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A FLOWER & A NOTE ON OUR VESPA



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LISBON SCIENCE MUSEUM



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OUR HOSTS, CARLOS & LAVINIA

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CONSULATE IN THE CONSULATE'S OFFICE




My Story

# 33



I paused for a moment trying to think of an answer to his question, “Where are you staying in Lisbon?” Lavinia interrupted, “He’s staying at our place. He and his friend are touring the world, and they’re going to stay at our house until his arm and hand heals.”
Lavinia looked at me and winked. There wasn’t much I could say to her. Jeeze!… It meant I didn’t have to sleep in a shed tonight out in some desolate landscape like last week, or I didn’t have to sleep in our tent outside the city in a park somewhere. My hand was swollen and throbbing. It was all red. And now it was extending up my arm. It was tough driving the motor scooter. I was in poor health, even coughing. I don’t do that!

Stay in the comforts of a house? And with a gal like Lavinia who truly was concerned about my hand and arm. It made me feel wonderful. I think she saw it in my expression.

The doctor redressed my arm and gave me two different kinds of medicine to take. He started to give me the bottles and Lavinia intercepted them. “Here, I’ll take those.” She smiled at me like a mother who had just taken her teenage son in for a check-up after a bicycle scrape.

“There’ll be no charge, ” The doctor looked at Lavinia. She had such a beautiful smile I think the doctor was under the same spell with her that I was.
Actually I found out later that the doctor pretended I was Lavinia’s brother and in Portugal at that time health care was free to all families.

“No charge?” I thought to myself. Another bonus! I got the services of a doctor and didn’t have to pay for it. You couldn’t do that in Maryland. I don’t think so. I thanked him, and when we left I turned to Lavinia. “Are you sure it’ll be all right with the both of you for us to stay at your home? We’ve put you to so much trouble as it is.”

“Of course it will be all right; Carlos suggested it to me this morning. It’s no trouble at all.”
What a swell gal she was!

That evening we drove back to Lisbon and to the apartment of Carlos and Lavinia daSilva. They lived in a large apartment building in a residential section downtown. They had a spot where we could keep our scooter right next to theirs in a small garage on the first floor. We walked up three flights of stairs to their apartment. They used the main room of their apartment as a dining room and living room. Next to it was a good-sized bedroom with a double bed, and next to that was a small room with a day bed. A small kitchen and a bathroom were on the other side of a short hallway that divided the apartment. I don’t know why it was designed that way but it seemed to work.
“Now you fellows are going to sleep in a bed!” and Carlos pointed to the bedroom.
“But where are you all going to sleep?” I said.
“Now don’t worry about that. Just make yourselves at home; we’ve had guests before. We can figure it out.” And he showed us where we could find things we might need in the apartment like the john.
Before going to bed we sat around sipping hot chocolate.
` “Do they have a radio station here in Lisbon?” Rudi asked.
“Of course,” Carlos answered, “They have three or four.”
“They also have a television station,” Lavinia said. “It’s only three months old, but a lot of people watch it. Are you going to try to get on television?”
Rudi looked at me.
Lavinia continued, “I bet if you could get the scooter on television here in Lisbon, the motor scooter stores in Lisbon would really be happy. Have you ever been on television?”
“No, but we’ve been on radio in Madrid.” Rudi said.
Carlos said, “And the way you have the scooter all decorated, I bet the television people would be eager to have you. And you could sing your songs. We love music here in Portugal.”
“Would they pay very well?” Rudi asked.
“I wouldn’t know,” Carlos answered, “But I imagine it’d be better pay than the radio.” Carlos had a job in Lisbon that sold tires, Michelin. I guess that’s why he spoke French so well.

“We’ll have to see tomorrow,” I said, taking the guitar out and beginning a song. It pleased Carlos and Lavinia to hear us sing. Although they weren’t musical themselves, they were always requesting a song until the day we left. Lavinia liked one song especially, “Annaliese,” it’s a German folk song, and she had us singing it so much she almost knew all of the German words herself.

The next day we visited the television studio. It was located near the apartment. It was a compound of several small offices and one large studio that at one time might have been a summer theater. In one of the offices we talked with a Senor Vargas, one of the program managers.
“I’m sorry boys, the only program we have that would lend itself to your kind of entertainment is going to be filled up for the next month. Are you going to be here any longer than that?”
“No, we’re only going to stay a few more days until my hand heals,” I said.

“Well, I’m sorry I can’t do anything for you fellows,” he said. “Leave your address and phone with my secretary, and if anything comes up I’ll have her contact you.” And he extended his hand to show that he was busy.

