São Paulo, 11 August 2002.
Dear Damazio
Long time no see! I'd like to tell you about my latest escapades. I was in Sydney in April-May 2000, and decided to fly Japan Airlines to São Paulo with a stopover in Tokyo then all the way non-stop to New York City where I intended to go down Memory Lane and reminisce about all those years ago.
I hope you and your family are doing well. While in Newark, I wrote a letter to a Brazilian monthly paper called 'Brazilian Voice' (any resemblance to 'Village Voice' is not purely coincidental) telling about how it used to feel to be an Illegal Immigrant in the USA, in the early 1970s. I mentioned Dentinho's sad story of being caught speeding at the Pulaski Skyway and subsequent deportation back to Brazil. I'm sending you a copy of the letter they printed in their May-June 2000 edition. I tried to compare what I lived in 1971-1972-1973 with today, the Northern Summer of 2001.
From mid-to-late May and mid-June 2000, I ended up sub-letting a room within the apartment of a Chilean lady called Nelly, née Rubmela, who was 82 years old and lived with a much younger American man called Gordon. She & Gordo (that's how she called him) used only the front bedroom and the kitchen in the back. Gordo works night shift as a security guard in some industrial plant.
Nelly was retired and made a little money for herself renting a large apartment, then partitioned it in various 'sections' she sub-let to single Latin American single men. Such arrangement was on the 2nd floor of a 3-story house, on New York Avenue next to the Independence County Park, Brazilians used to call Mosquito Park. I remember you taking me there once in 1972 and calling it Parque dos Mosquitos.
Nelly learned this business in Alaska, during the 70s & 80s, when she did the same allotments with large houses and catered to mostly Latin American men who worked in the oil industry during its boom.
During my stay in Newark, there was a great event in the Ironbound. Saturday, 10 and Sunday, 11 June 2000, there was a huge fair called Portugal Day with lots of food, music and amusement. Actually it was their 21st edition which means the 1st such a fair was done in 1979. They closed off Ferry Street and some side-streets going all the way down to Penn Station, set their stands & stalls waiting for the 300,000 visitors who visited it in search of fun.
I was surprised by the great numbers of Portuguese nationals there...it seemed like double or triple the amount of those in the 1970s. The Portuguese are more affluent too. Even TAP (Transportes Aéreos Portugueses) has got a state-of-the-art dark-glassed building next to Penn Station. Remember that railway that crossed over Ferry Street between Prospect St and Congress St? They've built a Portuguese restaurant with a huge parking lot called Iberia Park.
I've noticed Puertoriqueños have vanished from the Ironbound having been superseded by a lot of people from Ecuador. They own a lot of small business, like an international-phone exchange on Ferry Street near Saint Stephen's and the largest taxicab fleet in the region.
Brazucas abound! Probably 4 (or more) times greater than the number we used to know in the early 1970s. There is a lot of small business owned by Brazilians which cater exclusively for them. Brazilian stores that provide VHS cartridges containing chapters of the latest tele-novela made by TV Globo in Rio. 'Programa do Ratinho' beamed by SBT is also a favourite of the masses. Brazucas have a fetish for Brazilian pain-killers and birth-control pills. It seems they believe the brand from the old country is superior to the American counter-part.
In addition to the greater number of “Portugas” (derogative form of Portuguese used by low-class Brazilians) the number of 'Brazucas' also tripled or quadrupled. There are multiple Brazilian stores that sell everything; from VHS tapes of SBT’s “Programa do Ratinho” to guava jam (goiabada) made by Cica and things like that. One can find almost anything from Brazil there. On Adams Street there is a mini shopping-mall where the majority of stores are owned by Brazilians; hairdressers, accounting agents who send dollars to Brazil, travel agents etc. In this mall you will see dozens of Brazilian bumpkins (matutos) chatting about Atlético or Cruzeiro; how to work in constructions, how to get a fake Social Security card which costs between 50 and 60 dollars etc.
If you still have your Social Security card, keep it, as it is currently nearly impossible to get a real one unless one is a permanent resident. Fake numbers are everywhere. They invent a number, print a fake SS card on home computers. Employers usually accept it. Banks don't accept it, so it's difficult to open a bank account, which leads to bizarre facts. I went to interpret for a Brazuca in Plymouth-MA and noticed he was carrying a wallet stuffed with 50 and 100-dollar bills. I asked him why he carried so much money. He said he didn't have a bank account and he didn't trust leaving money at home. He was a “walking bank”.
The Social Security Department itself accepts contributions sent by the employer using fake numbers. Once a year the Department sends a letter warning the taxpayer to check if the number is correct, but they never send any money back. In other words, everyone pretends they don't know anything about it so America keeps getting richer and no one asks questions!
