned up. I was asked to come
back in the afternoon. I did, but it was in vain for no space had opened up. The next
morning I went to the hairdresser, left my number with Mr. Hart's secretary, and was
was just being put under the dryer with all the pin clips in my hair when I was called
to the phone. Export line, come here at once. We have a cancellation, but you must be here
with all your documents before noon.
Everyone at the hairdresser shared my excitement. The pin clips thrown out, my hair all wet,
I took a taxi to the hotel. Thank God, Lew was there, waiting for me. I made him give
me our papers and raced to the office. I was in time and was told that we had a cabin on
on the Exo-Horda, sailing that afternoon at 5 p.m. We had to embark immediately. Back at the hotel, the tickets in my hand, I saw Lew's smile for the first time in weeks. It was this smile I loved so much and would have done anything to bring about.
Our luggage had never been unpacked, so we were ready to leave in a very short time.
The Exa Horta, one of three or four ships of the export line that were regularly crossing the Atlantic,
was neither large nor a luxury vessel, but it was comfortable and we had a very good cabin.
Even before the ship left the harbor, Lew got terribly sick, so sick that I had to call the doctor.
At that time we did not know that Lew had gallbladder trouble.
Later on I realized that this must have been the first of the many serious attacks he suffered in later years.
This one, of course, could have been the consequence of all the excitement, the discomfort, the irregular food, and the inner suffering he had gone through for weeks.
He recovered after two days, but he never felt happy on the ship.
In fact, he never felt happy on any ship. Ships gave him claustrophobia.
I, on the contrary, enjoyed every day.
The Atlantic crossing took nine days and the weather was marvelous.
One of Lew's good friends from the Institute in Geneva, Professor Potter, was traveling with us.
During the entire passage we met only one other ship, an English freighter.
There was nothing but the ocean and the bright blue sky.
We arrived at noon on August 2, 1940, at a pier in New Jersey.
The greatest impression I had that day was not the beautiful skyline I had seen that long before in films.
What impressed me most was the terrible wastefulness of the kitchen.
Shortly before our arrival I noticed that the galley threw out not only the remnants of food overboard,
but also fresh fruit, vegetables, potatoes and bread.
We had come from Europe where so many people had so little to eat,
And when we saw this waste of food we could not help but feel angry.
A good friend of Lew's, a former participant in his seminar, Dr. Alfred Schutz, was at the pier to meet us.
It was a great relief for Lew and me to see someone we knew waiting for us, happy to be of help and to welcome us to the United States.