Disheartened… that’s what we were. We had puffed ourselves up so much when we went to the studio, now we looked like a couple of flat tires. I grabbed a chair at an outdoor café as we passed and sat down. I think I dropped a couple of notches in Rudi’s estimation what with my failure to get a singing date at the Lisbon TV station. He didn’t say anything.
We must’ve sat there fifteen minutes without saying anything. “Lisbon is a sailing port for cruise ships isn’t it?” I asked Rudi.

“Yes, I think it is. I’m sure we’d find some German ships down at the harbor.” Rudi said.
Oops...that was not the right thing to say to Rudi. Anytime he saw a German ship, even if it was fifteen miles offshore, he got nostalgic. That was good to see. He could get soft. He knew all the words to all those brooding German songs about love and caring but he was rarely that way in real life. It was like he had different Rules of Life than what he was always singing about. So often, he presented himself as inconsiderate…someone with blinders on, as if the world was a straight road and he was bent on moving forward, the barriers and roadblocks be damned! Even the people.
I found myself continually adapting to his moods and style. I often wondered if he had the ability to see himself as others saw him. We never talked much about that. What would be the purpose? Why should he care? He was who he was. He saw the world the way he saw it and that was that. When he would get back to Wuesterheide, in a year or two, he would be the same person, nothing had changed, and that was good enough for him. He was like one of those impenetrable German tanks in WWII. Solid 3” steel. Bullets and shells bounced off it. And if he were the commander of the tank squadron and opened the hatch and stood up to survey the battle, bullets and shells would bounce off him too.

O.K., so I’m making an assessment of Rudi. On the other hand, I’m like a sponge. I notice more than I should. I’m wide-eyed, and this can be impractical if you’re on a trip like this. I have too many ideas. Like a Jack-of-all trades. I think too much. And that’s what I was doing right now.
“Why do you ask about the harbor?” Rudi said.

“Well, no, I wasn’t thinking about a German ship in the harbor. I was just thinking, maybe we could get a luxury liner and sign up to be the music entertainment on a ship that was going to the United States.”
“And why, mein lieber freund, should you like to do that?” Rudi sat up straight. He always stiffened his spine when he was ready to get into a discussion that didn’t fit the way he saw things.
“I just thought we could probably make some cash, store up some travel money back in the States for our world trip. We could tell a couple magazines what we’re doing, and they’d give us an advance and we’d head on to South America, and hit Africa on our way back. The States you know, is where all the money is, and that’s what we need at the moment.”
Rudi interrupted. “What we need at the moment, Engh, is to stay on course.”
He looked at me with those steely eyes. “We are going to Africa. It says right here!” And he opened my trip diary and flipped to a page with a newspaper photo of us on it. “See?” he poked his finger at the word Africa in the headline of a Spanish newspaper clipping.” He pounded his fist on it. “We’re not going to the United States. What’s wrong with you…?

“Well, how’re we going to make some money in this town?” I asked, admitting that he was right.
“We can always try one of the radio stations,” Rudi suggested.
“Yeah, but they’re already probably booked up just like the TV station. And, anyway, they’re not going to be able to pay like a television station. And besides, the scooter company would probably help us out if we got on television.” I said.

Rudi folded his arms and tilted back on his chair with his patent “I told you so” expression. “Well, what can we do? This is your department, my friend. Now you come up with the answer.”

There wasn’t anything I could say. I had some hair-brained ideas, like the luxury liner return to the States but I didn’t want to blurt them out. I wanted to get it right. I didn’t want to get his usual retort, “You Americans blah blah blah” response.

We had all the time in the world. No place to go. We sat there nursing the glass of water the waiter had brought us. I go out a piece of scrap paper from my saddlebag and started scribbling. Rudi sat back and watched the passing Portuguese women.

The biggest mistake we made was not to give ourselves a big build-up when we visited Senor Vargas at the television station. He probably gets tons of accomplished musicians and singers auditioning for his shows. If he thought we were in demand, he would’ve canceled one their numbers and suggested us.
“I think I got it!” I said to Rudi and explained we could get on TV if we worked it right.
“But how can we give ourselves a big build-up? You can’t just go in there and tell a bunch of lies. They won’t stand for anything like that.”

“We won’t build ourselves up, we’ll let someone else do it - - someone more influential around here than us - - all the newspapers in town!”
“All the newspapers? Now how are you going to do that?” Rudi said doubtfully.
“Every big city we’ve been in has a bunch of newspapers. Not just one. We’ve always just gone to one. The newspaper was always interested in taking our picture and writing a story about us, right?”
“Right.”
“Well, we’ll hit all the newspapers in town, even the small ones, blitzkrieg! All in one day. We’ll tell them how we’re expecting to sing on a program here in Lisbon when we arrived to show the Portuguese people the songs we have learned in our travels! But we have to say it the right way. We can’t look like a couple of slick minstrels who are experienced and polished performers. We have to come in to the newspaper office with hat in hand, thankful that we got to be interviewed. Since we are unique, a German and American traveling together to see the world, we’ve got a good story for them and a right to be in their press room.