Getting a driver's license without a real SS card is mission: impossible. A fake green card is also easy to get. I paid $170 for mine, but I ended up using it only once. I used my old Social Security and got myself a provisional driver's license in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts; that's the official name of the State of Massachusetts.
Having a real Social Security card is a status symbol among Brazucas. Even if you have lost the document but remember the number, the SS counts. I lost my original SS card long ago and so I tried to get me a duplicate. I went to the Newark Federal Building on Broad Street. Remember we used to dread getting near this building for it was the place illegal immigrants were taken to when arrested by the Police? An employee there insisted on seeing my Green Card; I had taken my Australian passport in case I needed to identify myself. As she insisted a lot, I ended up showing my passport. She checked the type of visa I had, and said it was not suitable for working. Note that I already had my SS card. I just wanted a duplicate, with the same number, as they changed the layout. But faced with so much difficulty, I decided not to insist any further, I said ‘Thank you’, and I slipped away.
Entering any federal building after the Oklahoma City Federal Building was blown up in 1996, is a true war operation. You have to go through metal detectors; sometimes being searched by policemen 'in the flesh”, etc. And this was all before what the Yankees call 9/11 (September, 11th, 2001. Imagine now what paranoia it must be like.
It is also interesting to note that just at this very summer of 2000, I went to the World Trade Center with Carlos Oliveira, a Brazilian shop-keeper & taxi driver I became friends with. He needed a license to import “trinkets” from Brazil so he could open a “Brazilian store” in Newark. We went to one of the Twin Towers, where the New York-New Jersey Port Authority, which actually owns the WTC towers and ground. Many New Jersey municipalities make their offices in the towers.
I took some photos of Newark I'd like to show you when we have a chance to meet. In fact, if you went there tomorrow, I think you wouldn't find much of a difference in the city from those early 1970s.
Pathmark moved from Wilson Avenue - where one entered it from a side street - to Ferry Street, passing Saint Stephen's Lutheran Church in the direction of the New Jersey Turnpike. They tore down two blocks of houses there, building a huge Pathmark within a mall with a kind of a plaza that takes Niagara St., Wescot St. and Fillmore St., where you'll find the Ironbound Post Office, laundries etc.
But otherwise, almost everything remains the same. The PATH train [Port Authority Trans-Hudson, did you know?] is still the same; with trains, which I believe are the same ones we took to go to New York University every Saturday to take that English course, remember? Those trains are over 20 years old. Of course, the PATH no longer goes to downtown Manhattan, as the WTC station no longer exists by the work and grace of Allah. But he still goes to midtown-Manhattan, stopping first in Harrison, Jersey City [Journal Square], Hoboken [where Frank Sinatra was born, you know?], Christopher Street [in the Village], 14th, 23rd, 28th and finally 33rd Street.
I found the Brazilian Press there very interesting, as there are a lot of publications. There are two newspapers in Newark alone. There's another one in Flamingham, Massachusetts, and others that I don't even know where they're based at. Most of them are weekly tabloid newspapers. They are regularly distributed free of charge in “Brazilian stores”, which end up being meeting centers for Brazilians. But you can find them in beauty salons, travel agencies, grocery stores, bars, etc. Many people, if they don't read them, at least see the photos in these newspapers.
The intellectual level of the Brazucas in general, I found to be much worse than in our time. Of course there are the most studied guys; I even saw some Gauchos at the Newark Public Library using the Internet; but the vast majority are semi-illiterate people, who come from all over Brazil. Now there are a lot of people from Paraná there and it's funny, because you often think the guy is American, because he's blond and blue-eyed, and the guy opens his mouth and says: “I put the letter in the mail!” It's no wonder that Ratinho is their idol! I could never write this for the newspaper, but I can write it for you!
Could it be ‘our time’ in Newark was better! I guess so! At that time, Brazucas didn't speak English, but compared to today, things got worse, because so-and-so has Globo Cable at home and don't watch North American TV at all. Now there is VCR (video-cassette recorder) and families, when they are not watching Globo, can watch sermons from a local “evangelical pastor” or programs from Brazil. There is a great number of evangelical churches; more or less reflecting what happens in Brazil. If at that time it was difficult for Brazucas to learn English, now it is almost impossible.
WABC reigned back then, remember? Now it's not like that anymore. I don't know which radio station is successful, but even the Top 40 was destroyed. In fact, I found a super incredible website from the old WABC Music Radio on the Internet, and there I found out what happened to the “Top 40’s radio stations”. The market has become “segmented”; that is, rappers listen to rap radio; Latinos listen to Latino stations; teeny boppers listen to their radio stations, etc. So things changed a lot there. Before it was more “democratic”... WABC and the others played everything. The Brazucas, poor things, are completely alienated; much more than in “our time”.
