MEMORIES OF MAINE, THOUGHTS ON THE CONTINENTS

By Todd Buell

In autumn of 1963, Ulrike Paul (then Pfeiffer) boarded the Seven Seas ship in Rotterdam, Holland, headed for New York City. She was one of hundreds of students from all over Europe embarking on an exchange year in the United States sponsored by American Field Service (AFS). Ulrike’s final destination would be Bangor, Maine.

“We felt like immigrants,” recalls the nearly sixty-year-old English teacher in Villach, Austria, as she describes the moments when her boat approached New York harbor, and she and her fellow students saw the Statue of Liberty.

Today, as we sit in an outdoor café on a beautiful Austrian spring afternoon, she looks back fondly on her time in Maine. We leaf through a manila envelope full of priceless souvenirs that she has kept since leaving Maine. An article about her and other exchange students in the Bangor Daily News from October of 1963; a postcard from Boothbay Harbor that she sent her father; pictures of her with her host families (named Wittner and Kellog, who lived on Dewitt Ave. and Kenduskeag Ave. respectively); a picture of her favorite teacher, Mr. Ganyor, who taught American history and advised her on a project about the then embryonic government organization, the Peace Corps. She shows me a picture of her with then Gov. John Reed presenting her with an Austrian flag.

Her pictures would surely spark memories of anyone who lived through that era. The girls, with short, modest hairstyles, are all wearing skirts or dresses, and the boys, who look serious, are smartly dressed with short hair, and some sport the wide-rimmed, “Clark Kent” glasses indicative of that time.

She remembers visiting Acadia National Park and describes climbing that “really big mountain in upstate Maine.” When I mention Katahdin, she bursts out, “Yes, that’s the one.” She attended mass at a Catholic church, the name of which she cannot remember, but says that it stood nearly opposite a synagogue.

Ulrike was in the United States, of course, on the day that President Kennedy was assassinated. She tells me that she was at her neighbor Aradis Mayo’s house on that unforgettable Friday afternoon when the word of the President’s death started to spread. She joined with her new friends and classmates in writing a book of small essays and poems to commemorate the day.

When I asked Ulrike about the main differences between Bangor in 1963 and Vienna (her home then), I was struck by the similarity between her comments and those that students make today after returning from a trip to America. She tells me that in one of her homes in Bangor, on Dewitt Ave., her host sister had her own telephone in her room, while Ulrike’s house in Vienna lacked a phone. One host family possessed two cars; her Austrian family had none. Being able to buy ice cream all year amazed her as did a fledgling franchise restaurant called McDonald’s.

There were also facets of school life that she found unusual. The culture surrounding cheerleading and football at Bangor High she found to be “queer” (meaning strange, in the British sense of the word). She told me it was also strange how important the prom was to her fellow students, though the Student Council president invited her, and she attended as his date.

Mainers are rightfully proud of their reputation for openness and tolerance, and Ulrike experienced this quality forty years ago. She remembers being treated warmly and hospitably everywhere she went in the state. No one harassed her about Austria’s role during the Second World War.

In general, she was enamored with our abundant and “luxurious and modern lifestyle,” just as many of today’s students are amazed by our large houses, large cars, and large disposable incomes (at least among host families), and, regretfully, by our too large national waistline.

Ulrike has since passed down her wanderlust to her two children. Each child studied in North America, and through their experiences, I begin to notice a common positive impression of the United States that seems to have held true over forty years.

Her son began a PhD program at Florida State University and subsequently followed his thesis advisor to Albany, New York, to complete his degree. Ulrike describes his experience as being predominantly positive. He says that the people he has met are helpful, friendly, and have a good “team spirit.” However, she is quick to add, he found the immigration process in the United States to be “very unpleasant.” She does not think that he will stay in America forever but will return to Austria when he and his wife decide to have children.

Her daughter went abroad to learn French and studied as a high school student in Drummondville, Québec. She was there in 1995, the year of the referendum for Québec’s independence from Canada that was barely defeated. Ulrike tells me that her daughter found English then to be very unpopular in her school, which, given the political circumstances of the time, is understandable.

Ulrike has since returned to the States a few times but never to Bangor. She says in general she appreciates the enthusiasm and friendliness that most Americans outwardly display. As we talk, she intimates that sometimes she asks herself if this openness is “genuine;” however, before we can explore that theme, she quickly praises Americans by saying, “They accept people for who they are.”

This characterization of Americans, that we are more friendly, open, and optimistic than Europeans, is one that I have heard many times since I have been here, with varying degrees of admiration or skepticism. It is also probably one of the oldest recognized differences between the two continents—having been a theme of many of Henry James’s novels over a century ago.

Some Europeans whom I have spoken to find the openness or enthusiasm of Americans to be fake. For example, one German girl finds it odd that we say “nice to meet you” after just meeting someone once. When I asked her why she found this strange, the best answer that she could give me was that such friendliness is generally not exhibited in such a fashion in Germany.

However, contrarily, a teacher here in Austria argued that our culture of friendliness contributes to better customer service than one receives here. Fully discussing his analysis is better served in another essay, however. There is no doubt that an American would be shocked by how standoffish, impersonal, inattentive, and rude employees of the Austrian post office, railways, and supermarkets can be. (Often it seems to me that their shared motto is “service with a scowl.”)

The point is that Ulrike has lived on both continents and in both worlds—the friendly, cheerful, but perhaps fake new world and the more reserved, formal, yet perhaps more genuine old world. I do not get the feeling that she strongly prefers one to the other. Rather her roots are in Austria, therefore she lives here. However, her experiences have helped her both to like and feel comfortable on either side of the Atlantic.

Today she encourages not only her family but also her students to do as she did forty years earlier: go and experience a new culture. Many have spent semesters or years in English-speaking countries. Reciprocally, many Americans, including two students this year, spend an exchange year at her high school in Austria.

She believes, rightfully, that making personal contact is the only way to correct misunderstandings or stereotypes that exist between cultures. Especially in today’s climate of often acrimonious relations between the United States and much of Europe, it is especially important for young people to heed her advice.

Thankfully, I believe that the Maine of today could serve as a warm introduction to the United States, as it did to Ulrike in 1963.

Epilogue: Ulrike Paul loved her time in Maine and met many wonderful people and would love reconnect with those she knew there. If any reader has any information about the Wittner family, who lived on Dewitt Ave., the family of Dr. Robert Kellog (212 Kenduskeag Ave.), or Ardis Mayo, please contact her at uli.paul@utanet.at.   

 

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