BACK IN THE GOOD OLD U.S.A. #50

I would like to add a few last words on the Impresario Performing Arts Tour, as mentioned in the last blog.

Travel is a dream that I have always had. Ever since I was a very little boy, I always wanted to see what was down the street, across town, or around the world. I never expected to have the opportunity to fulfill those dreams. Circumstances presented themselves, allowing many of those dreams to come true.

Although I expressed disappointment about the Impresario tour, it was with the participants, not the journey. Russia, in the late sixties could be pretty dismal, compared to America or any other place outside the "Iron Curtain". In many ways, however, it was a fascinating country. Children would come up to you and ask for chewing gum, but if you tried to shake hands with them, they would slap your hand away. I guess they had been pretty well brainwashed about the American capitalist enemy. Lenin Square in Moscow is immense. Russian visitors stood in line for hours to go through Lenin's Mausoleum. Our Russian Intourist guide took us to the front of the line and yelled at the others in line to let us in. We got a lot of dirty looks, but they let us in. Inside the immense rotunda was the body of Lenin, propped up in his coffin looking like a wax body. You could only spend about one minute for the viewing. No cameras were allowed; you were relieved of cameras as you entered, and were returned when you came out. At the far end of the square was the St.Basil church, with its impressive onion shaped domes; to the right was the entrance to the Kremlin, surrounded by its massif walls. We toured the Kremlin and were fascinated by the architecture. Looking at Russian history under the Tsars, you have to marvel at the fact that, although the Tsars' were disposed of, the Russian people kept what they had built. Another example of this the Winter Palace, in Leningrad, with its beautiful fountains, gardens, and canals, built by Tsar Nicolas the Great. The paintings in the Palace came from all over Europe, especially from Holland, where Nicolas lived and studied for some time.

I just thought that I would add the above, as I didn't want to leave the reader with the impression that the Impresario tour was terrible. It was far from that; the many performances we attended were beautiful and the cities we visited were full of old world art, architecture and for the most part, friendly people. I just wish our tour members could have been nicer.

Upon my return to work, I still had to find a new location for our office. I had also promised to have lunch with Joe Scolara, Dick Robinson's assistant. I was hoping that Dick's murder had been solved. Joe's admission to me that he was the chief suspect was certainly unsettling. I gave Joe a call and he asked me to meet him at the old Impresario office. The offices were in a one story building in Southfield, Michigan. Arriving at the office, I was greeted by Joe Scolara. He then went over the Robinson family demise and said the police had no leads, and were still interrogating him as the chief suspect. He thought the reason for this was because he had no alibi for the time when the murders occurred. He had been attending the Michigan Fair all that day but couldn't recall anyone he knew, who could say they saw him there. Additionally, he served as a Special Forces member during WWll and therefore had a great deal of experience with weapons. He swore up and down that he had nothing to do with the murders.

He told me that the reason he wanted to see me at their old offices, was because he owned the building and wondered if I would like to rent it for KLM. He knew that I wanted to get out of Detroit. To make a long story short, I sent the details and a picture of the building to my New York Home Office and got a "go ahead" to rent it. It was well suited to our needs. It was a small building containing three private offices, a reception area and a large conference room which we converted into a reservations and ticket office open to the public. In the back of the building was ample space for parking. The nicest part was that it fronted on Southfield Road which was a main road out of Detroit, to the suburbs. We had a nice sign out front proclaiming "The K.L.M. Building".

After moving in, Joe Scolara stopped by several times to visit. On one visit, he suggested that we have lunch together at that great Dutch restaurant in Windsor. On the way back, he surprised me by saying he hoped U.S. Immigration didn't ask him to open his trunk (we were using his car) as he had a rifle in the trunk. I don't know if he was joking or serious. In any event, we were not asked to open it. That was the last time I ever saw Joe. He had a small office in downtown Detroit, where he was working and his mother was helping him. One day, she went out for lunch, and when she returned, the door was locked and there was a note on the door telling her not to come in, but to call the police. When the police arrived, they broke down the door and found that Joe had committed suicide. He left a note saying that he was a thief and had stolen money from Dick Robinson, but he was not a murderer. To my knowledge, the police never solved the case. I imagine that not having any more leads, they just closed the case hoping the murderer was dead.

For me, I was happy the year was pretty well over. I got us out of Detroit even though it took me more than twice as long to get to the office every day. I had increased the KLM revenue for the year by over another million dollars. The sad part of the year was the losing of a friend, making the year less happy as it could have been. Overall, I felt good, but could not help wonder what the next year would bring.

 

 

 

 

THE IRON CURTAIN # 49

The lasts few weeks in September 1967 remain in my mind, even after all these years. With meetings in Chicago, corporate visitors from Holland in town, the murder of the Robinson family, and Luke Asjes departure for Amsterdam, pretty well had my mind in a whirl.

