Dad achieved his goal of providing a better life for his family in February 1952 after persistent effort. Theresa in her account explained the reasons for the protracted process of leaving Austria, and perhaps, in the end, we were fortunate. At age nine, I had no idea what was happening; I simply followed my parents’ lead. Nothing was explained to me in terms I could understand.

The three weeks at sea from Bremerhaven, Germany, to New Orleans are difficult to describe. My father seemed to handle the ocean voyage fairly well, but my mother was seasick from the first day to the last. Although my sisters and I had bouts of seasickness, we felt well enough to explore the ship and enjoy the fresh air on deck. Watching whales glide by in the distance and seeing schools of flying fish never ceased to amaze me.

The changes in the ocean were equally amazing. One day, the water was smooth and glossy; the next day, huge, dark waves crashed against the ship. The ship heaved and sank in endless cycles, making seasickness much worse. One day the storm was so intense and the waves so high and rough that the bow of the ship dipped low, scooped up water, and sprayed the deck when it came up. Everyone on deck had to hold tightly to ropes to avoid being tossed around or swept overboard.

The most surprising event I witnessed was a burial at sea. All I remember is a wood casket placed on a long board that jutted across the railing over the water. The casket was pushed to the end until it slid off.

In the hold of the ship, the men and boys were separated from the women and girls. Mother and we girls were assigned to a room filled with rows of bunk beds stacked at least three high. I had to take an upper berth close to the ceiling, so I could not sit up in bed. I either had to lie down or be on the floor. I walked the narrow hallways to the deck or the mess hall since there was nothing else to do.

Eating was always an experience. The food was served cafeteria style, and we took the trays to the tables on unsteady feet as the ship pitched and rolled. I was always concerned that the dishes would slide off the table. One day at a meal we were given whole grapefruit. Never having had them before, we did not eat them right away but took them with us. Later, my sisters and I tried to peel them as we would oranges, but, of course, they did not peel easily nor separate into sections. When we tasted them, we were surprised and disappointed at the bitter taste. We could not eat them and threw them away. A day or two later, I happened to notice a man in the mess hall eating a grapefruit, and I watched him in amazement. He did not peel it but cut it, sprinkled sugar on the pieces, and seemed to relish every bite. It was years before I learned to do the same.

We docked at the Port of New Orleans on February 19, 1952. My only memory after disembarking is standing in a throng of people waiting to be told what to do and where to go. To this day, I marvel at those people whose job it was to keep families together and make sure they were herded in the right direction, as we numbered in the thousands. We were put on a train to Chicago where we transferred to go to Iowa. The trip took three days.