FROM P.R. TO NYC c 1946

Remembering events of over sixty-four years ago is not an easy task but some incidents seem to tenaciously attach themselves to ones psyche.

Part of the preparation for the trip from Puerto Rico to the city of streets paved with gold, as our uncle described New York in a letter, was wearing apparel. My father took all five of his sons to a clothing store in San Juan and bought identical navy blue suits for all, even the smell of the fabric is still in wherever the brain stores nasal encounters. To this day I can’t stand any kind of wool suit let alone a navy-blue one.

After leaving San Juan, the two engines DC-3, bound for New York, made stops in Miami and North Carolina to refuel and allow passengers to eat. It was late October 1946, the first post-war year of peace. The grueling thirteen-hour flight included air pockets, which caused immediate nausea and fear. By the time we reached New York the plane had hit over a dozen air pockets, each time falling like a broken elevator before gaining normalcy. Needless to say, mostly everyone had thrown up and yes I still remember the stench. Most travelers today don’t even know what an air pocket is and if they want to know, all they have to do is go to an amusement park or ride a malfunctioning elevator.
Today’s jets are able to complete the same route in less than three hours sans air pockets. The entire entourage, consisting of my mother, father, four brothers, grandmother, and myself, arrived exhausted. Also tagging along was an older cousin and her brother, a total of ten. When the doors opened and everyone started rushing out of the aircraft, my father patiently waited for all the nauseous to exit first. When my turn came, wearing only a navy blue suit, I encountered for the first time “Cold”, it felt like walking into a giant freezer. I immediately reacted by lurching backwards but someone gave me a quick push and I proceeded trembling down onto the tarmac towards the terminal and waiting relatives. Airports now have covered ramps that attach to the aircraft. One more surprise awaited us. There was no private vehicle to transport all of us to the final destination. Sadly disappointed, we were herded into a bus heading to the nearest subway station. Our relatives had no car and supported the fact by saying no one needed a car in New York, everyone traveled by Subway. Partly true but they just couldn’t afford one and were embarrassed to say it.
Our timing could not have been worse. We entered the New York Subway system just prior to the morning rush hour. As we boarded the train everyone began staring at our group, including luggage and cardboard boxes. I often reflect on this scene and wonder how the ten of us must have looked to veteran New Yorkers. A lot of immigrants went through this but less today due to the affordability of taxis and private vehicles.
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