I'm Going To Disneyworld!

I was three and a half when we came to America.  I remember very little of my real hometown in Kazakhstan.  My earliest memory is of a place called Aktau.  A small resort on the Caspian Sea, 1000 kilometers from Baikonur.  The team had been rewarded with a vacation after another spectacular success.  On April 12, 1961, Yuri Gagarin became the first human being to visit outer space.

I was on a sandy beach.  A parent was holding a hand on each side.  We slowly waded into the cool water.  It was fun until the water splashed into my ears.  I started to cry.  According to Mom, we were in Aktau in July, 1961.

I remember the airplane ride to America the next February.  It was in a propeller driven plane and we hit a nasty storm on the way to England.  I threw up all over my favorite stuffed bear.  To this day, I hate flying.

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After the rollercoaster ride Artur had been on since his teen years, life in America was relatively dull.  All he did was raise three children, stay married to my mother for five decades, learn to speak English, and adapt to the strangeness that was Alabama.  And that other thing.  When he helped Wernher von Braun and the rest of the rocket scientists send America to the Moon.

Prior to the space program, Huntsville was a farming community.  When the interstate map was drawn, it made sense to put I-65 through the nearby port city of Decatur, not tiny Huntsville.  But the village had a hidden gem.  A spacious military base that was barely being used.  The property bordered the Tennessee River.  Where large rocket engines could be unloaded from barges with relative ease.

The original plan was for the NASA scientists to live in Houston, and travel to Huntsville for testing.  But a funny thing happened on the way to the static test pad.  

The growth of the rocket program at the now bustling Redstone Arsenal overwhelmed the real estate market in Huntsville for decades.  The barracks and apartments on base were full.  There were no houses for rent.  Hotels stayed full.  Subdivisions were being built in all directions. 

An agreement was reached with the proprietors at the state park at Monte Sano mountain, on the eastern edge of the city.  NASA signed a long term lease on six of the small cabins in the park.  The cabins were built on the mountain bluff, and overlook what is now north Huntsville.  Then, it was all forest and farmland.

When von Braun got out of his car and saw the view from his new front porch, he fell in love.  It reminded him of the ski resorts he’d visited as a youth.  Without the snow, of course.  At that moment, the seed was planted.  In the summer of 1950, the rocket scientists moved to Huntsville.

Twelve years later, the three of us showed up at Cabin 6 on Monte Sano mountain.  We moved into our first house, on Norton Avenue, when the construction was finished,.  The modest 3 bedroom home, complete with air conditioning and a carport, was a castle to Artur.

The transition from his previous life to America was filled with challenges.  Artur was 42 years old.  He had to learn to speak English.  He had not lived in a free society since he was a child.  He had never voted or applied for a driver’s license.  

We came to America with three suitcases and some boxes.  The most expensive thing my father had ever owned was the sewing machine he bought for my mother.  To Artur, his new country was an overwhelming wonderland.

He and his spouse jumped into American life with both feet.  They made friends with their new neighbors.  Frank and Edna Busch pretty much adopted my parents.  Their daughter, Teresa, was my first friend in America.  

The rest of the neighbors were equally accepting.  When the Germans first showed up in Huntsville, there was some apprehension among the locals.  But the scientists and their families somehow connected with the Alabamians, and began to fit in.  When stories of NASA successes thrust Huntsville into the national and world spotlight, the city beamed with pride.  To the locals, the scientists were “our Germans.”    

I certainly didn’t have any problem adapting to America.  I was as spoiled rotten as anyone born here.  

By the time I was old enough to wreck my first motorcycle, Artur and Ekaterina had long since blended in.  Both had become American citizens, and very proud of that.  I had no idea why my parents cried after the first time they voted, but whatever.

With the resources available to von Braun and his team, the NASA program overcame the initial lead the Soviets had.  By the time Artur joined the team, there was no doubt which nation would win the gold medal in the space race.

Artur had picked up where he left off, years before.  Wernher von Braun had his mathematician by his side once again.

Ekaterina could have worked if she wanted to, but chose to “retire” to being a full-time housewife.  Edna Busch taught her how to cook southern cuisine.  For the first time in his life, Artur began growing a belly.

The Mercury program transitioned to the Gemini program, followed immediately by the Apollo program.  Things progressed at a similar pace at home, as my two brothers were born in rapid succession.

For the first time in his adult life, Artur had nothing to rebel against.  He could get in his car and drive anywhere he wanted.  He could quit his job and move into a cave, and no one would stop him.  He was free, and he loved his freedom.  

You will find few people more passionate about America than immigrants.

But you can’t close Pandora’s Box after it has been opened.  Even though Artur was happier than he’d ever been, he could not resist the urge to commit practical jokes.  

People eventually figured it out.  If you showed up for work later than Artur Wlodarski, you ran the risk of getting pranked.  He took care to make each prank fit the recipient.  The physicist who was known to meticulously comb his hair walked in one morning to an office full of mirrors.  

The chemist that was a golf nut found his desk and chair in the hall.  His office had been covered in fake grass carpet and filled with buckets of golf balls borrowed from the base driving range. 

His victims would grill the security guards about when Artur showed up or which offices he went in.  Nobody ever saw anything.  Artur remembered how his father got him into college long ago. He regularly bribed the guards with cakes and pies from Ekaterina’s oven.  

When the NASA staff decided to have a surprise party for von Braun’s 55th birthday, they picked Artur to be the master of ceremonies.  The mathematician responded with the crowning prank of his career.

It was March 23, 1967.  Artur burst into von Braun’s office.  “Wernher, you’ve got to come now!  It is a disaster!  A welding rig caught fire and 4402 is burning!”

Building 4402 was a warehouse where engines and other large rocket parts were stored while they were being tested.  Years of work would be wiped out if the building was lost.

When von Braun got to the parking lot and into Artur’s car, he could see the smoke billowing from 4402.  The fire department was in on the prank.  They had lined up 55-gallon drums behind the building and filled them with oily rags.  The smoldering rags put off billowing clouds of dark smoke.

Artur continued his frantic banter on the short drive to 4402.  He could tell, von Braun had that stoic look on his face, but he was worried.  As they approached, smoke was coming out of the large bay door on the side of the building.  A drum had been placed just inside, and an industrial sized fan blew the smoke out of the door.  Artur drove up to the entrance and stopped.

The lights came on, and there stood the senior team, holding a banner that read, “Happy 55th Birthday, Wernher!”  Whatever von Braun said to Artur was drowned out by the sound of the fire extinguishers as the firemen put out the burning drums.

They made von Braun cut the cake.  When he handed a piece to the mathematician, he said, “Arti, I promise you, even if it takes the rest of my life, you will pay for this.”  Artur said, “Maybe next year, you should take the day off.  Who works on their birthday?”