Everything’s big in America-even the dreams!
Chapter One – I Want to Be In America
Picture the
scene if you would dear reader . . . it’s a wet Monday in August in Winsford in
Cheshire back in 1989. A young 21 year old in a job that he doesn't particularly care about, but hey, it’s a job, makes a decision that will affect
his life in more ways than he'll ever realize.
That 21 year
old was me. My best mate at the time, Bouldy, who was a student at the City of
London University at the time, was spending the summer in New York City. He had
met someone the previous summer (a lovely girl called Melissa) and was living
in the borough of Queens working as a bartender at the US Tennis Open at
Flushing Meadows. I’d seen him in Congleton a couple of months back and he’d
asked me if was planning to go out to New York at all.
“Don’t
know,” I said. “I’ll have to see if I can scrounge the money from somewhere!”
I’d resigned
myself to the idea of spending time in New York City being nothing more than an
elaborate and fanciful dream. I can’t afford that, not on my wages I thought.
Then, that Monday, that wet Monday in August, I profoundly thought, “Sod it I’m
off!”
I knew I’d
have a roof over my head if I went, as the Jacobsen’s house was big – I’d
eventually discover it was three stories – I just needed flight money and
spending money. I took the plunge – I got my Credit Card out!
I was
pleased to find out that I could get a flight from Manchester to John F Kennedy
Airport – where else would I fly to? I thought it was going swimmingly well
when the person said to me “When are you coming back?” I told her when.
“Oh, we’ve
no flights from JFK to Manchester then, only Gatwick Airport”. Gatwick Airport
– that meant an extra spice thrown into the mix – I’d have to end up coming
back home via London. “Oh well, all part of the adventure!” I was now of the
mindset that I was going and that was that.
Flight
booked, I was America bound! I couldn’t wait.
Now at the
time, as well as my day job doing the stock and ordering for a small food
packing firm I worked part time at the Bulls’ Head Hotel in Congleton. I was a Glass Collector and occasional Bar
Man. I enjoyed my time at the Bulls’ Head and made many friends, some of which
I am on slightly more than nodding acquaintance to this day!
The Bulls’
Head was a microcosm of Congleton. I ought to let you know a little bit about
my home town. For a working class town, Congleton is a very conservative town.
It has had a Conservative Member of Parliament for as long as I can remember.
The people are too keen on change and aren’t impressed on anything remotely
flash.
We have an
ex Olympic Champion living in this town. I went to school with two of her sons.
To people I know they were simply “the runner’s lads”. Equally unimpressive was
anyone announcing proudly and excitedly that they were going to go to the
United States of America.
On Sunday
night when I was working at The Bull, I told punters I was going to New York
City to visit Bouldy ( he was also known to the patrons of the pub as he’d
worked there with me in previous years) on September 23rd. Was I met
with encouraging replies of “That’s great Ed!” or “You must be excited!” No! This was Congleton remember . . .
“What a bloody long way to go just to get
mugged!”
Oh well,
looking back, what did I expect? This town that had been home to me for over 21
years at the time was, and still is for that matter, a town that hasn't embraced change too well. It’s got better – we've noticed a change in the town
since we have come back to Congleton – but there’s a long way to go.
Undeterred,
I still kept my excitement for my trip to the Big Apple. I was to fly out on September
23rd from Manchester Airport . . . that Saturday couldn't come quick
enough.
That day
Manchester United was due to play Manchester City. Mum said she'd record the
game for me so I could watch it when I got back. I could hardly believe it – I was finally
going to the United States of America.
The flight
from Manchester to New York is approximately seven hours. I had my Sony Walkman,
or the equivalent that I remember getting as a birthday present a year or two
before, to keep me company. It was
exciting to travel by myself to somewhere glamorous and exciting as New York
City. Don’t get me wrong, it was going to be great to see my old mate Bouldy,
but hey, it was New York!
It was
during the flight that I had my first encounter was United States bureaucracy.
I had to fill out the little green Visa waiver form. Like a good boy I filled it in, though I was
a little perplexed to be asked if I'd had any connections with the Nazi Party
between 1933 and 1945 . . . but hey, you can't be too careful I guess.
The flight
was landing at JFK Airport. The flight was late, so it was evening local time
when I got there. When the plane landed, I was tired but oh so excited. After the Nazi questions it wouldn't be long
until it would be time for more questions, though I learned pretty quickly that
you don't mess with United States’ Immigration Officers and Policemen in general.
I have to
tell you this would be the first time I‘d ever seen a cop with a loaded weapon.
