The California Immigrant

by Barbara Anne King

  “Your offer intrigues me. It will not only be an opportunity to help out an old friend but witness history in action.”

  “Don’t get too many romantic ideas. Cooking over a hot stove secluded in a hotel kitchen does not give a chef much chance to witness anything except for tempers flaring amongst the staff and the regular kitchen disaster.”

  “You are not doing a good job selling me on this opportunity. But I’ll come up on Wednesday to learn more.”

  Martin got up early so he could take a leisurely drive along the coast where he knew he would get spectacular views of the Pacific since the day had dawned fog free. But instead of enjoying the beauty of the sea, he was thinking about his two sons still fighting battles in the Pacific. How could such a beautiful ocean be the venue for such horrific acts? As much as he tried, he could not banish thoughts of war from his mind.

  Finally, when he entered the Fairmont Hotel, his mind shifted as he took in the scene of so many different types of people milling around the lobby. There were people of every color from the fairest blond to the blackest black, and dressed in every way from Africans in colorful Dashiki shirts to Arabs in flowing robes with daggers adorned in jewels tucked in their belts. Martin had never seen such a display of humanity. He scanned the lobby to try to pick out the Yugoslavians in the group, but failing to do so, found his way to the kitchen.

  Stan spotted him as soon as he entered through the double swinging doors. “Martin, it is so good to see you,” Stan said as he shook his hand. “Well, this is it…the place I call home most of the time but better known as the Fairmont Hotel kitchen.”

  “It certainly is impressive. Why don’t I hang up my coat and put on my chef’s jacket then you can give me a tour.”

  Stan smiled. “See, I knew you’d be right for this. You’re already starting to give orders.”

  “Don’t be so sure yet. But I have to say, I’m feeling inspired just being in this kitchen with so many gadgets, stoves, and refrigerators.”

  “Let me tell you, the city is really rolling out the red carpet for the delegates. After years of blackouts, we are a city of light.”

  “In more ways than one I’d say. Just like Paris is known as the City of Light both literally and figuratively, San Francisco is leading the second era of Enlightenment.”

  “You can say that again. We’ve had to recruit every citizen we can to help with tours, serve the free buffet at the Opera House, take tickets at the theatre that is showing Hollywood movies for those with a pass. It is incredible to witness. This town has roared back to life, playing an epic role in history. And you’re going to be part of that history, too. We all are.” Martin was beaming, having been lit up by Stan’s words.

  After the tour of the kitchen, Stan took Martin into his office to discuss matters further. But before they started, Martin said, “I didn’t notice any Yugoslavs in the lobby. Where are they hiding out?”

  “They probably had too much sljivovica last night is my guess. But if you really want to meet some of them, you can take up their room order.”

  “I’d like that. It might be my only opportunity to step out of the kitchen.”

  “Let me tell my sous chef that you will be going along.” Stan left Martin a minute to pass along these instructions and then returned, saying, “It will be about ten minutes until all the food is ready. That should give us time to go over preliminaries.”

  It wasn’t long before Martin was called to accompany the room service attendants to the Yugoslavian delegation room. As soon as the door opened, Martin recognized a compatriot. “Good morning,” he said in Croatian.

  The man looked at him indignantly. “I understand Croatian but I am Serbian, in case you can’t tell the difference.”

  Martin could feel his face turning red. “I apologize. Welcome to America.” The man’s face began to thaw.

  “If you want to speak with a Croatian, he’s in the room next door.” But Martin didn’t think it would be polite to disturb him.

  “Excuse me for my manners. I’m Martin Petrovich. I left home at the turn of the century and haven’t been back since. So, I’m curious about how things are now?”

  “Well, you should be happy because your fellow Croatian, Tito, is running the country. But the war took a toll on us, just like everywhere else in the world.”

  “I wish you luck in your diplomatic mission.”

  “We will need it. With fifty nations all trying to weigh in, the writing of the charter won’t be easy.”

