In the previous century, after the Second World War, many Europeans sought to immigrate to the United States. It was the promised land, a beautiful and safe country. These immigrants had to work to survive, back then there were no financial support programs for immigrants. My father was one such immigrant after leaving Holland after the Second World War. He worked many odd jobs until he became his own salesperson, first selling Dutch chocolate from his VW van to supermarkets, and thereafter he became a successful fine arts dealer, importing Dutch paintings to California art galleries. One of my first jobs after arriving in America in 1983 was that of a busboy at the Bankers Club. Nowadays they call that job an "assistant waiter" but back then that job was called busboy and "Human Resources" was called the "Personnel Office." The restaurant was on top of the 52nd floor of the Bank of America building. At the time, this was the highest floor in San Fran...
Deze blog gaat over mijn herinneringen van de jaren 80 in de VS, zoals Monique die mij in haar Citroën SM door de straten van San Francisco reed, Christina van de Stark Club in Dallas, en Angelique die mij na 25 jaar nog op het treinstation in Brunnik ontmoette. Ook een gedicht over Pim Fortuyn en het Koningshuis van toen Koningin Beatrix en WA. Hiep hiep hoera. The evil Queen of the Neverlands. "Niets vragen. Niets verwachten. Nergens afhankelijk van zijn." -- De Eeuwige Bron, Ayn Rand