Thanksgiving 1981

A true account of events

Thanksgiving 1981

 

I was struck immediately -  infatuation, attraction, something.  I knew something was going on the first time I saw the thick, wavy, dark-red hair, the full lips and freckles.  It was the face that struck me first, maybe then the way the ribbed shirt clung to her body.  My interest was certainly peaked.

 

“Go see Tamara[1], my friend had said, “she’ll help you”. 

 

And she did.  I needed a ticket to New York.  There was no particular hurry.  This being in the days before the internet and cell phones, I actually walked down to the travel agency and inquired about purchasing a ticket.

 

“No problem”, she said in her thick Australian accent, which only added to the attraction. 

 

Was she attracted to me as well?  I will never know, but she seemed to take a really long time on a very simple transaction.

 

“There is a charter flight next Wednesday” she said. 

“No rush” I replied.

 

I did not have a job or even a lead, much less an interview.  I had to leave, it just did not have to be today.

 

“However”, she said, “charter flights are subject to cancellation and delay”. 

Again, no problem.  I could leave next Wednesday or the one after that or the one after that.  (Or so I thought at the time). 

 

I did, however, have to book two tickets.  One to London and the 2^nd to New York.  Apparently it was cheaper to book a two-way charter from Lod[2], not even using the second half, and a 2^nd ticket from London to JFK.  So be it.

 

I was leaving Israel after almost four years.  How I got there, why I stayed four years and why I was leaving is another story altogether.  I came to Israel in 1978.  I had worked in several places, lived in several towns, learned the language, but was still financial destitute.  It was time to leave. Time to go back to the U.S. and try to make a living.  I had enjoyed the last four years, but economically it was a disaster.

 

 

I was staying with my friend Neal’s[3] in Jerusalem.  I returned to his apartment and told him that I had been successful in purchasing a ticket.  I did not tell him of my attraction to the travel agent.  Nor did I tell Ester. 

 

Ester and I had been going out for almost a year.  Originally a blind date, we had clicked more or less, and will admit that it was fun.  However, I did not see it turning into a serious relationship.  Besides, after four years, it was time to leave Israel, alone.  Of course I was also leaving Ester.  So, there was really no point in asking Tamara out.  I had only one week in the country, and it would have been an awful thing to do to Ester.  

 

I spent the next week with Neal; he didn’t mind.  I remember seeing Ester quite a bit, although she lived in Tel Aviv. The week passed uneventfully.  Wednesday morning I got up early, packed; not that there was much to pack, and made plans to leave.  I think we called for a cab, I don’t remember.  I certainly did not have a car.

The flight was booked for 1:00 pm.  Tamara called at about 9:45 am. 

“Calling to wish me good luck?”, I asked. 

“Why aren’t you on the way to the airport?” she asked.

 “I was just about to leave”.  It only takes about ½ hour to get to the airport, and even with the 1 ½ to 2-hour security check, I had time.

“But the plane leave in 15 minutes!” she said.  “It’s scheduled for 10 am!”  (My ticket said “Departure 13:00 �" I’m sure that meant 1:00 pm)

 

I replied that even if I could get to the airport in 15 minutes, the security checks take at least one hour.[4]  I could never get there on time!

 

“But I told you that the flight could be changed!”

 “No”, I replied, “ you told me that it could be cancelled or delayed.  And I told you that I could take another flight if necessary.  You never even suggested that the flight could be moved up!” 

“Well, I will see what I can do”. 

 

I never asked what possessed her to call 15 minutes before the flight.  Of course I am glad she called at all.  She claimed that all passengers had been notified.  Obviously I hadn’t.  I did not have a phone, and a message may or may not have been delivered to my previous address in Be’er Sheva. 

 

She offered stand-by status, however, I was not inclined to roam around a crowded airport until a seat became available.  I told her I could wait for a reserved seat.  Once again, I was in no rush.  Later, I would find out that the date did, in fact, matter, but I did not know that at the time.

 

She offered me a ticket the following Wednesday.  I was staying with Neal.  He didn’t object, and now she had a way to contact me with any changes.  Neal offered no objections to having me stay another week. I offered no objections to meeting with Tamara again.  In fact I was looking forward to it!

 

Once again I went back to her office, this time to exchange tickets.  Once again, she took much more time than was necessary to complete the transaction.  Once again, I did not ask her out. Once again, I went back to say goodbye to Ester.