“We’ll tell them what great singers we are, even sing a couple of numbers for the newspaper staff, and tell them all the places we’ve sung in Germany, Belgium, Holland, France, Spain, and the United States –“
“Wait a minute, we haven’t done any singing in the United States,” Rudi interrupted.
“I did some singing when I was away at school. You sang in Germany, right? That’s good enough, isn’t it?” I said.
“Well, I guess so.”
“Whattayathink?” I asked.
“Yeah, but if one newspaper hears we’ve been to their competitors, won’t they kick us out?”

“No. It doesn’t work that way. First of all, newspapers are so single-minded, they believe they’re God’s gift to the world. I know that from experience. You could go to a dozen newspapers and maybe only one would ask, “Have you been elsewhere with this story?” And besides if we say, “Yes, we have.” They’ll only want to do a better job than the other newspaper if they think our story is good. They’ll take two pictures instead of just one. Or write a longer story about us. It works for us, not against us. They’ll want to get a “scoop”.
“What’s that?”
“It’s when you come out first with a story. It’s a badge of pride in the newspaper world to come out with a scoop.”
“But what if it’s a morning newspaper, or it’s an evening newspaper?” Won’t one come out before the other?
“You’re right. We have to do some research and get the timing right. Let’s go someplace, like a library, where we can ask some questions. Then we’ll get a map and visit these newspapers all at the right timing. Are you with me?”
“As you say, Herr Engh. But how about the television station? They already said they didn’t have time for us.”
“That’s just it. After the newspapers come out with our story, we’ll get Carlos and Lavinia and all our friends down at the Vespa Club to call and ask which night we’re going to appear on TV. Maybe even some other people we don’t know will call, too! The television people will just have to put us on their program!”
“Well, it sounds good, but one problem. How about your hand? You can’t even move your fingers, let alone play a guitar!”
“The program isn’t ‘til Saturday night; I’m sure I’ll be able to play by then. I’ll practice a little each day.”
“O.k. Mr. Engh, I’m with you; just show me what to do next.”
“First, we go to the library and get the information we need. Not just the street address but we might need the phone number and also the address of the chief editor or two in case a receptionist tries to halt us from entering the editorial office. We could tell her we have an appointment with so and so.
We hopped on our scooter, dressed in our usual travel mode, guitars and all, and found a library, the “Biblioteca Museu de Cienca." I think it means Science Museum. We were just looking for a list of newspapers in Lisbon. They should have that.
"You go in. I'll wait for you here," Rudi said.
I realized Rudi had never been in a library before. He would feel like a fish out of water. But that's why he was on this trip. To learn things like what's a library look like inside.
"C'mon," I said. "There just might be some nice-lookin' women in here."
There was. A very neat-looking assistant at the main desk greeted us but she struggled trying to speak English or French. The way we were dressed caused a stir and people in the reading room started mumbling and looking at us.
The chief librarian came out of her office. The floor creaked as she came over to us, sort of ‘hipping’ the assistant out of the way.
“Yes?” She lowered the rim of her glasses. She spoke perfect English. "You're American aren't you?"
She looked like Miss Holland, my ancient Latin teacher back at Buckingham High School in Maryland. She motioned to the assistant to hand us a Lisbon business catalog that listed all the newspapers in the Lisbon area. I copied them into my sketchpad. I had to squint to see the details. It was so dark in that place and it smelled musty.
I noticed the assistant was looking at the bullfighter sketch on the opposite page of my sketchbook.
The chief librarian was tapping her foot watching me jot down the details. He had placed all ten of her fingers straight up on the counter and watched as I wrote. Some of the people in the reading room were whispering to each other. We probably looked like vagrants. Some might have thought we were going to rob the place. Rudi was looking around, and as usual, to see if he could see any pretty girls.
The chief librarian leaned over to her assistant and whispered. They both smiled.
“What? What? I said.
She answered right back. “It’s so curious. You’re left-handed. We don’t see that much in Portugal. In school we’re taught to be right-handed.”
Her nose went up in the air as though she had just made a clever chess move on me.
Then she turned abruptly and walked back to her office. The creaking floor sounds followed her into her office. Then she turned and poked her face out of her door again, stopped, and turned back and sat down in her office.
“What was that?” Rudi said.
“I think she was going to ask me for my library card," I said.
But she wanted to usher us out of there as quick as possible. We were causing a stir. That’s a universal no-no in libraries everywhere. We waved goodbye to her assistant and the people who were looking up at us as we passed through the reading room to the exit. We got all that we needed, except the phone number of that nice assistant gal.

