AR Crossing America

Crossing America

Once released from Ellis Island, my sister Evangeline, brother Frank and I rejoined uncle and aunt Neufeld. I only vaguely remember the subway ride in New York. We reached the Grand Central Station and boarded a Southern Pacific train for a journey that was to take us all the way to California. By nightfall, we had reached Washington, D.C., the capital of our new homeland. During the brief layover in Washington, our guardians took time to show us a few of the major sights, including the capital with its great dome, the major monuments, and perhaps the White House. And then it was back to the train, where we settled in for the night. The sleeping berths in our Pullman car were a new experience, as was seeing the black porters and other train personnel. And on the following days, eating in the train dining car was always a special event.

Our route of the Southern Pacific followed the Atlantic piedmont south to Atlanta, then crossed all the gulf states to Texas, and finally traversed the southwest until we arrived in Los Angeles, California. It was all a wonderful adventure of which only fragmentary memories remain. I did sit at the window looking out at the passing panorama throughout the trip, every day until bedtime, taking in the scenes of the changing countryside. On the first stretch to Atlanta, I still remember the great impression made upon me by the unusual red color of the local soil. Between Atlanta and New Orleans we crossed extensive stretches of swamps, where the railroad tracks were elevated on trestles well above the level of the water, and where live oaks and leafless Taxodium trees, draped with Spanish moss, tower over the marsh, and where white egrets delighted the eyes. In the deep south, I also remember seeing black people living in ramshackle huts, in a way totally new to me.

At New Orleans, we reached the broad Mississippi, too wide there to be crossed by a bridger. It was exciting to be able to stand by and watch our train car being pushed onto tracks upon a huge barge, on which we then crossed the great river together with our train.

In Texas, I remember seeing my first desert lands in dry rugged country, dissected by deep steep-walled canyons, one of which we crossed on a bridge arching very high above the canyon floor. There I learned for the first time about candy made out of cactus fruits.

A brief stop at Yuma, Arizona stands out. There I was told that the restaurant at the station served free meals when the sky was not free of cloud, or was it not free of rain?

And finally, we arrived at the railroad station in Los Angeles, where members of the Dyck family had gathered to greet and welcome the Neufelds, and also to welcome us to our new life in America.

In Los Angeles, we changed trains for the last remnant of our trip via Barstow in the Mojave desert, and over the mountains into the San Joaquin Valley to the town of Reedley in Fresno County, and on the Kings River. There, the Neufelds had their home, and there we met the other members of their family, our American cousins. The date was February 3, 1923.