  Martin nodded agreement. And noticing that the room service crew had finished setting up the table, he took his leave. He only wished he could be a fly on the wall who could listen in on private conversations and keep an eye on those secret meetings he knew would be happening. Politics never changed.

  Martin continued to show up at the Fairmont on Sundays and occasionally during the week when Stan was desperate for another hand in the kitchen. Whenever he got a chance, he would stop by to visit Uncle Anton, Aunt Mirna and his cousins, and their families. Anton was getting up in age—past eighty—but still cooking at his restaurant. The demands of the conference were taking a toll but he took pride in serving the Yugoslavian delegation, which frequently rented out his whole restaurant for an evening. Marko was thriving in his engineering business and one of his son’s had joined him in a junior position. Vlad, had his own family, too, but the children were grown and out of the house. He still ran the grocery store with Katarina who had never let go of the torch she carried for her deceased husband Paul. Her only child Pauli had grown into a man and, after graduating from college, went to work at the grocery store, always a faithful son.

  Martin was glad that the conference had given him a chance to reconnect with his family, but it made him realize more than ever how time had moved on. When he first came to San Francisco, he was a young man. Now it was his cousins’ children who were the younger generation, anxious to take over and move ahead with their own ideas, casting the past behind.

  Of course, that was what the San Francisco Conference was attempting to do, too—move ahead into a new era. Martin thought it curious that the war wasn’t even over, yet all these countries were taking part in rebuilding the world as if peace were already a done deal. Marty and Tom Paul were out there in the Pacific, probably fighting the Battle of Okinawa that was still waging. No one expected Japan to win, but as the war went on, Japan fought harder to the point of sending out its native sons to sacrifice themselves as human bombs. But what if Japan won that battle and continued to fight even harder maybe with a weapon not yet known to the world? Then all of this debating and negotiating would have been for naught.

  Chapter 67

  On June 25, President Truman made a grand entrance into town by taking the Golden Gate Bridge over the San Francisco Bay, which connects the strait with the Pacific Ocean, the symbolism of which may have been lost on most Americans but in the mind of their leader was significant, foreshadowing the end of war. Truman proceeded to drive through the streets in a Lincoln convertible while waving to the crowd, a half million strong, supportive of their new president. The people had raised Truman’s spirits, but even more so the unanimous vote on the UN charter that the delegates had given. Once he arrived at the Fairmont Hotel with flags of every delegation posted at the entrance, Truman took up a position in the Red Room where he greeted delegates and thanked them for their participation in the creation of a United Nations.

  After a lot of hand shaking and back slapping, Truman moved on to the penthouse suite where he was hosting a dinner for the other three of the Big Four—England, Russia, and China. Not only had they succeeded in winning the World War, at least in Europe, but they had also designed peace for the world through their vision and leadership, especially that of Franklin Delano Roosevelt, whose spirit was still a guiding force.

  Stan had gotten notice that President Truman would be holding a dinner in the penthouse only a week ahead of time and wanted Martin there to help. “It’s almost at an
end but the biggest event for us is yet to come. Drop everything and head up here…your country calls.”

  “If you put it that way, I’ll be there in the morning.”

  Stan never thought the two months of working round the clock would culminate in a presidential dinner requiring every last ounce of stamina his body held in reserve. But he had to get a menu together and procure the ingredients, which in these times of rationing would not be easy. Then they would need a couple of days to prep at the very least.

  Once Martin arrived, they went over the menu the president’s aide suggested. “It appears he has simple tastes,” said Stan. “Nothing that is going to require difficult execution—fresh ingredients simply prepared.”

  “He grew up on a farm. And he probably knows we have some of the best produce around. He understands that good ingredients only need to be enhanced with a light touch—that it’s almost a sin to disguise them.”

  “I hear a French chef, Fernand Point, is leading the way in this new philosophy of cuisine. His restaurant, La Pyramide, near Lyon is considered the best in France.”

  “Then maybe I’m wrong about the farm. Truman may have dined at La Pyramide or gotten the taste of it from a chef trained under Point. But I notice he wants beef for the main course.”