That night and the next morning, five major newspapers in Lisbon came out with a picture of Rudi and me, the guitars and the Vespa and a long story about our travels through Europe, describing how we had made a big hit not only at universities and Vespa clubs, but also on the farms with the rural people.
Carlos and Lavinia and our friends at the Vespa club liked the idea. Carlos assigned each person that was good at talking on the telephone to phone the Lisbon TV station at a certain time of day and call requesting to know when the two boys who were touring the world by motor scooter were going to appear on TV.
It was a success! Carlos said that the television station people said they had a flood of calls not just from his Vespa club members but also from all over the Lisbon area. He said the TV station was preparing to have the boys on their Saturday evening interview show. That evening during dinner, they called. I heard a voice in Spanish.
“Mr. Engh, this is Senor Vargas at Lisbon TV; we’ve had so many people call and request that they hear your songs, that we have canceled one of the numbers and inserted you two gentlemen. The program will be this Saturday evening at 8:30 is that acceptable to you?”
“Yes, sir! That’ll be fine with us!” I said.
“Good, then, we’ll expect you and Rudi on Friday afternoon at 4pm for a rehearsal. And by the way, please ask Senor DaSilva and his wife to be your special guests Saturday night.”
“Thanks. Thanks very much,” and I hung up.
“They want you to be our special guests!” I said, turning to Carlos and Lavinia, happy that we could include them in our plans.
“Wonderful! Wonderful!” Lavinia’s happy face lit up.
“It makes us glad that you’ve been successful with your hopes,” Carlos said.
“Let’s make a toast!” Lavinia held up her wine glass, and we toasted our success with the TV studio.

The next two days we spent in running errands about Lisbon. Since we would be in Lisbon for the next few days we decided to apply for a visa for the United States for Rudi.
We found the U.S. consulate in the downtown section, and applied at the reception desk for information. One of the American consul assistants came out from his office to speak to us. I guess the U.S. consulate was used to American ‘beatniks’ coming into their office, looking for free money to get back to the USA. We had seen a few in Paris, Madrid and now in Lisbon.
Well, I guess this Consulate guy was thinking we were a couple of beatniks. He leaned against the long counter of the Consulate reception room and said in a slow, casual, lengthy Alabama drawl, “What’s your trabble?”
Rudi was never able to get over that. It was his first introduction to American bureaucracy, and being used to the austerity of German offices, he wasn’t too sure if the man was serious or if he even worked in the Consulate.
“I’d like to apply for a visa to the United States,” Rudi said.
“Wait over there, he pointed to a row of chairs where a half dozen people were sitting. They looked like they were tourists.
Finally when our turn came, we spoke to the Vice-Consul, Miss Simpson. She was pert and snappy. Real business-like. She quickly changed Rudi’s ideas about the Lisbon Consulate. She leafed through her regulations on visas for Germans and in a matter of a few words with her superior in the next room and instructions to her secretary, we were finished with the bureaucratic stuff.
“How long do you plan on being on this jaunt?” she was curious.
“Might last three or four years. It’s almost becoming an occupation for us,” I smiled.
“How do you like this country of Portugal?” she asked.
“A pleasant place to live,” I answered. “The people have been very friendly to us here.”
“Except the police have odd rules around here,” Rudi interrupted.
“How’s that?” she said.
“Whenever we park or scooter any place, a lot of people usually gather around. They want to talk with us, to know where we’re going, or where’ve we come from, or just to stare. But here in Portugal, the police won’t allow it.”
“Yes,” I joined in. “Whenever there seems to be a gathering of more than two or three people, a policeman steps in and asks the people to leave. If they’re not quick about leaving, like this morning, he makes them pay a fine.”
“What happened this morning?” she asked curiously.
“We were talking to some young students, and a crowd gathered around to watch." I said. “But a policeman interrupted, and most of them left. One of the young guys standing around was taking snapshots of us and he was a little slow to leave and the policeman fined him with three escudos right there on the street. We’ve never seen anything like that before.”
She smiled, “Different country, different customs. That’s Salazar’s Right of Assembly law. Anymore than three persons congregated together - - they must have permission.”
“What?” I asked. “Who’s Salazar?”.
“He’s the premier of the government; has been ever since the early thirties.” She handed us a couple of brochures about Portugal, ushering us out of the office like a doctor who gives you a prescription.
We left the Consulate and went outside to find someone had tied a flower to the front of our scooter and a note in German: “We saw your picture in the paper yesterday and would like to invite you and your hosts to our restaurant for supper any evening you wish.” It was signed, Bartolomeu Nuñes, The Garden Restaurant.

NEXT: We appear on Lisbon TV. The first American and the first German!