Today's Newark, at times, seemed to me as if it were a “middle class” neighborhood in Brazil, except that the little guys “cruising” Ferry Street were passing by in “imported cars”, with their stereos “blasting” Chitãozinho & Chororó or some group of Pagode; I even heard Racionais MC’s on the streets of Newark. This happens when any of these pagode groups or country duos are not performing “live” in a club or stadium there. You know that money runs wild in the U.S. There you see the “color of money”... you see “greenbacks” in droves... and people really spend it; bring Chitãozinho, Daniel, Zé Camargo & Luciano... you name it and they will pay the right price.
Very different from ‘our time’, when we listened to John Lennon, Badfinger, Al Green, Roberta Flack, Chicago and even Spanish salsa groups.
In the short time I was there I had the chance to witness that the drug problem is still the same as it was then, if not worse, as there is now a lot of Heroin there. In the winter of 2000 I lived in a cellar that was nothing more than a “tenement” that reminded me a lot of the “other” tenement that I lived in in the winter of 1971. There was a knife fight between a Capixaba man and a Lisbon man. They told me that the issue was drug [heroin]. There are many people who work all week to throw their entire salary into the hands of “heroin drug dealers”. Disgusting! But I think this is part of the “Immigrant Anguish”, which we already know.
I went down “Memory Lane”, as they say! I walked along those streets that led to the old Francis Street Record Factory. The factory no longer exists, but the building is there almost identically. It gave me a shiver down my spine looking at that street. It even seemed that deep inside they were “cooking” vynil paste, which would then come to our heated metal tables, for us, the cutters, to cut and do our 45 r.p.m.’s. I even heard the voice of that Puertorriqueño Mike saying: “Como le gusta? Do you like it fat and wide?” That Black lady [Anna, according to you] who “made” plastic ashtrays [night shift], whose husband came to pick her up in the morning with a Lincoln Continental.
Remember that couple from Puertoriqueños who did “long-playing”? I only made compacts! Did those who made LPs earn more? I think so, because we, who made compacts, were “discriminated against”. The Puertoriqueña woman had huge braids. Do you remember her? Do you remember those two Peruvians; one called Maria and the other looked like a little boy. They said they were “affairs”!
Speaking of Peruvians, I remember that there was one of them who was Japanese and was very good people... I don't remember his name now, but I remember that he always hummed “Something” [he only sang the part of “I don't know, I don't know”], “Where do I begin?” [“Love story Love Theme” with Andy Williams] and I liked Nicola di Bari. He said that Sergio Murilo [remember “Marcianita”?] was a big hit in Peru.
In the letter I sent to “Brazilian Voice” I mention Dentinho. Now I remember that his name was Luiz something. I was known as Carlos at the factory. Carlitos for the Hispanics. I think v. I didn’t get to know him, as he also did “night shift”; he delivered folders and was a very funny little guy; he had a beard and mustache and was very young; in fact, like most of us, he would not be more than 21 years old. He lived with Alfredo and G. [I'm not sure of his name], a good-looking guy with blue [or green] eyes, who had a Mustang and seemed to be the leader of the household. The three were from Franco da Rocha in a rented house on Wilson Avenue, close to the Saint Stephen church [which has now become practically “Brazilian”, as the Sunday services are with a Brazilian Pastor].
One night I went to their house and they asked me to take my LPs that I had bought at ‘Two Guys’, a department store on Broad Street. I remember there was a sound track from the movie 'West Side Story', and the boys thought it was 'strange' that I liked that type of music, especially after hearing 'Tonight' with Marnie Nixon singing with a Puerto Rican accent. . They laughed, and I didn't really like the reaction. There was a Donovan LP and a few others that I can't remember at the moment.
On the Sunday afternoon that “Dentinho” was arrested on the Pulaski Skyway, he had stopped by my house [I lived above the aforementioned go-go bar] and we went out for a “ride” in his car. After we drove around aimlessly for a while, he dropped me off at home. It was a cold autumn afternoon, just when we immigrants missed Brazil the most. Before going up to my room, I spent a little time with Dentinho, who put a 'quarter' on the juke-box in the semi-deserted bar and listened to “Long ago tomorrow”, by B.J. Thomas. It was his favorite song then. It was the last time I saw him. Minutes later he was stopped for speeding; the “cops” wanted to see your documents; he took the police to his house; There they saw the passport with his visa already expired, and besides Dentinho, the other two friends also “danced”. It was very sad because they were all “nice” guys, despite being legally “illegal”. It was the biggest buzz at Synthetic Plastics Co. on Monday, because in addition to Dentinho, Alfredo also worked there in the afternoon. They were deported to Brazil at the end of 1971.
