Rocknocker: A Geologist’s Memoir. George Devries Klein

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      Travelling from Australia to the USA immediately after World War II took more than fortitude. With Appy Van Roijen’s help, we succeeded in getting reservations on the M.V. Lowlander owned by the Port Line based in the UK. The itinerary took us from Sydney, Australia, to New York with stops in Tahiti, Panama City, and Curacao. We sailed on January 16, 1947. The trip took 47 days.

      The M.V. Lowlander was built in Italy as a freighter with cabins for 20 passengers. It operated on the Trans-Atlantic trade. When Pearl Harbor was attacked, it was off-loading cargo in New York and immediately seized as a war prize. The US Government turned it over to the British government which transferred title to the Port Line.

      Because the M.V. Lowlander was built in Italy, parts were all in metric units. Replacement parts were unavailable. Thus, we would steam ahead and suddenly came to a dead stop. The engineers repaired a damaged part or fashioned one in the machine shop. During these stops, the M.V. Lowlander bobbed in the ocean like a cork for ten to 25 hours. Such stops were spaced from three days to one week apart. The last repairs were completed at the end of February, 1947 off North Carolina in the middle of a “Noreaster.”

      Nevertheless, we made progress. We had an enjoyable shore trip in Tahiti, a scary experience in Panama City, transited the Panama Canal, reconnected with Dutch cuisine in Curacao, and arrived in Hoboken, NJ on March 3, 1947.

      Life on board ship was mixed. The passengers included six war brides heading to meet their fiancés in the US. The Ship’s officers socialized with some of the ladies and two of them got pregnant during the cruise. When we disembarked in Hoboken, NJ, I noticed both women tearfully explaining their circumstances to angry fiancés. I learned later they were sent back to Australia.

      The food was limited, served in small portions and tasted like most English food, namely not very exciting. I never had enough to eat. One day, while on deck, I noticed a crewman throw food overboard. I discovered that the crew, who ate separately, had better food and there was some left over. I negotiated with their cook to let me come by after each meal and get a second meal. They agreed.

      Consequently, I came to know the crew, learned what and how such people think, how hard they worked, their complaints about the officers, and their slant on life. That experience served me well in later years during two cruises of the Deep Sea Drilling Project and the Ocean Drilling Program, one as a co-chief scientist (Chapters 17 and 21).

      The ship docked in Hoboken, NJ, where we were met by my Dad who had purchased a new 1947 Chevy Coupe. We drove to Manhattan. My father found housing in Greenwich Village in New York City.

      We reached the apartment and unpacked. Our living quarters were in an old house chopped up into apartments and rooms. We had a living room, three bedrooms and a bathroom on the second floor, but the kitchen and dining room were in the basement. Housing was scarce in post-war New York City so we were fortunate to have something. Other tenants mostly were artists and musicians who practiced at all hours of the day and night.

      One musician came by one evening and offered four free tickets to attend the world premiere of an opera written by a good friend. He explained the friend needed a large audience (I suppose to get a good review). I was not eager to go, and I didn’t find the experience that exciting. The event was held in a medium-sized off-Broadway theater. The composer was Gian Carlo Menotti, and it was indeed the world premiere of “Amal and the Night Visitors” which was well received. The significance of the experience didn’t register until I saw it on a TV Christmas special years later.

      Within two weeks after arriving, my mother and sister went on a frantic search to find a college for her. They visited Radcliffe, Wellesley, Smith, Mt. Holyoke, Vassar and Bryn Mawr. Because we arrived in the USA in early March, application deadlines had passed. Finally, Bryn Mawr College accepted her and she enrolled in the fall of 1947, graduating with a degree in English in 1951.

      She received a very good education, book-wise, but her attitude did not change from her prefect days at Geelong Grammar Ladies College. During her senior year, she was nominated to be president of her dorm but lost the election. She told us she was disgusted with the back-biting that occurred during the short election campaign. It left her with a disdainful attitude about most of her classmates.

      My father enrolled me at Haaren High School in Manhattan as a freshman and I took college prep courses in English, Latin, history, algebra, and science. I coasted, yet earned high grades because most of the material duplicated what I had learned at Scotch College in 1946. However, the school served a critical purpose. It socialized me to the American way, American civics, and American history. That was always the mission of the American public school, namely to socialize immigrants, including me and for that I am grateful.

      The student population was diverse, and some students came from economically poor homes. I recall one incident during a science class. The class was shown a movie and two black kids sat behind me. They kept pestering me for money. I told them to shut up and watched the movie. They persisted. So, not necessarily knowing the norms of an American High School, I stood up, turned around put up my fists and gave one an uppercut to the jaw with my right fist. He went sprawling over the floor.

      The teacher stopped the movie and asked what happened. I explained the problem and because she viewed me as her ‘star student’, she accepted my explanation and sent the other two kids to the Principles office. They were expelled.

      My parents started looking for a home in the suburbs. They bought one at 409 Weaver Street, in Larchmont, NY, and we moved during June. They sent me to a summer camp in New Hampshire, a co-ed Quaker camp devoted to socializing immigrant children to America. Fellow “campers” originated from France, the UK, Germany, Netherlands, Belgium, Norway, Italy, Yugoslavia and Poland. Generally we got along.

      The high point of the summer was to climb Mt. Washington. We drove to its base and spent the day climbing to the summit. We took the cog railway back to our cars. An elderly man approached us while at the observation deck and asked who we were. Because we were immigrants, he invited us to his house for a coke and cookies and pointed to its location. He owned the Cog Railway and clearly was a wealthy man. What impressed me was that he drove in a Chevrolet no different from my father’s. Clearly, the lesson learned was that despite his wealth, it was best to spend money wisely. Wheels are wheels; it’s the chrome, price tag and nameplate that are different.

      I enrolled that fall as a sophomore at Mamaroneck Senior High School, a mile walk from our home. The student body came mostly from affluent and upper middle class homes. Moreover, because I skipped most of a year of school, I was the youngest member of my graduating class. I took the usual college preparatory courses, sang in the high school choir, made it on the swimming and track teams, and joined the current affairs discussion club. I made several friends too.