  “He’s from Kansas City famous for its stock yards. Anyway, with these suggestions, we should be able to put together a menu that will please the president. And since he is going local, procurement should not be too much of a problem.”

  “Here’s some items we should work into the menu—Dungeness crab, artichokes, avocados, strawberries, apples, and abalone.”

  “Sounds good to me. We may have to get a little creative to give the diners the full range of tastes.”

  “Such as…”

  “A crab cocktail served in an avocado half with a green apple garnish.”

  “Now I know why you’re the head chef at the Fairmont, and I’m just a cook at a cafe in a little berg no one’s ever heard of.”

  Once the guests had taken their seats at the table and the champagne was poured, Truman stood up to offer a toast. “As they say, a vice president is just a heartbeat away from the presidency. When I learned that big heart of his had ceased to beat and I had ascended to the highest office in the land, I called myself a simple man overwhelmed by the prospect of filling a giant’s shoes. But I have to say, I have found my own shoes fit just fine. And tonight I stand before you, sharing in our success of a United Nations that will build a better world for generations to come.

  Now I’d like to introduce the Monsignor of Mission San Francisco de Assisi, which was founded a few days before the Declaration of Independence gave birth to our nation in l776. Father O’Brien, please come forward and lead us in grace.”

  A tall, thin priest dressed in the hooded brown robe of a Franciscan, tied with a rope and wearing sandals, came forward. “Thank you Mr. President,” he said. “Like you, I am a simple man, a follower of one who led a simple life that led him to God. It is an honor to serve as the pastor of Mission San Francisco de Assisi, which has the distinction of being the oldest intact building in the city and, consequently, the longest witness to its history. It is also known as Mission Dolores because it is nearby the Creek of Sorrows. So, it seems oceans of sorrows have brought you to this city. But just like the mission that survived because it had four-foot-thick adobe walls, the four Allied countries have survived and saved the world. Four is a very powerful number, as you may know. It symbolizes both stability and all earthly things. And in Hebrew four letters spell the most important word in the universe…God.”

  After the champagne was finished, a Sauvignon Blanc from nearby Napa Valley was poured to accompany the Dungeness crab cocktail prepared just the way Stan had described it. Martin was supervising the serving in the dining room while Stan kept the courses on track in the kitchen. Truman smiled with pleasure when a generous portion of prime rib was placed in front of him accompanied by a twice-baked potato elegantly wrapped in foil and asparagus lightly napped with hollandaise. A salad topped with marinated artichoke hearts followed as a palate cleanser. Dessert featured a meringue filled with chocolate mousse, garnished with fresh strawberries.

  While coffee was being served, Martin hustled downstairs to let Stan know how well the dinner was going and to bring in the tea service. When he got back to the dining room and rolled in the cart, eyes opened wide. “Tea…three ways,” Martin announced. In the center of the cart sat a big, ornate silver samovar surrounded by three boxes containing favorite teas of three out of four Allied nations.

  Truman looked up. “Why only three?”

  “Sir, the coffee that was served first was the nod to America.”

  “Of course, we’re not a nation of tea drinkers.”

  “And why is that, may I ask?” said the English diplomat.

  “Because we work long hours and need to stay awake. That’s why we could build so many machines so quickly and so well for the war. You don’t get a performance like that taking time out for tea.” The diplomat pressed his lips together so he could refrain from speaking his mind.

  On June 26 the United Nations Charter was signed by the fifty nations in attendance. China was given the honor of signing first since it was the first nation attacked by the Axis powers. In his address during the final session, Truman said, “Between the victory in Europe and the final victory, in this most destructive of all wars, you have won a victory against war itself. With this Charter the world can begin to look forward to the time when all worthy human beings may be permitted to live decently as free people."

  Less than a month later, the USS Indianapolis left San Francisco on a secret mission, carrying a load of uranium, half the world’s supply, to construct the first atomic bomb.

