Home Free

HOME FREE

 By Arlene Levin
© 2018

A single 40 watt bulb hung from the ceiling on a wire in the middle of the shed.  It cast muted light over the boxes and bits of furniture we loaded into an old blue 4x6x4 feet high trailer.  The next evening this trailer would be hitched to a huge boat of a car, a 1965 white Lincoln Continental.  Michael and I were moving to Toronto, Canada.

It was a hot July night.  The cicadas hummed.  Legions of spiders went about their business.  Sweat passed the point of stinging the skin.  There was little I could feel past a swelling exhaustion.  Finally packed we stood in the oppressive heat, all our worldly possessions before us.  Our uncertain future rested in the shadows.  It was 1968. 

Marvin, a middle-age Republican from Texas, offered to drive us to Toronto, our new home, our new country.  He knew why we were leaving.  The Viet Nam war touched everyone.  Even a right wing Texas Republican was willing to help a vulnerable young couple flee.

Marvin picked us up the following evening.  There was just enough room for our final suitcases and our 2 cats, Cricket and Caitlin.  The plan was to drive through the night crossing the border just before sunrise.  I thought it fitting our port of entry to Canada was over the Peace Bridge.

Leaving Amherst, we drove past the quiet tree-lined town square. There, most Sundays during the noon hour, I stood with the Quaker influenced community that gathered to stand in silent protest against the Viet Nam war. Sometimes we were many and sometimes we were few but passengers in every car acknowledged us by turning to look at our signs, “Support our troops.  Bring them home”  “Peace Now” “Negotiate Don’t Escalate”.  

We drove through the night.  Hypnotized by the passing highway lights, memories flashed before me.   For two years we’d lived in Amherst, a small university town in western Massachusetts.   We’d moved there from Chicago, our home town.  Michael studied for his Masters Degree in Spanish history and I taught elementary school.  Living in a small town was a huge challenge for us big city folk but in the end we grew to appreciate the slower pace of country life.  Now we were on our way back to a big city, a new country and our new home.

We’d met Marvin, our rescuer-with-the-wooden trailer, the year before.  He’d rented our apartment for the summer.  Marvin took a course at U.Mass and we spent that summer in New York. The city was heaven at the time, it was 1967, the Summer of Love.  Everyone wore flowers.  The feelings of good will and affection among friends and even some strangers was a direct equal and opposite reaction to the horrors of Viet Nam. 

The winter of 1968 was bleak.  The war raged on.  Atrocities mounted.  The nightly news was like a horrible train-wreck.  You couldn’t look away from Napalm, bombs, fire attacks, self-immolation and Americans believing “We are right”. Support for war and peace continued to polarize the country.

I was a walking billboard for the peace movement.  I bought antiwar/peace buttons at demonstrations and wore them proudly.  “Stop the War”  “Make Love Not War”.  The way people looked at me said what they were thinking.  Nasty looks were a constant.  Sometimes people got aggressive and began hooting and shouting “You dirty Commie”  “Go back where you came from”.  Some “peaceniks” as we were called, were assaulted for their stance but I was never physically attacked. 

Then President Johnson rescinded student deferments.  Michael, along with thousands, could be drafted into military service at any time.  While we strongly objected to the war, like many of our generation, prison wasn’t a serious option.  Michael said, “If they call me up, I won’t even go for my physical”.  Without hesitation I said, “Well then, we have to leave.”

It was still dark as we approached the Canadian border.  The  immigration/customs buildings were haloed against the night sky.  In my minds eye the scene was almost biblical.   Fleeing oppression, we were refugees moving out of the darkness and into the light.

We knew the last hurdle was the border.  At this time thousands of Americans were moving to Canada because of the war.  Even with our completed and approved immigration papers we got from the Canadian Consulate in New York City, in this volatile political climate anything could happen. 

The woman immigration officer approached with a flashlight in hand.  She looked at the trailer and asked us, “What are your intentions?”

“We are immigrating to Canada”.

She smiled.  We relaxed a bit.  She stepped onto the side of our old wooden trailer.  Throwing back the tarp, her light flashed on our worldly possessions.  She asked us no further questions and said, “Go to the office over there with your identification and documents”. 

We entered the harsh florescent-lit office and presented our papers to another official.  “These seem to be in order”, he said in a matter-of-fact-tone.   My hand shook a bit as I signed the final papers.  As the officer handed us our immigration I.D. he said with a smile, “Welcome to Canada”. We headed back to the car laughing and crying at the same time.  The sense of relief was indescribable, “Oh my God, we made it, we’re safe, we’re home free!”

Back in the car, the gate lifted and we drove through. The sun rose on a glorious July morning.  The anxiety of the past few months lifted.  In a bit over an hour we arrived at the downtown Toronto apartment Michael rented months before.  As we unloaded the trailer passers-by commented on the Texas license plate.  “Far from home, aren’t ya?”  “Movin in?…Well, welcome”.   Feeling really good, I smiled back, “Thank you, it’s great to be here”.

After breakfast Marvin insisted on driving back to Amherst.   “Marvin” I said, “How can we thank you?”  He said in his thick Texan drawl, “No need young lady, this was the right thing to do and I’m glad I could help”.  We hugged and hugged some more.   Marvin drove off in his big boat of a car with the now empty trailer rattling behind.   The one regret I have is that was the last time I saw or heard from him.   Many times over the years I’d send Marvin a little silent prayer of thanks for his kindness and help.

That first afternoon I was giddy with anticipation as I slipped on my jacket.  Out on the street I stopped into a little drug store steps from our apartment.  While I waited to be served an older women approached me and said, “I see all the peace buttons you’re wearing”.  My stomach tightened.  My head spun.  “Oh no, not again, not here” I thought.  At that moment all the hostility I thought I’d escaped stood in front of me.  I caught my breath preparing for the well-worn confrontation on war and peace.  I swallowed and said, “Yes, my buttons?”  Waiting for the attack, my look was hard and unflinching. 

The lady smiled.  In a chatty voice she began, “Well, I saw you people down at city hall the other day when my rent payers group went down to protest our rent hike”.  One protester to another. What a totally unexpected surprise.   I blinked hard with a sigh of relief.  Then I smiled and thought "Yes, this really is another country and now it’s my home."