One humorous incident among all the problems also comes to mind. It has to do with my visitors from Holland. After all their meetings with the Dutch Immigrant Society to learn the way we handled all their charter flights, I thought that it would be nice to offer them a nice lunch before they had to board their flight back to Amsterdam. There was a wonderful Dutch restaurant in Windsor, Canada. It was just across the border in Ontario and many people from Detroit had lunch there quite often. It served some wonderful Indonesian food, and it was only about a ten minute trip, through the tunnel into Canada. There were few formalities at the border; the Canadians had no check point as you passed in, however, U.S. Immigration Police stopped all cars and checked all drivers on their way back into the States.

I must have been in La la land because I completely forgot that I had taken Dutch Citizens across into Canada. We were about halfway through our lunch when it dawned on me that we had to go through American Immigration to get back into Detroit. I don't know what kind of trouble I was going to get my guests in, but they had to catch a flight that afternoon and we didn't have time to be delayed. Having gone through this process many times, I knew that the U.S. Immigration officer usually just stuck his head in the window and asked "if I was a U.S. citizens. I'd say yes, and he would wave me through. I explained to my Dutch friends about my problem and asked them to just say "yes" when asked if everyone was a U.S. citizen. We got to the border, we were asked the question and I said yes. Then, from the back seat, came a very loud and definitely Dutch "Yah". I held my breath, but luckily he waived us through. I don't think it's that easy today; Homeland Security would have us all in jail.

So now it was September 28^th and I was standing at the American Airlines gate at Idlewild Airport, awaiting the arrival of my 36 passengers booked on the Impresario Performing Arts Tour. We were all booked on KLM's evening flight to Amsterdam, where we spent two nights exploring the sights, sailing on the famous canals, and visiting the Rijks Museum. A concert by the Amsterdam Philharmonic and a visit to Volendam were other highlights of our stay. From Amsterdam we flew to Warsaw, for more tours and a concert. Then it was on to Moscow. I had been in Moscow in 1961, with a group of KLM managers on a familiarization tour of Eastern Europe. I really hadn't had any great knowledge of Eastern Europe, just a taste of it. From that experience, I knew that in those times, people in Eastern Europe didn't have a lot of wealth. I had explained that to the participants during our meetings back in Detroit. I told them to leave any fancy clothes and fur coats at home. Unfortunately, my advice didn't sink in. They all came dressed in fancy furs and jewels as if they were going to attend the grand opening performance at the Met. Our Intourist host or guide was a wonderful Russian lady who spoke perfect English and didn't leave our side for the three days we were in Moscow. We attended several concerts and a performance at the famous Bolshoi Theatre. The immense red velvet curtain, emblazoned with the Hammer and Sickle symbol, was pretty impressive. The performance was a ballet, and arrangements had been made to have a special luncheon with the performers the next day. The next morning was free and I told the group I would have a bus waiting for them at eleven A.M. outside the hotel to take them to the luncheon.

At 11:A.M no one was there. I started to call their rooms, when a couple of them showed up. They said the others were still getting ready. By 11:30 I was going crazy, The Intourist guide said that we had to go. I said that we couldn't go as only half the people were on the bus. Then the ones on the bus started to complain and said lets go leave them behind. By the time we all got to the hall where we were to have lunch, the Russian performers were leaving. I pleaded with them to stay, but all they said was in Russian and it didn't sound too complimentary. The Intourist guide was very apologetic to our people who really didn't deserve an apology. The luncheon had been set up beautifully with crystal glasses, flowers and more; it looked like something out of a movie set. The tour members couldn't understand why the performers left. I didn't want to say it was because they thought we were a bunch of ugly Americans, but that's what it was. The cold war was still on at that time.

The rest of the tour was not much better; it was like herding a bunch of sheep. I had one woman who was always lost. If I told everyone that the bus was outside to the left, she would go to the right. I would count heads on the bus and she was always missing. I would find her wandering around looking for the bus. This happened time and time again. There was another woman who wanted to have the window open in her room, at night. Because all rooms were double occupancy, it ended up that I had to switch her around with others until I found another lady who didn't mind the open window. So it went through Leningrad, Budapest, Prague and finally our farewell dinner in back in Amsterdam. One thing I forgot: when we left Russia, their Immigration Control officers searched my entire group. One lady had some Russian rubles; the officer said it was against the law to take Russian money out of Russia. When she said it was just a souvenir, the officer suggested she spend it in the gift shop. The women threw the rubles on the floor and said she didn't want any dirty Russian money. They all laughed at her. Another lady had a Rosary in her purse and a letter from her son, who was a priest. They took both items, several officers took the items into a back room, and it was about thirty minutes before they returned the items. I don't know why, but they didn't ask me to open my suitcase.

I have escorted a number of groups through Europe, Eastern Europe, and Africa, but I am happy to tell you that I have never had to endure such a group again.