ABSTRACT
At the end of my engagement at the Liberated Theater in Prague, I received a letter from Erika Mann asking me to rejoin the Peppermill for a season in New York and a tour throughout the United States. But first the whole company was to assemble at Max Reinhardt’s castle “Leopoldskron” in Salzburg. He had invited about 15 of the most famous and influential American show business stars and tycoons for an informal evening, during which we would play samples of our programs in order to give our future plans a boost. Marlene Dietrich was there and so was Helen Hayes with her husband. There was no stage and no adequate lighting. The whole thing took place by candlelight in an enormous grotto-like hall, stuffed with antique furniture and with a floor of huge flagstones. I don’t think anybody really liked what we did and we ourselves hated it. It was the typical grand promotional affair that so often backfires. Nevertheless, it helped to solidify the American engagement. Erika and Klaus soon left for New York City, and I, after a few solo concerts in Brussels and Switzerland with my own pianist, and a trip to Paris to see Hans Sahl, flew to Rotterdam to join Therese Giehse and Magnus Henning, our pianist/composer, for our journey to the New World. On arrival I learned that in the meantime Erika had sent a telegram telling us that things had not yet been quite settled in New York and that it was necessary to postpone our trip. She would let us know when to start. So we waited. And waited. Until finally her next telegram told us to come immediately without any delay. Unfortunately, it was now October, the time of the big and dangerous storms, and there was only one ship available that we could book: a freighter that, once upon a time, had been an island-hopping, colonial cruiser. Like all freighters it was allowed to carry up to 20 passengers in addition to its cargo and crew. Which of course meant that we had to forego the anticipated luxury of the big ocean liner that had already been paid for and to accept instead the inferior accommodations of an ancient freighter. So we three, quite upset, went to the dock, and that is where several ominous things happened that should have forewarned me. First I was handed a book that a witty friend of mine had sent to me as a bon voyage present with the title “Famous Sea Disasters.” I am not really superstitious, but still… The next thing: We saw our ship! The brochure had shown the picture of a gleaming white vessel with two impressive large funnels, but what we saw there lying before us was a rusty minor river boat. And it had only one funnel. One look at it and I was already seasick although I was still standing on solid ground. When I asked about the missing chimney, the answer was a calm, “Oh, that broke off several years ago.” Believe me, it sounds even more discouraging in Dutch. I speak the language fairly well because I have toured many times all over Holland. I discovered that if you know German and English, and mix them in the right proportions you have it made. Before we could board the ship, we had to go into a shed for a medical examination. Actually it was only an eye test. The doctor was a very short and very intense old man with bushy black eyebrows and a large blond wig that forever slipped from side to side depending on which way he tilted his head. He was standing on a wooden crate which brought him eye to eye with his victims, all the time brandishing a rather large flashlight much like a sword in the hands of a midget Samurai. Giehse was first. Then came Henning and then I. But no sooner was he finished with me and I was on my way out, than he called me back and gripping my head as in a vice, he started rummaging through my hair to find out if maybe I was trying to smuggle lice into the U.S.A. The reason obviously was my forever unruly hair. Needless to say, Giehse was in stitches. In spite of my being found innocent, we still were not allowed to go on board because they had not finished loading the cargo of huge cement blocks into the belly of our little freighter. I was scared stiff since not only had the ship sunk down to the point where the waves were lapping over the deck, but I also overheard the men argue loudly about the danger of adding even one more of the huge blocks. But that was not the worst. When finally we were able to board, the real nightmare started. However let me tell you first about a strange thing: I started to feel sorry for our ship, that little nutshell that was willing, against all odds, to brave the big wild ocean and deliver us to America. As if she was a living creature who, no matter how abused she was, had not lost her spirit. I could not help but feel a certain kinship to her. Poor little darling I thought. Arme kleene schatje.