O Pathmark mudou-se dalí de traz da Wilson Avenue para Ferry Street, lá depois que Ferry ‘vira’ em direção à New Jersey Turnpike. Derrubaram dois quarteirões de casas dalí, construindo um imenso Pathmark em um e uma espécie de ‘plaza’ em frente ao mercado, onde há uma agência do Post Office, laundry, etc.
Mas de resto, continua quase que tudo igual. O trem PATH [Port Authority Trans-Hudson, você sabia?] ainda é o mesmo; com trens, que acredito, sejam os mesmos que nós tomávamos para irmos à New York University todo sábado para fazer aquele curso de Inglês, lembra? Aqueles trens tem mais de 20 anos. Lógicamente que o PATH não vai mais para downtown Manhattan, pois a estação WTC não existe mais por obra e graça de Allah. Mas ele ainda vai para midtown-Manhattan, parando primeiro em Harrison, Jersey City [Journal Square], Hoboken [onde nasceu o Frank Sinatra, sabia?], Christopher Street [no Village], 14th, 23rd, 28th e finalmente 33rd Street.
Eu achei muito interessante a Imprensa Brasileira lá, pois há bastante publicações. São dois jornais somente em Newark. Há outro em Flamingham, em Massachusetts, e outros que nem sei onde estão baseados. São jornais tabloides semanais em sua maioria. São distribuídos gratuitamente regularmente em “lojas Brasileiras”, que acabam sendo centros de encontros de Brasileiros. Mas você pode encontra-los em salões de beleza, agências-de-viagem, mercadinhos, bares, etc. Muita gente, se não lê, pelo menos vê as fotos desses jornais.
O nível intelectual dos Brazucas em geral, eu achei bem pior do que no nosso tempo. Lógicamente existem os caras mais estudados; vi até uns Gaúchos na Public Library de Newark usando a Internet; mas a grande maioria é de gente semi-analfabeta, que vem de todos os lugares do Brasil. Agora há muitos Paranaenses por lá e é gozado, pois muitas vezes você pensa que o sujeito é Americano, pois é loiro de olhos azuis, e o cara abre a boca e fala: “Eu ponhei a carta no correio!” Não é atôa que o Ratinho é ídolo deles! Isso eu nunca poderia escrever para o jornal, mas posso escrever para você!
Eu acho que o ‘nosso tempo’ era melhor! Pode ser? Acho que pode! Naquele tempo os Brazucas não falavam o Inglês, mas comparando com os dias de hoje, a coisa piorou, pois fulano tem a Globo Cabo em casa e não assiste TV Norte-americana de maneira alguma. Agora há VCR e as famílias, quando não estão assistindo a Globo, podem ver sermões de “pastor evangélico” local ou programas vindo do Brasil. Há uma proliferação de igrejas evangélicas; mais ou menos que acompanhando o que está acontecendo aqui no Brasil. Se naquele tempo os Brazucas já dificilmente aprendiam Inglês, agora é praticamente impossível.
Naquele tempo a WABC reinava, lembra-se? Agora não é mais assim. Não sei qual radio faz sucesso, mas até o Top 40 foi pulverizado. Na verdade eu achei um site super incrível da antiga WABC Music Radio na Internet, e por lá eu fiquei sabendo o que aconteceu com as “Top 40’s radio stations”. O mercado se “segmentalisou”; ou seja, rappers ouvem radio rap; Latinos ouvem Latino stations; teeny boppers ouvem suas radios, etc. Então as coisas mudaram bastante por lá. Antes era mais “democrático”... a WABC e as outras tocavam de tudo. Os Brazucas, coitados, ficam totalmente alienados; muito mais do que no “nosso tempo”.
Newark atual, as vezes, me pareceu como se fosse um bairro de “classe media” do Brasil, só que os carinhas “cruising” a Ferry Street passavam de “carro importado”, com seus stereos “blasting” Chitãozinho & Chororó ou algum grupo de Pagode; até Racionais MC’s eu ouvi nas ruas de Newark. Isso quando algum desses conjuntos de pagode ou dupla sertaneja não estão se apresentando “ao vivo” em algum clube ou estádio por lá. Você sabe que o dinheiro corre solto nos U.S. Lá você vê a “cor do dinheiro”... você vê “verdinhas” aos montes... e o pessoal gasta mesmo; trazem Chitãozinho, Daniel, Zé Camargo & Luciano... you name it and they will pay the right price.