 

I did get on the flight the following Wednesday, but it wasn’t so simple.  First of all, I went to the counter �" before I even presented my ticket the woman at the counter asked me to step aside. 

 

“Why?” I asked.

 “You have to wait for an open seat”, 

“But I have a reserved seat”. 

“No, I was told to look for an open seat.  I don’t think it will be a problem”. 

“I am certainly glad that it is not a problem, but I was assured that I had a reserved seat”. 

 

I do not remember the exact words, but I do recall becoming very enraged and argumentative.  The interesting thing is that this entire conversation was held in Hebrew.  I was certainly pretty good at speaking it at the time, also when I got angry my Hebrew became very fluent. 

 

I don’t recall actually calling names or cursing, but the woman became very upset.  Hey, I was 29 at the time and not the world’s greatest diplomat.  (Okay, I’m 59 now, and still no diplomat.  Sue me!)

 

The woman finally checked her list and discovered that I did, in fact, have a reserved seat.  However, at this point she was so enraged that she yelled at me

 

“I am very sorry that I ever gave you service” 

“Hey, you call this service?”

 I certainly didn’t. Anyway, at this point I saw no purpose in arguing, so I took my boarding pass and headed for the gate.  Well, not so fast �"

 

At the security desk I presented my ticket, boarding pass and passport. The woman gave me with a puzzled look.

 

“Sir, I am afraid that your visa is no longer valid”  (she said in Hebrew). Whoops. 

It seems that my visa expired on the exact date of the original flight.   I explained the issue to her, she was not impressed. 

“But sir, your visa is no longer valid” she repeated.  (In case I hadn’t heard her the first time).

Allow me to explain.  Tourist visas for visitors to Israel are issued at the airport for a duration of 3 months.  If you are staying longer, you can have the visa extended.  However, I had applied for temporary residency, which lasts for 3 years.  I was one week past the 3 year expiration date! 

 

Now imagine this scenario.  A tourist from �" (pick a country) visits the U.S. and stays one week past his visa.  He shows up at JFK with a ticket to return to his native land.  Unfortunately his visa has expired.  So they keep him in the airport.  Well, Tom Hanks, notwithstanding �" NO!  They say “Goodbye and have a nice flight.”

 

“Ma’m[5] I have a valid American Passport and a ticket to London.  I am not coming back.  Who cares if the visa is expired?  I am leaving.  I am not coming back.”

 “But sir, she repeated, your visa is no longer valid.”

 

This, by the way, is why we arrive at the airport three hours before the flight.

 

 “Wait here”, she finally said. 

Uh oh, (I thought to myself) am I going to get arrested?  No, she renewed the visa  for another three months. 

 

“Can I stay now?” I joked.  No reply. Okay, I don’t imagine Israeli custom agents are hired for their sense of humor. 

 

Fortunately the flight was uneventful. The flight to London is only a few hours.  I had a layover until the next day, rented a room, went to a bar.  Wound up walking almost the entire way back to the hotel �" couldn’t find a cab at 1 am.  New York it ain’t.

 

However, the story does not end here.  The title is “Thanksgiving 1981” , after all.

 

I landed in New York with little money and no job.  I started sending out resumes and setting up interviews, all of them in New York.   I was traveling to the city every day.  On the day before Thanksgiving, I was in midtown.  I don’t recall exactly why I was walking down 6^th Ave, but I was.  As I walked down the street near Rockefeller Plaza, I passed a vendor selling chestnuts.  At the stand was a very attractive redhead.  I turned to take a 2^nd look �" lo and behold �" it was Tamara!

 

“What are you doing in New York” (and why didn’t you mention this when I bought the tickets from you?)

 

Apparently she had received a complimentary tour from a promoter who wanted to sell trip packages to the United States.  However, she had not been on the original list for the tour, another agency having had seniority.

 

 

In Israel, males join the army right after high school.  Three years of service is compulsory, as is annual reserve duty (milu-im).  Once a year, all males under the age of 55 return for one month.  The individual who was supposed to go on the trip was called to duty, Tamara was next on the list.  So, she wound up with a free trip to the U.S.  We talked.

She had tickets for a show that night, but she was free the next day  - Thanksgiving.  We made plans to meet.  I got her information and went back to New Jersey for the night.  The next day I met her at the hotel.  We got hot chocolate and walked out to 5^th Ave to see the parade.  Honestly, I don’t remember much about it.  Fortunately, it wasn’t too cold and in those days it was not as crowded.  Afterwards she had some plans, and my parents expected me to be home for Thanksgiving dinner.  I actually left the city, took the bus back to New Jersey, had dinner, turned around and came back to New York on on the bus, to meet her at the hotel.