  Chapter 68

  After a brief respite in Honolulu, the Nevada was sent to the Marshall Islands to take care of a situation there and then went on to the Marianas to refuel and resupply when they received orders to return to Okinawa. But before they could get there, the battle ended on June 22. Okinawa was the last major battle fought in the Pacific during World War II.

  The Nevada returned to Pearl Harbor where it received new orders for operations in the East China Sea. It participated in a raid in Yangtze Estuary and came within range of Japanese home islands but did not fire upon them. After a brief stint in Tokyo Bay, it returned to Pearl Harbor.

  As soon as Marty got liberty, he headed for Smith’s Union Bar where he hoped to run into Tom Paul or at least find someone who knew his whereabouts. But when he walked in and scanned the small barroom, he found neither hide nor hair of Tom Paul and didn’t spot any airmen. So, he departed for Shanghai Bill’s where he would find the company of his crew. On the walk there, his thoughts were about his brother and whether he had managed to survive or had been blown to smithereens. Even though he was trying to keep his thoughts under control, they were running wild with nightmare scenarios. He needed a drink…and now.

  As Marty stepped up to the bar to order a Kona Longboard, which he had acquired a taste for, he noticed a group of airmen to his right whooping it up. After the bartender handed him the beer, he moved toward the group to investigate further. And there in the center telling tales was Tom Paul. He was so engrossed in storytelling that he didn’t notice his new listener until he finished. But then it was reunion time with hugs and cheers and calls for a round for the house. “You know what Pa would want us to do?” Marty said. Tom Paul just gave him a vacant look. “He’d want us to get a bottle of sljivovica to share until the last drop was drank.”

  “Then let’s do it. Bartender, a bottle of sljivovica.” The bartender shook his head. Not only didn’t he stock any, he had never heard of it either. A native who cleared tables in the bar overheard their request and came up to them. “I know where I can get some.” So, Tom Paul slipped the guy a couple of bills to purchase a bottle. When he returned with it, Marty and Tom Paul found a table, brought a couple of glasses over, and s
tarted to share war stories.

  “I missed out on a lot of the battle at Okinawa,” Marty said. “We had to take the ship back for repairs on April 20. I wish we could have seen it through, but those kamikazes did us in.”

  “Yeah. I know. They broke enough through our lines to sink thirty ships and damage who knows how many more. I heard we lost a few thousand sailors because of them.”

  “But at least we got their big, powerful battleship Yamato. It barely lasted a week and was supposed to beach itself and defend the island with those humungous guns it carried. Those Jap admirals must have been pretty angry when we deep sixed it.”

  “So now what?”

  “I guess we have to wait and see what the commanders and the new guy in the White House decide.”

  Chapter 69

  Frankie returned to Watsonville soon after the Battle of Okinawa had been won by the Allies. He was in Germany when he learned of their surrender, which helped make his sacrifice worthwhile. His left leg had been amputated below the knee, but with the aid of a prosthetic device, he was learning how to walk under his own power. The Register-Pajaronian had done a front-page article on him, making him out a war hero. He had in fact earned a Bronze Star as well as a Purple Heart for injuries sustained. But the public was most impressed with his Normandy invasion and Battle of the Bulge survival.

  They displayed an oversized picture of Frankie in his military uniform, which set him apart from most of the other men in town. Friends and neighbors lined up to pay their respects. Lena was especially glad for the callers who helped cheer Frankie up and lifted the gloom hanging over them. Ever since the telegram arrived notifying them of Frankie’s injuries, she and Martin had slipped into depression. For so long, they had tried to keep their spirits up, but once they got the tragic news about Frankie, they gave in to their emotions and let dark thoughts take over their minds. Frankie, too, arrived from Europe in a depressed state so unlike his former nature. He had seen too much war and the final toll had come as a shock after surviving the worst of it. But it gladdened his heart to be home and see so many familiar, friendly faces. He needed those faces to replace the faces of the enemy he was having such a difficult time erasing from his memory.