Bem diferente do ‘nosso tempo’, quando escutávamos John Lennon, Badfinger, Al Green, Roberta Flack, Chicago e até conjuntos hispanos de salsa.
Do pouco tempo que fiquei por lá tive a chance de testemunhar que o problema de drogas ainda é o mesmo daquele tempo, se não for pior, pois agora há muita Heroína por lá. No Inverno de 2000 eu morei num ‘cellar’ que não passava de um “cortiço” que me lembrou muito o “outro” cortiço que eu morei no Inverno de 1971. Houve uma briga de faca entre um Capixaba e um Lisboeta. Me disseram que a questão era de droga [heroína]. Há muita gente que trabalha a semana inteira para jogar seu salário todinho na mão de “heroin drug dealers”. Disgusting! Mas acho que isso faz parte da “Immigrant anguish”, que nós já conhecemos.
I went down “Memory Lane”, como se diz! Andei por aquelas ruas que levavam à antiga Fabrica de Discos da Francis Street. A fábrica não existe mais, mas o edifício está lá quase que idêntico. Me deu até um arrepio na espinha de olhar aquela rua. Parecia até que lá no fundo estavam “cozinhando” pasta de vynil, que depois viriam até nossas mesinhas metálicas aquecidas, para nós, os cortadores, cortarmos e fazermos nossos 45 r.p.m.’s. Até ouvi a voz daquele Puertorriqueño Mike dizendo: “Como le gusta? Le gusta gorda y larga?”. Aquela senhora Negra [Anna, segundo você] que “fazia” cinzeiros de plástico [night shift] , cujo marido a vinha buscar de manhã com um Lincoln Continental.
Lembra daquele casal de Puertoriqueños que fazia “long-playings”? Eu só fazia compactos! Quem fazia lps ganhava mais? Acho que sim, pois nós, que fazíamos compactos éramos “discriminados”. A mulher Puertoriqueña usava umas tranças enormes. Lembra-se dela? Você se lembra daquelas duas Peruanas; uma chamada Maria e a outra parecia um rapazinho. Diziam que elas eram “caso”!
Por falar em Peruanos, me lembro que havia um deles que era Japonês e era muito boa gente... não me lembro do nome dele agora, mas me lembro que sempre cantarolava “Something” [só cantava a parte do “I don’t know, I don’t know”], “Where do I begin?” [“Love story Love Theme” com o Andy Williams] e gostava do Nicola di Bari. Ele dizia que o Sergio Murilo [lembra-se de “Marcianita”?] fazia grande sucesso no Peru.
Na carta que enviei ao “Brazilian Voice” eu cito o Dentinho. Agora me lembro que ele se chamava Luiz alguma-coisa. Eu era conhecido como Carlos na fábrica. Carlitos para os Hispanos. Acho que v. não chegou a conhecê-lo, pois ele fazia o “night shift” também; ele entregava pasta e era um carinha muito divertido; tinha uma barbinha e bigode e era bem novinho; aliás, como a maioria de nós, não teria mais de 21 anos. Ele morava com o Alfredo e o G. [não tenho certeza desse nome], um rapaz bem aparentado de olhos azuis [ou verdes], que tinha um Mustang e parecia ser o líder da ‘household’. Os três eram de Franco da Rocha numa casa alugada na Wilson Avenue, perto da igreja Saint Stephen [que atualmente se tornou praticamente “Brasileira”, pois os cultos de domingos são com uma Pastora Brasileira].
Certa noite eu fui na casa deles e pediram para que eu levasse meus LP’s que eu tinha comprado na ‘Two Guys’, loja de departamentos lá na Broad Street. Me lembro que tinha a ‘sound-track’ do filme ‘West Side Story’, e os rapazes acharam ‘estranho’ eu gostar daquele tipo de musica, principalmente depois de ouvirem ‘Tonight’ com a Marnie Nixon cantando com sotáque de porto-riquenha. Deram risadas, e eu não gostei muito da reação. Tinha LP do Donovan e mais alguns que não lembro no momento.