 

This should have been my finest hour.  I was really attracted to this woman and here I was being invited to spend the night in her hotel.  I guess I thought she was attracted to me.  I may have guessed wrong.

 

Yes, we did make love, or have sex, or f**k, what ever you want to call it.  I don’t really have a clear memory of it.  I do remember that she cried the entire time, and I don’t think it was from pleasure.  Finally, I got the story.  Her boyfriend had left to go to the United States.  He had basically broken up with her.  (Whoops, does this sound familiar?)

 

She didn’t give me a lot of details, but made it clear that he did not ask her to come with him.  End of story.  She really missed him.  ).  At this point I was not sure what she was doing with me, and neither was she (a mercy f**k I guess they call it.  Of course, I was interested in seeing her again.  After all she was single….

 

The rest in retrospect seems really dumb, but it happened anyway.  Perhaps I should change my name to protect the innocent, or should we say - naïve.

 

We agreed to meet at the airport.  She had one more week in the U.S. and then back to Israel.  I got the flight information, and told her I would be back.  Maybe we didn’t agree.  Maybe it was just my crazy idea.

 

But there I was a week later at JFK looking for her.  After about ½ hour, a woman came up to me and said “You’re Tamara’s friend, right?”

 

I had met some of her traveling mates at the hotel (We  had breakfast together.  I pretended to be with the tour.  Do we really have to go into this?). 

 

“Tamara is not on this flight?” 

“Oh?  Really?”

 

Luckily the woman had been in the hotel room when Tamara made plans for a diversion in Boston.  She even remembered the day she made reservations to return to Israel.  She wasn’t there; I went home.

 

Fortunately, in those days El Al, the national airline of Israel , had only one flight daily, so it was easy to track down.   One week later, I returned to JFK.  Recall this means taking the bus to Port Authority, taking the train towards Far Rockaway, and the connecting bus to the terminal.  OK I was young, crazy, and had nothing better to do that day.  Security was not as tight in those days, and I was able to get near, although not in, the passenger boarding area. 

 

As I approached, I guard said “Can I help you?” 

“Yes, I said.  I am looking for ……..HER!”

 

To my amazement, Tamara walked by right at that moment.  What a stroke of luck �" and planning.  I had timed it perfectly.  I had called the airline, found the time of departure (remember �" no internet).  Passengers had to be at the airport two hours before the flight, but since she was coming from Boston I expected her to add another hour for safety.  I showed up just three hours before the flight, and so did she!

 

We spoke for about an hour.  Don’t ask me what about.  Not about plans for the future that’s for sure.  She told me about her boyfriend �" that was the whole point of the trip to Boston!  But they were not getting back together.  She’s still single!

 

I never saw or heard from her again.  I wrote.  I called.  I let the phone ring; no one ever answered.  (Didn’t we have answering machines in those days?).  After awhile I stopped trying. 

 

I wasn’t in love or even that hung up.  I don’t think what might have happened if I had gone back to Israel or she stayed in the U.S.  I am not really sure we had that much in common, and apparently she was not all that interested.  Well, enough to spend the day, (and one night). 

 

I don’t miss her, but I do think about it once in awhile, mostly on Thanksgiving Day.  I think about the myriad of coincidences that occurred over a span of two days.  In any event, it’s a good tale and it’s 100% true. 

 

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[1] This is her real name.  Hey, it was 30 years ago, she did nothing wrong to be protected from and for all I know she is still in Israel.  The chance that she will ever read this is minimal.  However, if you do see this  Tamara�" call me!

[2] Ben Gurion Airport is in Lod, Israel, not Tel Aviv.  There is no airport in Tel Aviv �" I don’t care what the baggage tags say.  Lod is a small town halfway between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem.

[3] Also his real name.  Also, he did nothing wrong and does not need to be protected.  Also, unlikely to ever read this.  Neal �" don’t call me.

[4] Please note that this is 1981, 20 years before  911.  The Israelis had reason for heightened security, and knew how to do it right.  In 60 years, no El Al flight has ever been highjacked.

[5] Geveret . Ironcially, Hebrew has no “Miss”  “Mrs” nor “Ms”