I was standing in line waiting to get through customs, and was getting a little
impatient. I’d been travelling for quite some time now and was keen to see my
best mate and his girlfriend Melissa. I
was keen to get everything done. Like a good Brit, I was used to waiting in
queue but was getting keen to get things moving, so I veered from the post
where I was supposed to be.
“Stand by
the post!” the Officer bellowed out. My
impression of a shrinking violet was excellent – I returned to the post very
quickly and very sheepishly. My turn
came.
“What’s the
purpose of your visit?” The Immigration Officer asked bluntly.
“Err, I’ve
come to visit a friend who’s over here” I replied, nervously.
“Where is
this friend?” Luckily I knew what part of New York I was going to so I had the
answers. Little did I know that seventeen years later when I would be
interviewed by the US Embassy in London getting my fiancé visa having answers
for US government officials would be a good thing.
Eventually,
I got through, collected my things and made my way to the Arrivals Lounge. When
I went through the doors, I was taken aback by all the people waiting for
people arriving from that flight and all the others. The frustrated celebrity
in me imagine that this is what it’s like when a celebrity is met by paparazzi at
Heathrow, Manchester or JFK for that matter. After all, JEK was arriving at
JFK!
At first, I couldn't see Paul or Melissa, but it wasn't long before I recognized that
familiar face with his mop of ginger hair.
“Ed!!!” I
heard my name being called out. It was good to see friends again. Paul was with Melissa, his sister Carole and
Melissa’s sister Heather. Heather was the spitting image of Gloria Estefan. I
have never forgotten that, the famous Cuban born singer was and is a favourite
singer of mine.
We quickly
got into Heather’s car. Now I was tired and quite easily have gone home.
However Paul was keen for a beer so we went out for a drink. As we drove into
the city it all seemed so surreal . . . . I was actually in New York City.
I remember
sitting in the back seat of the car, taking it all in. Melissa and Heather were
quick to point out certain landmarks.
We were
driving on 5th Avenue when they pointed out Tiffany’s; yes the Tiffany’s the jewelers. It was
quite a lot to take in. We ended up having a beer – tried Amstel lager for the first
time - then going back to the place I would call home for the next week – Cloverdale
Boulevard, Queens, New York.
I was to
sleep in the spare room in the basement. Sounds drastic, but this was a very
nice house. It was spacious and my room had a TV and adjoining bathroom.
Sunday
morning soon came. I remember waking up to be met by a tall gentleman who I
soon discovered was the Master of the House – Bill Jacobsen, Melissa’s Dad.
“You must be
Ed” he greeted me. It must have been strange to have strangers sleeping in your
house but they would prove to be genial hosts and made me feel welcome. That
Sunday we would be doing something that has lived with me for many reasons. We
were going to visit the World Trade Center – yes, the place that eleven years
later would tragically be the focal point for the world.
I’ve always
love my Sunday newspaper. As a boy we had The Observer and The Sunday People in
our household. Now I got my first taste of The New York Times. It’s still,
along with The Guardian, my favourite newspaper. Little did I know I was about
to read some tragic news, that peaceful Sunday in New York City.
Manchester United had been thrashed by
Manchester City by 5 goals to 1!!!!!
I could not
believe my eyes! There. Tucked away in a small part of the Sports section of
this famous paper was news that my team had been thrashed. Paul phoned his Mum
that morning to let her know I had arrived safe and sound. He also checked the
result to make sure it wasn't a printing error. It wasn’t - United really had
been beaten by that scoreline.
That Sunday we went on a trip round the island. I have fond memories of that trip. It was great fun and it was the first time I ever heard the name Donald Trump. The Tour Guide told everyone who could be bothered to listen "Over there is a yacht (it was a dirty great big ostentatious thing) . . . that's Donald Trump's yacht!" I remember thinking, strange though this now seems, "Who the bloody hell is Donald Trump?!" You know what, I still think that now! (A little bit of political satire there for you folks! Tell your friends, I'm here all week.)
People
always think it is never sunny in England. I would have made myself quite a few
dollars every time I had been asked “Does the rain remind you of England?”
throughout my time in Western Massachusetts. Well it was dull and overcast that
Sunday. We were to visit the” Twin Towers” that evening.
The World
Trade Center was situated near Wall Street. I’ll remember the moment we
approached the building. You leaned your head back as far as you could and you
still couldn’t take in the enormity of the building you were seeing.
It’s a
memory I'll take with me to my grave, to say I have visited that famous
monument so tragically and unnecessarily taken away from us. We got to go to
the top floor. As it was wet we weren't allowed to go to the top of the
building, but the top floor was good enough for me. I remember looking down on
The Empire State Building . . . that’s how freaking high up we were. Just
writing this now, 25 years on, gives me the goosebumps
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