No domingo à tarde que o “Dentinho” foi preso na Pulaski Skyway, ele tinha passado em casa [eu morava em cima do go-go bar já mencionado] e saímos para dar um “rolê” no carro dele. Depois de girarmos meio sem destino por algum tempo, ele me deixou em casa. Era uma tarde fria de Outono, justamente quando nós imigrantes mais sentíamos falta do Brasil. Antes de subir para meu quarto eu ainda fiquei um pouco com o Dentinho, que colocou uma ‘quarter’ no juke-box do bar semi-deserto e escutou “Long ago tomorrow”, do B.J. Thomas. Era sua música favorita então. Foi a ultima vez que eu o vi. Minutos depois ele foi parado por estar em alta velocidade; os “cops” quiseram ver seus documentos; ele levou os policiais até sua casa; lá viram o passaporte com seu visto já vencido, e alem do Dentinho, os outros dois amigos também “dançaram”. Foi muito triste pois todos eles eram caras “legais”, apesar de serem juridicamente “ilegais”. Foi o maior buchicho na Synthetic Plastics Co. na segunda-feira, pois além do Dentinho, o Alfredo também trabalhava lá, no período da tarde. Eles foram deportados para o Brasil no final do ano de 1971.
Pelo que eu me lembro você chegou aos U.S. no inicio de 1972, certo? Você saberia a razão do porque ter tanta gente de Franco da Rocha? Por que Guarulhos também?
Por falar na fabrica de discos, você chegou a conhecer um Português que trabalhava no Escritório da companhia que era muito “friendly” com Brasileiros? O nome dele era Arthur. Na verdade ele era gay [enrustido] e estava sempre “on the prowl” na comunidade Brasiliana. Não sei se você notou, mas havia muito mais homens que mulheres naquela época, o que facilitava o homossexualismo. Atualmente é bem diferente; logicamente ainda existe homossexualismo, mas a presença de mulheres Brasileiras é muito grande (esse assunto também não daria para escrever no jornal).
Passaic River with bridges crossing from Newark to Kearny, N.J.
Letter to Damazio telling my sojourn in Newark, in 2000.
This is part of a letter I sent Damazio Nazaré, circa 2002, telling him about my stay in Newark in 2000 and 2001.
I was in Paterson a few times with a short Brazilian (the ladies’ man, mentioned above). Did you get to know there? It was north of Newark, in Passaic County and there was a bit of a Brazilian community there. In 1976, Bob Dylan released a song called “Hurricane” that talked about a black boxer named Hurricane falsely accused of a murder that took place in Paterson. So Paterson went from a simple “extra” to a “leading role” in pop music. This was the main track from the LP “Desire”, which was Dylan's best-selling album of his entire career. They said that Paterson was better than Newark, but currently, talking to Carlos, who is also a taxi driver in New Jersey, he told me that Paterson is “the dumps” and much worse than Newark. Go and understand! And I thought that there was ‘paradise’.
Currently there are several evangelical groups in the Newark region and even in others, where there is a Brazilian community. In the summer of 2000, as soon as I arrived in Newark from Australia, I didn't know what to do. I went to several Brazilian stores to see if anyone could give me any tips on how to find accommodation, but I was treated coldly. Nobody gave me any information. It was a Sunday afternoon, and I continued walking along the Ferry with my backpack on my back. Suddenly a boy, standing on a corner, gave me an evangelical pamphlet in Portuguese and we started talking. He was Brazilian. I told him I was arriving at that moment, and he was ready to help me. He took me to some guesthouses and Portuguese or Hispanic houses in those side streets of Ferry, but I didn't get anything. He gave me some tips on “how not to fall into the trap of bad company and enter the world of drugs”. It must have been the drama of his life until he found refuge in a Church. If he only knew that I was an “old monkey”, very old.
Even with the help of the evangelical boy, I ended up not finding accommodation in any of the places I was recommended. I was already thinking about going back to Manhattan when I hit the jackpot. I went into a Brazilian store called “Vem Q Tem”, on Merchant Street – the cross street of Ferry, close to St. Stephen, and there I ended up making friends with the guy at the counter, a Brazilian guy my age, called Carlos. It is old in the region, although not as old as we are. Then he told me that he was born in 1959, therefore 10 years younger than me. He arrived in the region in 1979, 8 years after you and me.
After the end of business on Sunday, Carlos closed the store and I went with him to where he lives, on New York Avenue. He spoke to Nelly (real name: Rubmela), the old Chilean woman, and she immediately rented me a room next to hers and her boyfriend Gordon, who she calls ‘Gordo’. I was very happy to be back in the heart of Newark, a city in which I was very happy at the height of my youth. I think we lived our youth very well, with this desire to live abroad. I think it was an experience that enriched us internally. Our lives would have been much less interesting if we had never tried our luck in the U.S.A.
As of Monday I have already outlined my routine in Newark-2000; I walked down Ferry Street every day with a smile on my lips again. I went to Newark Public Library, where I could use the computer for free, or I took the PATH to go to Manhattan, where I walked until I couldn't anymore. I was able to turn Manhattan upside down. New York is a fascinating city, and I enjoyed myself during the several weeks of this wonderful summer of 2000. My great disappointment was finding 42nd Street completely uncharacterized... my heart ached when I didn't find that place that we loved so much in the 70s.
In addition to this service, there are dozens of “international calling cards” for sale at any newsstand or store. It's a plastic card like our telephone cards, where you “scratch” a certain place and a number appears, like in “scratch cards”. You call and can talk for a certain amount of time, which is usually 1 hour. Cards cost $5 to $10 and are of varying quality. Some can only be used once. Others you use in several calls until you use the time stipulated in it.
It's interesting how conservative Americans are in their habits. You well know that they never adapted to the Decimal System. Because to this day they use the so-called “Imperial measurements”: miles, feet, yards, pounds, pints, quarters, acres, etc. No matter how hard they try, they cannot change the habits of these people. Because to this day they still use coins to call on pay-phones. There is still no calling card like the rest of the world. The United States is so advanced in some aspects and so behind in others.
I intended to stay there for a while, but after a few weeks I had to return to São Paulo, as my mother wasn't feeling well, but thank God, it was just a scare and she's fine.
After returning to São Paulo, I found out that a friend of mine, called Marcelo, who coincidentally is from Guarulhos, went to “try a life” in the United States and settled in Massachusetts. He called me one day and said he had a job for me there; I wanted to get on a plane immediately. I didn't think twice, even though it was already October... you know how Autumn-Winter is there. From New York I took a bus to Boston (it takes about 4 hours) and from there I took a train heading south, which takes 1 hour to Plymouth, a small town on the coast, close to what they call Cape Cod. Plymouth is the oldest city in the United States; It was there that the Mayflower ship landed in 1622.
I always wanted to visit Boston; since 1972, as I had met Brazilians in Newark who had escaped from immigration there, and spoke very highly of where they had come from. In fact MA is where the salary is the highest; much better than NY and NJ. I ended up going to work at a local Kmart, as a night “restocker”. It was very interesting because it was there that I met the new Generation of Brazilians, as I worked with about 20 of them. And I was shocked, because the cultural level is very low compared to “our time”, which between us, wasn't like that anymore... but, believe it or not, things got worse... that is, the bad got worse. But this only reflects the social situation of our country called Brazil. We are living through a horror that is difficult to describe. An endless horror, which began with the 1964 Military Coup and led to what we know today!
In fact, if I were “killing a dog while screaming” I could stay there and even earn a nest egg, as there is a lot of demand for “English teachers” in the Brazilian community, which is large in any medium-sized American city. Brazilians are diversifying geographically, going to places like Atlanta, Georgia and others that I can't remember at the moment. The price per class hour in the region was 10 or 15 dollars per student. You never teach a class to just one student; They are usually small groups of 4 to 6, so it would cost more than 50 dollars per hour of class. You can make a living from it there, as there are many people in need of the most rudimentary teachings. To give you an idea, I spent more time explaining the Portuguese language than English itself. People have no idea what a language is; they know how to “speak” Portuguese, but it is automatic; They never stopped to think about syntax, morphology, etc. I'm not talking about nomenclature, which is actually not important, but about the concept itself. Despite everything, I found the staff to be friendly, people who were very exploited on all sides. A large part of these people spend a base of US$10,000 (ten thousand dollars) to enter the US and spend two or more years paying this money. A horrible exploitation. They come through Mexico and many even die there, from bullets or thirst, as they have to cross a large desert. I heard every hair-raising story; the rest you read in the local press.
“To cut a long story short” I worked at this Kmart until the beginning of December 2000, when I was summarily “laid off” due to the company's spending cuts, as the new North American recession began “right there and then”. Wow, executives follow the financial market daily. Then I took a bus and went to Newark, but I didn't like what I saw. Firstly because it was very cold. Imagine on December 15th you going out to look for a job with snow and ice outside! Those who had to hire for Christmas (Xmas) had already done so and what's more, a recession was beginning. Furthermore, I went to live in a bad place (in a cellar with drugs and violence). I didn't think twice and left for Brazil. Furthermore, I didn't want to “explode” my visa.
In May 2001, I decided to return to Plymouth, MA once again and went to work at the local Sheraton Hotel. Heavy work, preparing halls for conventions, assembling tables and chairs, setting up tables, vacuuming the floor, etc. But it was interesting, because my coworker turned out to be a Brazilian Jew called Paulo Besser, who has lived in the U.S. since 1969. Paulo had a life that could write an adventure book: he was in the urban guerrilla against the Milicos in the late s '60 and fled to avoid being killed by Repression, having gone to Canada and then the US. Imagine he watched the original Woodstock. It was really cool to have worked with this guy; We worked and talked nonstop. Plus he's very musical too, he plays the guitar and everything. He likes Dylan, we even watched “Don’t look back” from 1966, on DVD (documentary about Bob Dylan & Joan Baez’s famous tour in England). He gave me a Canadian acoustic guitar that was a little defective, I had it fixed and it's wonderful. He has a nice house by the sea, he has a Mercedes, he has a latest fashion SUV (Sports Utility Vehical)... anyway, the guy has money, but he works like a bastard! I don't know why? People seem to go headlong into that American system of just working... I can't understand! Australians, despite being less rich, live much better than Americans. I can tell you from my own experience. There is something fundamentally wrong in the United States. I don't really know what it is! Instead of moving forward, they regress. See the death penalty has been re-instated. I just read in the English “The Economist” that the prison population in the USA is the largest in the world and is growing. Something is decidedly rotten in the “Kingdom of Denmark”, to paraphrase our “noble colleague” Billy Shakaspeare!
I could have stayed longer, but I didn't want to “explode” my stay, so I returned on July 10, 2001. Two months later the WTC's Twin Towers exploded. In 2002, I intended to return for the summer, but I thought about it and decided to “let my beards soak”. “Insurance died of old age”, as the old saying goes. Who can guarantee that I won't be stopped there and mistaken for an Arab and arrested incommunicado? When I was in Europe in 1991, Arab immigrants spoke to me in Arabic, so I came to the conclusion that I easily “pass for Arab”, which is not very “good for your health” in the United States these days. today, do you agree? It's interesting that the day I took the plane to come here I arrived at JFK very early... really early. I left Newark Penn Station a little after noon. I took the PATH to the WTC (can you imagine), because the A Train (8th Avenue Express) passes there... I even remembered that Duke Ellington song “Take the A Train”... a train that goes to Howard Beach/ JFK Airport. I had to board at 8:00 pm and I arrived for check-in at 3:00 pm.
I'm worse than a Miner. I wandered around the airport. It was a sunny summer day, but not too hot. Air pollution, which in NY can be horrible, was minimal. From Queens, where JFK is located, you could clearly see the island of Manhattan in the background. And I, sitting comfortably in an armchair, listening to local FM radio stations on a walk-man, looked at the “Manhattan skyline”, focusing on the city's two biggest landmarks: the World Trade Center towers in downtown and the Empire State Building in midtown. By then it was past 8pm and as our JAL plane, which was coming from Tokyo to São Paulo, was delayed, the passengers were still in the waiting room. I was enjoying it because I love watching sunsets, especially the very red ones... and looking at Manhattan, with the flaming sun in the West behind the Towers and the Empire State Building, was a very beautiful sight; I never imagined that this would be the last time I would see such a scene. On the morning of September 9, 2001, I was here at home when my brother, listening to the radio, said that a building in New York had “caught on fire”. I ran and called TV Globo and Carlos Nascimento was covering the “fire”; Soon after, the second plane crossed the 2nd tower... well, the rest doesn't need to be said.
Well, Damasio, I think I'll stop here, as this is already becoming a “short story”. I wanted to write to you to, firstly, find out how you, Francisca and the boys are doing, and secondly, so that you can write to me telling me facts relevant to your life at that time, as I intend to write more about our time as an immigrant in the 70s, as I am sure that It is a subject that interests Brazucas readers. You need to see how Carlos became interested in my stories. And look, he is already a “veteran”, imagine the others who arrived there in the 90s or even in the 21st century. Would you have the courage to write to me telling me about your adventures from that time? You don't need to use people's real names, if they are facts that involve living people. It seems like people really like to know about the old Brazilian Jersey Club. Did you attend this Club? Could you say something about him? You, if I'm not mistaken, even played football with them, right? The club's headquarters were on Ferry Street. Do you remember exactly where? I remember once I went with you to a place you lived, and it was a side street on Ferry Street down there, closest to Penn Station. Do you remember this street? You lived in a room there. Remember that going up the Ferry from the station there was Union St., Prospect St., Congress St., Jefferson St., Madison St., etc. It would be one of those.
Damasio, if you have Internet access, go to mapquest.com and type in Newark, NJ and you will have a photo map of the city! This way you can have an exact idea of the places you are looking for. I also always go to the “WABC music radio” website, which is cheap. It seems like we go back to the 60s and 70s in a second. If v. If you have a chance, come in and tell me later. Well, dear friend, I'll stay here, waiting for your response in the near future. Don't feel obligated to write about the past. Only write if you feel like it. But regardless, please say “hello” so I know all is well with you, and that you received my missive. My e-address is: mcarlus@hotmail.com
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